‘Then lead on.’
They spent a night on the mountain; Veradis shivered through most of it. It was Hunter’s Moon, the seasons passing from autumn to winter, but back in Tenebral the chill would be easily banished by a good cloak. Not here. Veradis woke with frost in his beard and a dusting of snow over the ground. Back at the main campsite it had been cold, the morning training taking place in frost-stiffened grass, but nothing like this.
Uthas grinned at him as they shared strips of salted meat and washed it down with cold water.
‘This is warm,’ Uthas said. ‘Never come north to Murias. On a cold day your urine will be frozen before it hits the ground.’ His companions chuckled at that, but Veradis didn’t find it funny.
‘We will enter Domhain today,’ Uthas said. ‘We may have to stop before we reach the site you wish to see. Eremon will have scouts up here.’
‘We will see,’ Veradis said.
They walked for half a day, following a winding path little more than a fox’s trail. They crested a ridge, all of them hurrying across its peak so as to give no easily seen silhouette, and then stopped a little way down the other side. Hills carpeted in thick pine rolled into the distance, the hint of green land beyond them.
Domhain.
They set off along a quickly widening trail, the ground sloping ever downwards now. Veradis saw a humped mound on the path, saw it was a dead wolven, again its carcass mostly stripped. They passed into light woodland, the ground thick with pine needles, and soon came to a clearing. It was full of bodies. Veradis whispered an order and Rhin’s scouts moved through the glade and then faded into the surrounding trees.
The female giant gave out a fractured wail and crouched by a corpse – a giant.
Veradis tried to make sense of it – wolven and giants ranked highest amongst the dead this time, and this time there was a cairn, so the victors had lingered to pay respect to their fallen. The wolven corpses drew his eye, though. Something about them. It took Veradis a few moments to realize what was different.
They’ve been skinned. Though I’m not surprised, a wolven pelt would be a handy thing in this cold.
‘Tell me again what you saw, Uthas,’ Veradis said.
‘A company burst upon us – they were a mixed company – warriors, women, carrying injured.’
Those that had survived the previous battle, Veradis thought.
‘And there were wolven with them?’
‘Aye. One to begin with. Then others came soon after. Four, five, I am not sure.’
‘The wolven fought each other,’ the giant with the axe said. Salach.
‘That is true,’ Uthas said. ‘I remember now. A black one fought a white one. Over there.’
They all moved to where Uthas pointed. Close by were the remains of a wolven, little flesh left on the bones, the skull picked clean. The ground was littered with torn fragments of skin, sinew. No fur.
‘A white wolven, you say?’
‘Aye.’
That must have been Corban’s wolven. It was them, then, fled all this way from Ardan. So Edana was here as well. And Rauca’s killer, most likely: Gar.
And Corban. The Black Sun. Cywen’s brother. His thoughts turned to her. She had proved pleasant company, once she had left Ardan and stopped trying to murder people. Over the last part of their march through Cambren he had found himself seeking her out, enjoying the conversations they had. She made him laugh, even if her tongue was often as sharp as the knives she liked to use. He liked her.
He shook his head. Concentrate on what’s in front of you.
‘Let’s have a look inside that cairn.’
There were two corpses inside, a warrior, sword placed across his chest, and an old man, white hair whipping across the stones. His body looked deflated, creased, like a sail with no wind in it.
‘One’s Anwarth, Farrell’s da,’ Rafe said, pointing to the warrior. ‘Word was he was a coward.’
‘He died fighting, not running away,’ Veradis said, noting the puncture wounds in the warrior’s torso.
‘The other one’s old Heb,’ Rafe looked sad. ‘He told a good story.’
‘Well his story’s over,’ said Veradis. ‘Cover him up.’
Footsteps thumped on pine needles and Rhin’s scouts burst into the glade.