a slave collar clamped around his neck. If he was still being followed, they would know where he was going. They’d stop him. Maybe kill him. Or maybe they only knew that he’d told, but they didn’t know who he’d told, and now they needed him to lead them to his accomplices. Maybe if he went to Gern’s house or Bran’s, it would mean bringing danger right to their doorstep.
He realised, dully, that there was nothing he could do. If something had happened to them, it had happened already. If he went to their houses and found them safe, perhaps he could warn them—but they already knew they were in danger. He’d already put them on their guard, surely.
But what if the attackers came back for him? What if the assault had just been a prelude to his murder?
No. He calmed down slightly. No. They weren’t going to come back and kill him. If they’d wanted to kill him he would be dead already. This had been something else. A warning. If, mere days before being killed, he was seen in this condition and talked publicly about what had happened, people would get suspicious. If he wanted to keep himself safe, he had to do what they would want him to do: hide, say nothing, do nothing. Just recover and go back to work. Make it clear that he wasn’t going to try anything. Maybe then they’d leave him alone.
Miserable, helpless anger consumed him. Was this how he was going to spend the rest of his life, looking over his shoulder every day, constantly frightened? How long would it take before they finally killed him? They had already taken Eluna from him, and now they had taken his belongings and his dignity as well. What did he have left that they could take, other than his life and those of his friends?
Arren’s fists clenched. No. They wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let them. There had to be something he could do. He had to fight back. They weren’t going to make him be silent forever. “I’m going to make them pay, Eluna,” he whispered. “I swear it.”
It took nearly a week for him to recover sufficiently to leave his house. The bruising and swelling slowly went down, and he found it easier to move, but when he moved he could feel something crack inside him.
And then there was the collar.
It plagued him constantly, unbalancing him and weighing him down. He couldn’t lie down properly, and every time he leant in any direction the collar pulled him down and made his wounds start to bleed. Though his other injuries began to heal, the gashes in his neck stayed open. Every time they scabbed or sealed partway, the slightest movement tore them open again.
But he persevered. He forced himself to eat the food that his assailants had ground into the floor, and he drank as much as he could from the rain-barrel outside. He felt tired and hungry all the time, but little by little he regained some of his strength, and he decided that he was well enough to go out. He had to find out if the others were all right.
He picked up a strip of blanket and wrapped it around his neck, covering the collar. He couldn’t let people see it. He’d also tried stuffing rags underneath it to stop it moving around, but it fitted too tightly for that. Putting anything underneath made him feel like he was choking.
He left the house without bothering to lock the door behind him. There was nothing left to steal or break. Almost without thinking, he headed straight for the Red Rat. It was evening, and one of them had to be there.
The tavern was bustling, as always. When he entered, many people turned to stare at him, and most moved away, casting nervous glances in his direction. He supposed, vaguely, that he must be less than pleasant to look at by now.
The owner had seen him and came toward him at once. “Are you going to start trouble in here again, blackrobe?”
Arren shook his head, very carefully. “No. I’m here looking for someone.”
“Who? And what in Gryphus’ name is that around your neck?”
“I’m looking for Bran. Or Gern.”
“What, Branton Redguard? He’s just over there. Go on. But I’ve got my eye on you.”
Arren ignored him. He could see Bran sitting at a table with some of his fellow guardsmen. Gern wasn’t there and neither was Flell, but the sight of him made Arren’s