He held out an arm to Aphra, stood there long moments as she hesitated.
‘Please,’ Garidas said.
A creak of leather behind him, a familiar hiss, one they all knew instantly. The sound of a sword being drawn.
Garidas turned, hand on his sword hilt, drawing his blade as he moved.
A sword punched into his belly, low, beneath the line of his cuirass, and he gasped, slumped forwards onto his killer, rested his head upon her shoulder, as if she were his lover.
‘I am sorry, my sword-brother,’ Dalmae said as she pushed him away, pulling her sword free, the splash of blood on stone, and he fell backwards, clutching his gut, staring up at her. He cried out, loud, wordless betrayal, full of pain, and Riv heard an answering call below. Dalmae stepped forwards and stabbed him in the throat.
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CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
SIG
‘We’d best leave the track, now,’ Drem said beside Sig. After hearing the news from Ulf’s wife they had ridden hard from Drem’s hold, using a well-worn path that hugged the fringes of the northern woodland. To their right was the Starstone Lake, dark and still, and in the distance Sig saw the outline of a stockade wall, buildings rearing within. A pier jutted into the lake with boats moored along it.
Sig looked up at the sun, veiled behind fraying louds, saw it was a little past highsun. She grunted an agreement with Drem and barked a command, the four of them riding into the eaves of the wood, Hammer ploughing a way through the snow that as good as made a new track, the others falling in behind. Every now and then Sig saw the grey streak of Fen shadowing them.
After a while the woodland grew too close and dense and they dismounted, Drem taking the lead, as he told them he knew the ground a little, which was a lot more than them.
‘Five years my da has taught me to track, hunt and trap in this northern Wild,’ he said, ‘and for a good while before that further south. If I can’t do a job, or someone can do it better than me, I’ll tell you.’ He looked at Keld. ‘He’s as much a hunter as his wolven-hound, and far better at it than me, but I know this ground. Know where I’m leading you.’
Sig glanced at Keld, always her first port of call, and he nodded.
‘He knows what he’s doing,’ Keld said. ‘I’m happy to follow him.’ He’d told Sig of the number of traps and work he’d found around Drem’s hold, his preparation for the coming of the Kadoshim’s acolytes. Keld had laughed, he’d been so impressed.
‘He dug an elk pit. In the heart of winter, and then sank a dozen spears into it. And that wasn’t all. A nail trap, a bear trap, a mini-stampede, and he blew the barn up. On purpose.’
Sig liked what she saw in Drem. There seemed to be no falsity to him, no bluster or hidden ways. He spoke the truth as he saw it and displayed very little bravado.
Which is good, as I have enough of that to put up with in Cullen. Though he’s a good lad, too, just trying to live up to his heritage. One day soon he’ll realize it’s more about what he does than what he says. I think he and Drem could work well together.
Sig was already beginning to form plans on how her small crew would be changing once they got back to Dun Seren.
Best not get ahead of myself. If Drem’s right, there are Kadoshim and a host of enemies out there. Getting back to Dun Seren alive is going to be task enough.
There was a flapping above and behind. Rab appeared, blending with the snow-glow.
‘Done it,’ he squawked, alighting on Cullen’s shoulder. The young warrior scratched his neck.
Sig had been loath to walk into such a dangerous situation, knew the perils around them and feared that if things went sour Byrne would never hear of the Kadoshim and their dark goings-on in the north, so she had inked a letter on a scroll of parchment at Drem’s hold. She could not spare Rab to fly the parchment all the way back to Dun Seren, as she needed his eyes here, but Drem had told her of a woman at Kergard whom he trusted, whom he believed would make sure the scroll reached Dun Seren. It was not as reliable an option as Sig would have liked, but assessing the situation, she could think