Don’t be an idiot.
Baird was trying to calm his horse, which kept shying from Storm. Camlin felt a swell of protective anger. Storm had been the subject of more than a few suspicious glances over the last handful of days. Not that he could begrudge these warriors their glances. He was part of a strange bunch, warriors, wolven, a dethroned queen and two talking birds. Craf had flown off early, but the other one still had its wing bandaged, and was sitting on Edana’s saddle pommel croaking quietly to Edana. After a few days of silence it had warmed to the girl, and now seemed to be in constant conversation with her. The other thing that drew the attention of their new companions was Gar. At first he had gone unnoticed, other than his unusual sword drawing a few glances. That had all changed the next morning when he had put Corban through his forms. He’d drawn a crowd then, sure enough. Gar was a mystery, his technique and skill with the blade earning him an instant respect amongst this band of warriors. They have not heard the half of it, though. All that he said about the God-War, and Corban. Camlin had not known what to think at that revelation and had chosen not to dwell on it. Something like that, if it was the truth, well, there’d be no keeping it hidden. If Gar was a mad man – and really that was the only other option – let him keep his hallucinations and fantasies. As long as it meant that he and Camlin fought on the same side, all was well and good. Corban had earned himself not a little respect after his training, as well; Camlin had even caught Coralen watching him with something like admiration in her eye. Not that she hadn’t had her own fair share of attention from others in Camlin’s company, Dath and Farrell especially. Each in turn had tried to impress her in his own clumsy way, though Farrell had been most persistent. He’d eventually come away with his ears glowing, though. The girl’s tongue was as sharp as the knife she’d used to cut that giant’s throat.
Camlin sniffed, catching the smell of decay seeping from the packages Corban and his friends were carrying – the skins they had carved from the dead wolven in the glade. Corban had been determined to take them, though he had been vague about the reasons. Brina rode a horse close by. She sat slumped in the saddle, like a sail with no wind in it. The life had seemed to have gone out of her with the death of old Heb. I liked the old codger, shame he’s gone. The death of someone close always did things to a person – grief, regret, anger, all left their mark. A lesson he’d learned all too well back in his youth, when he’d watched his mam and brother butchered by raiders. With an effort he pushed the memories away.
He heard a sound behind, faint, blending with the sigh of the wind in the grass. He turned and looked back along the giants’ road, seeing a dark smudge in the distance. Dath hovered with him. It was a horse and wain, gradually gaining on them; something walked alongside it – a hound?
‘Dath, run ahead and let them know we’ve got company.’
Dath sprinted along the column, returning soon with Marrock and Rath behind him. They studied the wain, which was clearer now, seemingly driven by a solitary man. It was close to highsun when the wain caught up with them and Rath called a halt, some of the riders taking their horses down a steep embankment to a stream.
The wain’s driver slowed, a wiry man with sharp eyes who was obviously wary of such a body of grim-looking warriors filling the road. His wain was piled high, a patchwork of skins tied over whatever was underneath. Not that long ago it would have been a tempting sight to Camlin and the type of men he used to mix with.
Camlin looked closer and realized he recognized this man – a trader who had passed through the Darkwood more than once. He was one of those that had come to an arrangement with Braith and paid a toll rather than be robbed and left for dead.
One of the practical ones.
The man saw something on the road that made him yank on his reins: the wolven, Camlin realized. His hound was crouching low, hackles raised. Then Corban was approaching the wain.
‘Ventos, is that you?’
The trader frowned, then jumped from his seat, smiling. He snapped a command at his hound and met Corban in the road. They clasped wrists and spoke to each other like old friends, any tension that there had been draining from the air.
Corban introduced the man to them as Ventos, a trader whom he knew. Camlin kept his head down; for some reason he did not want the man to see him.
He probably won’t recognize me, but just in case . . .
Camlin did not even quite understand why that would bother him, but it did. Maybe I want no association with my past. I am a different man, now.