As Hans and Angela neared the great forest, Hans sang a tavern song about its most famous legend:
“The Wolf King has a monster horde
That fears nae mortals nae the Lord.
It eats fair damsels, slays their knights;
Such horrors be its true delights.”
Like everyone else, Angela knew tales of the Wolf King. She’d even done a play about him and his monsters, hanging six ghastly creations from a rod and dragging them toward the Boy, whom she rescued with her Sword of Justice. Angela had been proud of the backdrops she’d painted of the great forest, but they didn’t come close to matching the real thing. From the top of the turret on Castle Hill, she’d seen specks of green stretching along the horizon. What she saw now was a world of trees that towered on either side of the road as far as forever. No wonder there were tavern songs.
“The Wolf King’s hunger is worst at night,
His fangs dismember all in sight—”
“Oh, be quiet,” Angela said. “It’s easy enough to imagine this place a home to trolls and witches.”
“So you believe in fairy tales?” Hans grinned.
“Don’t you? Can you imagine a witch worse than the Necromancer? And speaking of trolls, I’ve met your father. We need to be careful, Hans. This is a perfect place for evil to hide.”
“Are you the same girl who ventured into Potter’s Field alone?”
“Yes, and I learned my lesson.”
“Oh?” Hans laughed. “You left alone for the far mountains right after I rescued you from the crypt.”
“I had no choice,” Angela exclaimed. “And, by the way, you didn’t rescue me. You tried to rob me. I got out of the tomb by myself.”
“What?” Hans exclaimed. “You’re the most ungrateful person I’ve met!”
“Me? You’re the one who should be grateful. If I hadn’t let you come along as my servant, you’d be in your cave taking orders from a grave robber.”
“Better that than taking orders from a spoiled brat who thinks she’s better than everyone.”
Angela wanted to say something smart, but what? He was right. A breeze whistled down the road between the banks of trees. She dug her hands into her coat and scrunched her shoulders till the stiff military collar covered her ears.
Hans held up his arm. “Sh.” He cocked his ear. Angela heard something too. The breeze fell. Hans exhaled. “It’s only the rustling of the leaves. Time to head for the trees before it’s something real.” He stepped into the ditch and walked backward. “Come on. What are you waiting for?”
“Nothing. It’s just . . .” Angela’s voice trailed off.
“You really are afraid, aren’t you?” Hans laughed.
“No, I’m not,” Angela lied. She stepped boldly backward into the ditch, slipped on the mud, and fell on her behind. Hans reached out to help her. “Leave me alone,” she sputtered, and scrambled to her feet. “I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help.” She ran to the nearest tree and pressed her face into her arm.
Hans waited till her shoulders stopped heaving. “It’s all right,” he said gently. “Everyone gets scared.”
“Not me,” Angela said. “I’m a countess. It’s not allowed.”
“Well, I’m a boy. It’s not allowed for me either.”
Angela smiled despite herself. “Maybe we have something in common after all.” She paused. “Hans, when I ran from the castle, courage was easy: I didn’t have time to think. But now that I do, I am scared. Scared we won’t get away. Scared what Arnulf will do if he gets us.”
“It’s brave of a countess to tell that to her servant,” Hans said.
“You’re more than my servant,” she said shyly. “You know that, don’t you?”
“I was hoping.” He shuffled awkwardly. “I’m sorry I called you a spoiled brat.”
“Why? It’s the truth. If I’m not allowed to be scared, I mustn’t be scared of the truth, either.” Angela swallowed hard. “I’ve always had things given to me. I’ve never had to be nice. From now on, I promise to try and be better.”
“I promise, too,” Hans said. “I don’t have shining armor, but I’ll really do my best to be your knight.”
“With a little acting, you could fit the part,” Angela said. “It’s how I imagined you in my plays. In some of them, anyway.”
Hans didn’t know whether to laugh or blush. So he did both. “Yes. Well.” He adopted a courtly pose. “Shall we proceed, milady?”
Angela grinned. “Indeed, Sir Knight. Let’s sally forth!”
Sallying forth was easier said than done. Within ten minutes, Hans had gotten tangled in a vine and Angela had tripped on a rotten stump. “If the Necromancer doesn’t get us, the forest will,” Angela muttered. “We’re making enough noise to wake the dead. Meanwhile our enemies are on the move with torches.”
“Then we’ll see them coming.” Hans stopped suddenly and pointed through the trees at something large on the road ahead. “Stay here.” Angela didn’t need convincing.
Hans crept along the side of the ditch as quiet as a moth on an overcoat. I’m a knight, I’m a knight, I’m a knight, he told himself.
The something was a horse and cart. A canvas cloth was draped over the wagon’s contents. The owner was nowhere to be seen.
The owner must be sleeping in back with his belongings, Hans thought. If he lived around here, he’d have brought the cart home. So he must be a traveler; someone with food and drink. Hans paused. What if he works for the archduke?
A twig snapped behind him. Hans imagined the Weevil gang hanging from the branches. He looked over his shoulder. There was nothing but trees and dark.
Hans slipped across the ditch and crouched at the side of the road. The horse snorted and went back to sleep. Hans tiptoed to the back of the wagon and peeked under the covering. There were baskets of fruit and vegetables, and boxes and bundles of sundries.
He was about to fill the pockets of his robe when he felt a knife at his throat. The man with the knife leaned in. “Say your prayers.”