text: She awoke, surprised that she had slept at all. She was more shocked to find that the grey tinge of dawn illuminated the clearing. The clouds that drifted high in the sky above the linden were painted pink by the rising sun.
  
  A rustling movement made her reach for her knife.
  
  "Hush, Aedwen," said Dunston. "It is I. Here, drink some water." He handed her a flask. "We must be away from this place."
  
  Gone was the blood and mud from his face and hands. He must have scrubbed himself clean in one of the many streams that trickled through the woods. His kirtle was stained. She chose not to wonder what substance had made the dark marks on the wool.
  
  Shoving into her hand a piece of the hard cheese the charcoal burners had given them, Dunston rose and busied himself picking up their few belongings. She watched him as she chewed on the smoky cheese. He was moving with none of the grace and fluidity she had seen when he had faced their enemy. He grimaced as he bent to pick up his bag, pushing his hands into the small of his back and groaning as he straightened. With the grime and blood removed from his face his skin appeared sallow, his eyes bruised and tired. She could scarcely believe she had been so fearful of this old man.
  
  She swallowed the cheese and drank the water. He turned to her as she sat up and his eyes seemed to glow in the dim light of the dawn. For a heartbeat she could not breathe under the force of that cold glare. She rose, mumbling that she needed to relieve herself. He did not move, merely nodding.
  
  "Hurry," he said, his voice rasping like a blade drawn along a whetstone.
  
  No, she had not imagined the savage fire that had consumed Dunston the night before.
  
  When she returned, she had made up her mind about him. Dunston frightened her, but he had treated her well and she could think of nobody she would rather have at her side as they fled from Hunfrith's murderous men.
  
  "How did you do? In the night?" she asked.
  
  "Well enough," he replied, heading into the dense forest. She could not be certain, but she believed they were heading away from the path that led towards Tantun.
  
  "Did you…" she hesitated. "Did you kill any of them?"
  
  "One more," he answered without pause, as if slaying a man meant nothing to him. "And I dispersed their horses. It should take them a while to be after us. If we keep off the roads and paths I doubt they will find us."
  
  "Did you sleep at all?" she asked.
  
  "I closed my eyes for a few moments. I will sleep when we reach Exanceaster."
  
  She had been right; they were heading south. She felt a flush of pride at keeping her sense of direction despite the rush in the darkness through the trees and foliage.
  
  "Exanceaster?" she said. "Why should we go there?" She had never been to the place, but knew it to be the seat of power of Defnascire.
  
  Dunston paused at the foot of a steep rise, peering upward into the dawn dark. The earth beneath the slope was boggy and clogged with sweet gale. A thin mist hung there, like webs of forgotten dreams. Evidently having made up his mind as to the best way to ascend, Dunston set off up the incline, using the slender trunks of birch saplings to pull himself up.
  
  "Whatever is written on the vellum," he said, his breath ragged from the exertion of the climb, "it is something worth killing for." His foot slipped in the leaf mould and he cursed under his breath, catching hold of a sapling and hauling himself up. When he reached the summit, he turned and reached out his hand to her. She gripped it without hesitation and he pulled her slim form up to him easily.
  
  "What do you mean to do with the message in Exanceaster? Tantun is closer and there would be priests and monks there who could read it."
  
  "That is true, but those bastards know that Ithamar was heading to Tantun, and maybe they will believe we mean to carry it in the same direction. Besides, we must see that it gets into the hands of someone not only able to read, but also to see justice done."
  
  They pushed on through a more sparsely forested area of sallow and elder. Aedwen welcomed the sense of openness, of air between the widely spaced trunks. To her left, the rising sun shone its rays deep under the leafy forest roof. She turned to the east, revelling in the warmth of the day on her face.
  
  "You seek the king's reeve then?" she said.
  
  "No," said Dunston. He let out a sigh and shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. "I seek the king."
  
  "The king?" she blurted out, unable to hide her incredulity. "Even if we could get to speak to him, why would he listen to us?" The thought of even seeing the king of Wessex seemed like madness to her. She glanced at Dunston, to see whether he was jesting. Perhaps this was his misguided way of trying to lift her spirits.
  
  "He wouldn't listen to you," he said, raising an eyebrow. "But by God, he'll listen to me."
  
  He picked up his pace and for a moment she looked at him, her head full of questions. She wanted to call after him, to ask him how he could be so sure that the king would grant him an audience. But as she opened her mouth to shout, the thought of the horsemen on their trail came to her. Her voice would carry far in the quiet dawn, cutting through the chorus of birdsong and leading their enemies to them, if they were near. She clamped her mouth shut and ran after Dunston.