That had been hours ago. They were still bumbling through the forest, although the sun was high.
"He's leading us wrong," she panted. "Don't trust him. He's an important rebel."
"He wants to live as badly as we do, Lady. He'll take us home."
And sure enough, they had come shortly to the rim of the woodland. She swayed and nearly collapsed. "Give me your arm, rucker," she said. "I give you permission to touch me."
His arm was like stone, supporting her along the road to Dolfya's outskirts where her father's mansion lay. After a few minutes he dropped the rope that held Dawvys. "Damn," he said loudly, "he will get away!" and bent to retrieve it. Dawvys leaped off like a pinched frog, and Rack said grimly, "No use to chase that one, he can sprint faster than a dozen hulks like me."
"You let him go," said Nirea.
He turned his blue eye on her. "That is as you see fit to believe, Lady."
She would turn him over to her father's huntsman, she thought. Or would she? He'd saved her ... was this gratitude in her mind? It was a foreign emotion. Wait and see, she told herself; don't fret now. She was very tired.
They came to the house of Ewyo, a sprawling erection of field stone and ancient brick dug from distant ruins of another time. No one could make bricks like that now. She touched the gate in the wall and instantly a dozen hounds, gaunt and savage, came leaping from the lawns. Recognizing her, they fawned, and she opened the gate. "Come in," she said. He grunted and obeyed, eyeing the dogs.
In the library of the house, which contained more than twenty priceless books allowed her ancestors by the gods, she met her father, the squire Ewyo. He scowled up at Rack.