Marigold Thistledown's Arc

Chapter 6 of 15

The dog reached the first bend and stopped. Marigold knew what that meant. The rider now had the mountain trail. One more climb and he would find the shelter, the branded man, and everything she had built into this rock. She could not fight him. She had to send him somewhere else and make him believe it. Mara crouched beside her at the stone cairn. "He won't turn back on his own," she said. "Not with the brand pulling the dog. We give him a trail he wants more than this one." Marigold looked down the far slope, where a river cut through green hills and rugged cliffs. A false path. She whistled low. A glowing fox slid out of the brush, orange light rippling along its flanks. Above it, the air bent and shimmered—a wisp fairy, wings faint as breath. Marigold held out a strip of cloth soaked in the refugee's blood. "Lay this scent down the river hills," she said. "Take it far. Then lose it in the water." The fox took the cloth in its teeth. The fairy circled once and both vanished into the mist. Then the rider spoke. "Clever." He stood on the trail below, closer than the dog. Scar across one eye, Guild colors, a hunter's easy stance. Fennrick Vex. He did not draw a weapon. "Blood trail down the hills. Fox to carry it. I've seen the trick." Marigold's stomach dropped. He had seen through it. "Then you know the man's gone," she said. "I know he's here." Fennrick's voice stayed flat. He climbed two steps and stopped. "But I'm not hunting him." He held up three fingers and dragged them slow through the air. "Someone marked a door where children sleep. Below, in a village. I follow that. Not runaways." Mara did not lower her guard. "The Guild sent you." "The Guild thinks I'm drunk in a tavern." A dry edge crept into his words. "Your fox and your fairy already ran my report for me. Dead trail. River. Nothing on this rock." He glanced at the shimmering road behind them, the enchanted stones that let strangers speak as one. "You built something worth lying for. I'll let the lie stand." Marigold studied his face for the trap. She found none—only a patience that unsettled her. "Why?" "Because whoever marked that door isn't Guild." He turned to go. "And it's worse than me." He started down toward the false scent, letting the dog pull him after the fox. "Keep your marigold charm lit. I may need the door that opens." He was gone before Marigold could answer. The mountain was hers again. The shelter held. But Fennrick had named a new hunter, one stalking the village below, one that marked children. She had traded her fear of the Guild for something with no face and no name.