Free North Star Guide Me Home by Jo Spurrier

too weak for the Akharians to consider a threat. ‘What’s your name?’ he said.
    She sniffed, and her hand trembled in his. ‘Greska,’ she said.
    Then, in the distance, Rasten heard dogs barking.
    Greska stiffened and tried to pull away. Rasten tightened his grip, trapping her hand in his, while he glanced back at the horse. It turned towards the sound, head up and ears pricked.
    ‘Oh, by the Black Sun, they’ve found us,’ Greska said. ‘Please, let me go! We have to run!’
    The dogs were getting closer. Rasten could hear them clearly now. ‘Stay by me,’ he commanded the girl. ‘I can keep them off.’
    She gave him a look of fearful disbelief. It took Rasten a moment to work out why. He had no weapon other than the knife at his belt, and the dogs were in sight now, racing towards them with heads and tails up with the joy of the hunt.
    He cast a shield, and the dogs slammed into it a half-second apart, bouncing off with a force that sent them sprawling.
    Rasten felt a familiar cold rise up within him at the sight. He didn’t like to hurt animals, but he’d kill them if need be. But the dogs backed away, still barking. They seemed small compared to the hounds he knew, with thin, flat coats of brown and buff.
    Their relentless barking woke a memory, uncoiling like a snake awaking from the cold. Dogs barked frantically, snarling at the door, while someone outside hammered on it, and the men within — he couldn’t see their faces, the picture in his mind blurred and slid away if he tried — slotted stout bars into place. He knew what happened next, he’d seen it in his nightmares before fresh horrors came to push the old ones aside. The door tore apart in a burst of light and noise, a storm of pain, as shards of wood speared men and dogs alike, hurling them aside like wreckage.
    ‘Quiet!’ Rasten bellowed, letting power flood his voice. The dogs cowered and fell silent with a whine, and turned to slink away.
    But it was too late. There were men and horses coming.
    There were five of them, mounted on sweating, foaming horses and shouting to each other. At their arrival, the dogs retreated, and once within the safety of their pack began to bark and bay once more.
    Rasten glanced back and found Greska creeping closer to him, cowering into the shelter of his back. ‘Spirit of storm defend me,’ she whispered.
    Rasten could well imagine the punishment they’d turn on a woman who dared try to escape.
    The men spread out to face him. ‘That’s a runaway slave you’ve got there,’ one of them said in Akharian. ‘Good of you to hold her for us, but we’ll take her back now. I don’t suppose you’ve seen any others?’ As he spoke, Rasten could feel the man’s eyes taking in his northern features. ‘And what are you doing out here, friend? Seems like you’re a long way from home.’
    ‘That’s none of your concern,’ Rasten replied in the same tongue.
    ‘My apologies, friend, I don’t mean to pry. But that slave is ours, and we’ve more to hunt down today, so just hand her over and we can go about our business.’
    Rasten looked them over, their stained and patched clothing, mounted on scrubby horses with much-mended tack. No soldiers, after all, just a slave-train and hired guards. The dogs were still barking and the incessant sound was a thorn of irritation lodged inside his skull, threatening to bring a haze of red over his vision.
    He shrugged. ‘Come and get her.’
    The men died. Rasten tried to spare the horses, though of course the beasts ran off.
    When it was done, Rasten turned back to the girl, Greska. She’d caught his horse’s reins, but it had grown accustomed to mage-craft and was only mildly spooked by the scent of blood. The girl was far more frightened and, as Rasten reclaimed his mount, she shrank away.
    That, at least, was familiar. He knew how to deal with that.
    ‘W-who are you?’ she said. ‘You’re a mage, but how can a northerner learn mage-craft? You talk like