I had paid no attention to his absence. It hadn't surprised me. "Gone. How are we going to carry Raven?"

My answer stepped out of the woods. Tracker. Looking a little the worse for wear, but still healthy. Toadkiller Dog was covered with blood. He seemed more animated than I had seen before. "Let's get him out of here," Tracker said, and moved to take one end of the litter.

"Your stuff."

"No time."

"What about the wagon?" I lifted the other end.

"Forget it. I'm sure they found it. March."

We marched, letting him lead the way. I asked, "What was all that uproar?"

"Caught them by surprise."

"But…"

"Even the Taken can be surprised. Save your breath. He isn't dead."

For a few hours it was put one foot in front of the other and don't look back. Tracker set a tough pace. In a corner of my mind where the observer still dwelt, I noted that Toadkiller Dog kept the pace with ease.

Goblin collapsed first. Once or twice he had tried to catch me and pass something along, but he just did not have the energy. When he went down, Tracker stopped, looked back irritably. Toadkiller Dog lay down in the wet leaves, rumbling. Tracker shrugged, set his end of the litter down.

That was my cue to drop. Like a stone. And damn the rain and mud. I couldn't get any wetter.

Gods, my arms and shoulders ached. Needles of fire drove into me where the muscles start swooping up to the neck. "This isn't going to work," I said after I caught some breath. "We're too old and weak."

Tracker considered the forest. Toadkiller Dog rose, sniffed the wet wind. I struggled up long enough to look back the way we had come, trying to guess which direction we had run.

South, of course. North made no sense and east or west would have put us in the Barrowland or river. But if we kept heading south we would encounter the old Oar road where it curved in beside the Great Tragic. That stretch was sure to be patrolled.

With my breath partially restored and my breathing no longer roaring in my ears, I could hear the river. It was no more than a hundred yards away, churning and grumbling as always.

Tracker came out of a reflective mood. "Guile, then. Guile."

"I'm hungry," One-Eye said, and I realized I was too. "Reckon we'll get a lot hungrier, though." He smiled feebly. He now had enough strength to look Goblin over. "Croaker. Want to come check him out?"

Funny that they aren't enemies when the pinch comes.

Chapter Thirty-Seven:
THE FOREST AND BEYOND

Two days passed before we ate, courtesy of Tracker's skill as a hunter. Two days we spent dodging patrols. Tracker knew those woods well. We disappeared into their deeps and drifted southward at a more relaxed pace. After the two days Tracker felt confident enough to let us have a fire. It was not much, though, because finding burnable wood was a pain. Its value was more psychological than physical.