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limped down the road, constantly aware of the dog a handful of paces behind him. Cramps were pinching at the back of his legs. His knees felt like hinges that were rusting in place. Eventually, the stiffness in his lower back prevented him from going any further. He halted.
    “Well, I . . . I don’t know what your plans are,” he said to the dog, who appeared to be wondering why they had stopped walking. “But I’m camping here. You go wh-where-wherever you like.”
    She watched with fascination as he untied his bedroll from the top of his pack.
    “Go.”
    She watched him carefully brush aside every stone that he could find and unravel his bedroll.
    “Go!”
    He picked up a rock and threw it at her. She ducked. It bounced off the road and into a tree.
    Drawing his sword, Edmund drove it into the hard ground.
    “That’s a reminder, just in case you get any ideas.”
    Lowering himself, his body melted into the bedroll. He sighed in a way that he’d never sighed before.
    Ecstasy!
    Kicking off his boots, he let his sweaty feet breathe. Rubbing his tight calves, he inspected the dog. She lay in the middle of the road, facing him.
    “Suit yourself.”
    Closing his eyes, Edmund began recalling each word of the last passage of Iliandor’s diary. He now regretted not bringing it with him. But he didn’t need it. And nobody within two hundred miles of Rood would be able to read the account of the ambush and the knights’ plan to hide the caravan’s cargo.
    Edmund felt his mind sinking into the embrace of a warm, pleasant dream, a vague image of the tower of Tol Helen rising before him in his mind’s eye.
    Leaping to her feet, the dog snarled at the darkness.
    Jerking upright, Edmund scrambled for his sword.
    Wolves? Bandits? What—?
    Up the road, a herd of whitetail deer broke through the trees and bounded across the open track. When they had gone, the dog laid back down. Edmund collapsed with relief.
    “Maybe you’ll be useful after all.”

Chapter Five
    When Edmund awoke, he was beyond stiff. His body felt like bread that had been left out on the kitchen counter for a month. He fully expected his limbs to snap off if he moved too quickly. Even his hair seemed to hurt. But his spirits were high, the word “adventurer” echoing in the recesses of his mind.
    Sitting up with a moan, he stretched as much as his complaining body would allow. Then he noticed the black and white mongrel lying against his right leg.
    He didn’t know what to think about that. For whatever reason, animals had always liked him. When he was a child, birds used to land on his head and chirp away like he was in a faerie tale. More than once, squirrels scampered up his leg, trying to get into his coat pockets. Even fish schooled around him whenever he swam in the river just outside of Rood.
    However, to him, animals were stupid, unsanitary creatures—dogs in particular. Every time they scratched, Edmund imagined fleas or ticks or some other kind of blood-sucking vermin jumping on him and burrowing deep underneath his skin. Dogs also stank.
    Then again, it’d be nice having a traveling companion. I could name at least twenty great heroes of old who had dogs. Sandon had a dog. So did Ivan the Wanderer.
    Yes, but they were all trained purebreds that were groomed regularly.
    He pushed the mutt off his bedroll.
    She looked at him, annoyed.
    “Now, none of that,” Edmund said. “If you are going to be tag-tag-tagging along, we best set some rules, and the first one is that you sleep on the ground. I don’t expect that I’ll be able to launder my things nearly as much as I should like, so I don’t want your stench on them.”
    The dog arched her back and yawned, her long pink tongue rolling out of her mouth. She sniffed Edmund’s pack.
    “Yes, yes. I’m famished, too.” Reaching for his pack, he stifled another groan.
    Scowling, he massaged his spine. With tentative movements, he looked under his bedroll, but discovered nothing that could