Eventually he could talk, though his voice was a rusted rasp. His lungs could barely manage more than a few words at a time. He had taken neither water nor food in over a day, and needed deeper rest to recuperate. His name was Jon Bassett, and what labored breaths he made were spent swearing the Nottingham Guard would find them shortly, and they should release him immediately. Marion did her best to explain he was no prisoner, and they meant to help. She hoped her presence alone would be enough to prove their peaceful intentions, but Bassett did not seem keen to trust her. She could hardly blame him.

“We don’t liken to have you any more than you liken to be here, which is little,” John grumbled at the man, doing his best to match the Guardsman’s salt. “But we couldn’t leave you behind. I did you a number, that’s plain. But you were putting one on my friend, too, which wasn’t a kindness. You wouldn’t have gotten far on your own, and we don’t see how letting you die would help any. But do us all a favor and speak up the moment you’re able to fend for yourself so we can be rid of you.”

Jon Bassett snorted, expelling clumps of dried blood from his nose. He tugged at his newly earned restraints as if to imply he was ready to leave now.

Little knelt down. “You’re not well yet. Don’t be lying to us. Haven’t you heard? I eat liars.”

As the day grew longer it became obvious they would keep camp another night, but Jon Bassett did show signs of improvement. Once he was properly fed his energy returned to him, and they took shifts walking him around the campsite to ease his muscles. He moved impossibly slowly, like a man passing a kidney stone, but it was progress. Marion’s promise that he was no prisoner was made somewhat flatter by the stretch of rope they used to leash him on his walks. He could not breathe deeply without significant pain, but the rest of his body, and his spirits, seemed quick to recover.

“You don’t remember me,” his voice creaked, as Marion took her turn to limp him about. She did not hold the rope herself, as the others insisted he might be feigning weakness. So Sir Amon walked beside her, the tether wrapped twice around his arm. “I’ve seen you at Nottingham.”

Marion was embarrassed to admit his face was unfamiliar.

“I escorted you … a few months back. To see the Sheriff. We talked with the captain … in the training yard.”

She remembered it now, though he had made no impression on her.

“Everyone knows you collude with them now,” he said. “And you’ll get yours, no matter what you do to me.”