a drink of sweet, fresh milk before we left and wished us luck on our hunt.
We ate our supper at the foot of a small hill, next to a thin stream, a half mile off the Stretch. An old oak tree grew nearby, its thick limbs covered in soft green moss.
Stefan had snared a rabbit earlier, and it was sizzling in the black stewpot he carried with him, handle tied to his pack. Madoc slipped in a handful of dried herbs, a pinch of flaked Fremish salt, and two shots of Vite from a flask in his pocket. The Butcher Bards ate well on the road.
Afterward, we washed our bowls in the cold stream and then curled up against the oak’s large, curving roots, rubbing our full bellies and sipping Vite.
Ink and Stefan began to teach Gyda a game played with black-edged Butcher cards. I watched Madoc tense, off and on, in response to noises I didn’t hear. He was on guard, and I felt better for having him near.
He reached up suddenly and took one of my locks between two fingers. “Your hair curls in fat ringlets like an Elsh Highlander’s, but it’s as night-black as an Elver’s.”
“Aye,” I said, letting my word purr through my mouth in the Elsh accent.
Madoc let the lock drop, his finger grazing my cheek as he pulled his hand away. He offered me his pipe, and I took a long puff.
Gyda was on my left, Viggo’s pipe to her lips. Stefan and Ink each smoked their own, white curls drifting between branches.
“We are still in the lush part of the Middlelands,” Madoc said. “Have you traveled much farther north?”
“No. This is the farthest I’ve been from our family steading.”
Madoc shook his head in a way that was both slightly scornful and rather melancholy.
“It wasn’t by choice,” I said. “Not everyone can roam, Madoc. I had a life on that farm, and I made the best of it. And when my life shifted and pushed me toward the open road, I embraced it.”
I prickled at any hint that I was soft, that I was fearful, that I was less than Vorse.
Madoc put his hand on my shoulder. “Fair enough, Torvi. You are right.”
“What is Vorseland like outside the Middlelands?” I asked. “I’ve always wanted to see it for myself.”
“Depends. Up north, it’s fairly wild. Instead of soft, rolling hills and grassy meadows, the landscape shifts to deep black lakes and deep, dark forests.”
I took a puff from his pipe. It was no shepherd’s kettle-leaf—the smoke tasted sweet and smelled autumnal—freshly harvested wheat, crisp air, clean wool, ripe apples. “What is this?”
“Brickle-leaf. It grows only on the high hills of Elshland. They dry the leaves in fall, near the red-gold fields of elf berries, and it takes on the taste of the fruit.”
Ink leaned toward me and offered a sip of Vite from a flask. Her freckles shone in the pink-tinted evening light, speckling her long, thin arms and long, narrow nose. I took a drink and handed the flask back to her with a nod of thanks.
Gyda held out her palm, and Ink passed her the liquor. “The old woman in that hamlet spoke of a band of Drakes,” she said. “What do you know of these mystics, storyteller?”
Ink flashed the druid a quick smile. “The Drakes are prophets from Creet, an island farther south than Iber. They can read the stars and find your fate in their glow. It is men, mostly, who have the gift. Or this is whom they are willing to teach, at least. Their adepts take a vow of celibacy, so they are unable to pass on their arts to their children.” She took a breath through soft lips and then let it out again. “As you know, the Drakes often travel to Vorseland looking for fresh blood—clever Vorse boys they can train in their art. They have red cloaks and scarlet-dyed beards. If they come upon us, we can’t refuse them our fire. It’s unlucky and possibly dangerous.”
Ink then proceeded to tell us a tale about Drakes, called Nimway’s Blade. One balmy summer two of the red-cloaked mystics were summoned to a jarl’s Hall to read the sand and stars for the jarl’s beloved thirteen-year-old daughter, Nimway, as a name-day gift. The two Drakes divined that Nimway was the true daughter of a Boar Island Strega and would one day take up arms against the jarl. The jarl accused his wife of adultery and sentenced her to death