Anavha tried to struggle. The man’s grip tightened. The man opened the window that looked out onto the snowy roof of the verandah. He pushed Anavha out. Anavha slid to the lip of the roof and faced the yawning darkness of the drop. He managed to claw himself to a stop with his bound hands, just in time to see the man leap easily over the sill and onto the roof beside him. The man kicked Anavha once.

Anavha lost his hold on the tiles and fell. He tried to cry out but gagged on the kerchief. He landed on his side in a powdering of snow. The air rushed from his lungs.

Before he caught his breath through the clotted kerchief, the man landed beside him. He dragged Anavha out to the kennels. A big black dog was already saddled and harnessed. The man whistled to it. The dog came forward, sniffing and snarling.

The man hauled Anavha up in front of him onto the dog. The man’s body was warm and tense behind Anavha. One strong arm held Anavha against him. The other gripped the reins.

Anavha expected to see Zezili stride out onto the road, draw her sword, hamstring the dog, and cut open Anavha’s assailant with one clean strike.

But the dog was trotting off at a quick pace, the road streaking behind them. Clouds covered the moons completely. It began to snow.

Anavha was already sore from days of riding, and being jarred in the saddle as the dog leapt forward at a clipped pace was agony. He imagined blisters forming on his thighs.

The hours stretched. Anavha’s whole body hurt. The snow continued. The dog was padding now not across a road but winding through low-lying everpine trees. Anavha’s feet and hands were numb.

They stopped sometime well after dawn in a ring of everpine trees. Anavha’s captor tossed him out of the saddle and onto the snow as if Anavha weighed no more than a rag doll. The man unsaddled the dog but kept its harness on.

The man unpacked food from the saddle bags and fed the dog dried meat. Anavha followed his captor’s progress until the man squatted before Anavha, reeking now not only of himself, but of dog.

“You going to be silent?” the man asked.

Anavha tried to nod.

The man unwrapped the silk cord from Anavha’s hands and mouth. He pulled out the wet kerchief.

Anavha’s mouth was unbearably dry. He sat up painfully and rubbed at his numbed hands. Red welts marked his wrists.

“It won’t be long,” the man said, turning away from Anavha. He handed Anavha a small piece of bread and an onion from his pack. Anavha tried to hold out his hands to receive the offering, but his fingers wouldn’t work.

The man set the food in front of him and walked back to his seat in the snow. He continued eating.