‘Did it frighten you?’
‘It exhilarated me. That even the familiar can have secrets. Here, look, that track ahead. We must take that, and then we shall be there in a few hours.’
The track cut off from the main road and headed straight into the dark trees. As they turned, it was possible to see how the trees had been cut back from this new, smaller road; tree trunks, their blunt ends like pale imitations of the moon, flanked it on both sides.
‘Be on your guard, darling,’ said Vintage. Here, the Wild pressed in to either side, a curtain of darkness trying to close over them. Her horse shuddered, a reflexive shivering of muscle, and she pressed her hand to its neck to calm it.
‘You hardly need to tell me that.’ Tor loosened his sword in its scabbard.
In the end they only had the one close call. Vintage had settled into her saddle, the rhythmic movements of the horse lulling her, when, abruptly, the animal skittered over to the far side of the path. She looked up to see Tor half rising from his saddle; on the far side of the road, on the very edge of the trees, were four hulking great wolves. In the shadows they were little more than lethal shapes, their eyes like pieces of yellow mirror. And beyond them, within the trees themselves, Vintage sensed the movement of others. Each of the wolves they could see was twice the size of a normal animal. Vintage had seen wolves – dark shapes trickling across the plains at night, and they were shy, wary animals – but these creatures watching them now had grown from puppies in the shadow of the Wild. Somewhere here, perhaps thousands of years ago, the remains of a Behemoth had disintegrated, seeping its subtle poisons into the soil until everything was tainted with it.
Tor drew his sword, a silent movement against the soft leather of his scabbard. The Ninth Rain ran liquid with moonlight, but Vintage shook her head at him.
‘Wait. Wait.’
Vintage reached back to her pack and, without taking her eyes off the wolves, slipped her hand into the outer pocket. She brought out a handful of tiny white bulb-like objects, each twisted at the top. She passed these to Tor.
‘Throw them. I know you can throw further than me.’
Tor raised his eyebrows, and then turned and threw the papery handful overarm towards the wolves. The bulbs landed on the dirt road with a series of surprisingly loud pops, and as one the animals skittered back from the noise. Vintage watched, her heart in her mouth, as the largest creature took one step forward, before shaking out his coat all over and slipping back into the tree line. After a moment, the others followed.
‘We’re lucky it has been a fine summer,’ said Vintage quietly. ‘Wolves, even ones from the Wild, are reluctant to approach humans unless they are really hungry.’
Tor grunted. ‘You can’t possibly know that for certain.’
‘Of course not. What is familiar can always surprise us. Are you disappointed, my dear? Did you want to face down a pack of wolves in the dark?’
‘I have had a very tiring day, Vintage.’
When they had ridden some distance from the dark space where the wolves had disappeared, Tor cleared his throat. ‘These places give me the creeps.’
‘So much of Sarn is like this now, we half think it’s normal.’ Vintage sighed, trying to ignore the crawling of her own flesh. There could be hundreds of creatures like the worm-touched wolves close by, hidden beyond the tree line, watching them. ‘We scuttle from one so-called settlement to the next, not questioning if this is how we should be living our lives. There are no places like this in Ebora?’
As usual, when Ebora was mentioned, Tor looked faintly pained.
‘No, there are not.’
Vintage pursed her lips. ‘Sarn has its safe places, the places that have not been poisoned. But once, before the Jure’lia began their relentless invasions . . . If we knew what the poison was exactly, if we could isolate and remove it . . .’
‘Once, Sarn was safe, and the roots blessed us all.’ Tor sighed. ‘I’m not sure even my people remember that far back.’
They reached the settlement as the sky to the east was turning the expectant, bruised colour of the hours before dawn. The village was ringed with a wall made of thick tree trunks, and a pair of torches burned brightly at the open gates. Vintage could make out a trio of figures there, staring out into the dark.
‘Do you see them?’
‘I saw them half an hour ago, Vintage.’
‘Be on your best behaviour. They’re likely to be very twitchy.’
One of the men waved them down, and Vintage led them over towards the torches. There were two men, and a woman. They each wore short swords at their waists, and one of the men carried a long pitchfork. Beyond them, Vintage could see a ramshackle collection of huts and shacks, all unusually well lit with lamps and standing fires.
‘Who are you? What do you want here?’
Vintage smiled down at the man who had spoken. His beard was scruffy, and he had the wide-eyed look of someone who hadn’t been sleeping well lately.
‘My colleague and I come on the word of one Cara Frostyear. She came to Mushenska seeking aid. With your current, uh, difficulties, my dear.’
The man looked confused. He glanced at his companions.
‘But you are . . . forgive me, but you are a single woman. We hoped that Cara would bring back a host of the city guard.’ His face creased with anger. ‘It’s all very well for them, safe inside their walls, but we’re out here in the dark.’
Vintage pursed her lips. The city guard had their own problems. The men and women who chose to live out amongst the Wild were generally considered mad or foolish, and she could well imagine the reception Cara Frostyear had received.
‘I am Lady Vincenza de Grazon, and your little problem just happens to be my speciality.’
Tor chose that moment to lead his horse into their circle of light. He drew his sword, twisting it so that the lamplight flashed along the blade.
‘And I, Tormalin the Oathless, have come to slay your monster!’
As one, the three took a step back. The man with the pitchfork stood with his mouth hanging open.
‘An Eboran? Here?’ He moved the pitchfork in front of him. ‘You bring a monster to kill a monster?’
Vintage heard Tor sigh noisily. She pointed to his sword.