his own dead men-at-arms, lying where they’d fallen in the melted snow. His voice sounded sharp in the cold night air. I fancied I could hear the disappointment and frustration as he began calling for his men to start searching the area for our tracks.
That much I got, anyway. The luck of Cain to ’em, I thought. The ground was that chewed up—what with the soldiers setting fires and all—I did not think they’d be able to find our trail in a month of Christmases, but we did not wait to find out. From the cover of the wood, we sent some more arrows into them, killing some, wounding others. The sheriff, realising the battle was now beyond winning, called the retreat. They fled back the way they had come and, since our arrows were mostly spent, we let them go.
“They might return,” Bran said, and ordered us all to scatter and work our way around the blaze. “Confuse your trail and make certain you are not followed. Then fly like ravens for the roost.”
I put my head down and lit out through the dark winter wood. Keeping the blaze on my left, I worked my way slowly and carefully around until I’d coursed half the circle, then faded back along a deer run that took me near to the bottom of the ridge protecting Cél Craidd. After a time picking my way carefully through a hedge of brambles and hawthorn, I reached the foot of the ridge and paused to listen, kneeling beside a rock to rest a moment before continuing.
I heard nothing but the night wind freshening the tops of the larches and pines. The fire still stained the night sky, tinting the smoke a dull rusty red, but it was less fierce now; already the blaze was dying out. Overhead, there were patches of winter sky showing through the clouds, and stars glimmering bright as needle pricks. The air was cold and crisp. As I started up the snow-covered slope it came to me that this attack signalled a change in our fortunes. We had beaten the sheriff this time, but it was just the beginning. Next time he would come with more men, and still more. There would be no stopping him now.
CHAPTER 18
In the bleak heart of midwinter, with the snow deep and white, the air cold and still, it seemed as if the greenwood awaited the coming of the new year with breath abated. We of the Raven Flock held our breath, too, waiting and watching through the night and all the next day. Bran doubled the number of watchers on the road, and set others in a surrounding ring around Coed Cadw. But the sheriff and his men did not return.
The evening of the day after the attack, Lord Bran summoned his advisors to his hut. Wary and uncertain still, we gathered. Iwan, Siarles, Mérian, Tuck, and myself took our places around the small hearth in the centre of his hut. “We have rattled the hornets in their nest,” Iwan pointed out as we settled to discuss what had happened the night before and what it might mean.
“That much is plain as your big feet,” replied Siarles.
“Where is Angharad?” wondered Mérian. “She should be with us.”
“So she should,” agreed Bran. “But she has begged leave to absent herself.”
“Not like her,” observed Iwan. “Not like her at all.”
“Is she well?” asked Tuck. “I could go see her.”
“She is well,” replied Bran, adding, “but the raid last night has disturbed her mightily. She did not foresee it.”
“Nor did any of us,” pointed out Tuck.
“No, but our hudolion feels she should have sensed it. She is going to her cave to learn the reason and”—he lifted the ring on its string around his neck—“to learn more of this lovely trinket.” The gold shone with a fine lustre, and the jewels gleamed even in the dim light of the hut.
Tuck took one look at the heavy gold bauble and cried, “Lord have mercy! Where did you get that?”
Bran explained about the raid on the supply train. Tuck sucked his teeth, shaking his head all the while. “I do not wonder Angharad is distressed. You have called down the wrath of Baron de Braose upon your silly heads, my friends.” Tapping the ring with a finger to watch it swing, he added, “He wants it back, and now you have made it worth his while to find you.”
“This wasn’t all,” said Iwan. “Show him the rest.”