Horses appeared out of the gloom as she approached their makeshift camp. She handed over the man – a blacksmith by the look of his scarred and pitted features – she had found creeping through the undergrowth to Baird. Without a word, she slipped back into the woodland, heading for the slopes that led down to the giants’ road. That would be where deserters or raiders would appear, climbing up from the camps below.
She moved silently through the woodland, gliding from tree to tree, using the shadows, a lifetime’s worth of training just habit now, an automatic response bypassing conscious thought, like fighting. Without realizing, she found Conall hovering in her mind’s eye, the expression on his face a mixture of insolence and humour, daring the world to throw all it could at him. She felt a physical pain at the thought of him, a knife twisting in her gut. Con, betraying Halion. One thing she knew about Halion: he would do the right thing, or at least what he considered to be the right thing, no matter how hard it was to see it through. And he was a peacemaker. He would not have driven any dispute with Conall. No matter how she looked at it, she came back to the same conclusion. Corban had told her the truth.
And I am grateful for that. He had treated her like an equal, not a bairn, which was what Halion had done. She knew now that Halion had kept the truth from her out of an effort to spare her pain and to save Conall’s name, his reputation, but she’d rather have the truth, no matter how unpleasant.
Corban. Regarding her with his dark, serious eyes. Waiting for a kiss. Why did I ask him that? What an idiot I am. She liked him, she was coming to realize. He was certainly good to have around in a scrap, him and his wolven and Gar. Between them they could put the fear of Asroth into most that faced them, and she respected that. But it was more than that. She liked the way he spoke to her. Open, genuine, nothing hidden.
Something caught her eye and she paused, squatting. She was close to the edge of the woodland now, where the slope suddenly dropped down to the camps far below.
Spoor, scattered about, as if it had been kicked to hide it. From a big animal, not big enough for a wolven, but not deer or anything else she would expect to see up here. She lifted it and broke some off, sniffing.
Hounds. No question. And more than one. But what are hounds doing up here, and where are they now? It was drying, but still moist at its centre. Half a day old, no more.
There was a rustling to her left. She dropped the spoor and moved closer to a tree, merging with its shadow.
A figure appeared, climbing the slope, breathing heavily. He staggered upright, looking about. A young man, fair haired, a warrior.
She stepped out of the shadows.
He stumbled back a pace, reaching for his sword hilt, then paused.
‘You’re only a girl,’ he said.
Your first and last mistake. Do, don’t think.
She exploded forwards, swatting a hand away, one hand grabbing his collar, the other pressing her knife to his gut.
‘I am,’ she said, ‘and if you don’t walk where I tell you, I’ll slit you from belly to throat.’
He licked his lips. ‘Think I’ll choose the walking.’
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
CORBAN
Corban sipped from a skin of ale, smiling at Dath and Farrell as they traded stories from the raid of the night before.
‘I saw you,’ Dath said to Farrell. ‘You slipped as you ran up the slope, flat on your face. Have you ever seen a clumsy wolven?’
‘It was steep, and the ground was loose,’ Farrell said, slurring his words a little. He’d had a lot of ale. He was smiling, though – they all were, celebrations sweeping their camp.
‘Good job Coralen didn’t see you slip. Don’t think she likes the clumsy type.’ Dath grinned.
‘She called me a bear,’ Farrell said, frowning.
Dath and Corban laughed.
‘Do you think she likes bears? I’m hoping she does.’
Their tents were set on the edge of the camp, close to the paddocks. Corban heard the creak of harness, saw the outlines of a few horsemen now. A group of figures followed them closely on foot, one falling and being dragged for a few paces before the riders stopped.
Prisoners, tied to the horses, Corban realized. As the rider turned to look at the fallen man the campfire highlighted her face. It was Coralen.
She should be celebrating with the rest of us.
‘Look, there’s your future wife,’ Dath said to Farrell.
‘I’m going to ask her if she likes bears,’ Farrell said, concentrating as he stood, but still managing to look unsteady.
‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ Corban asked him as they walked towards Coralen.
‘Coralen,’ Farrell called out.
‘Too late,’ said Dath.
‘You should join us, for a drink. To celebrate,’ Farrell said, looking up at Coralen in her saddle.
Other riders were there. Corban recognized Baird and nodded a greeting at the warrior.
‘There’s still a war going on and, besides, you fall over after a few drinks,’ Coralen said.
Farrell blinked at that. It was obviously not the answer he’d been expecting.
‘Do you like bears?’ he said instead.
‘What?’
‘Bears. Big furry animals. Do you like them?’
‘What’s going on here?’ Coralen said, looking at Dath and Corban. Her eyes fixed back on Farrell. ‘Are you dim-witted? Or are you mocking me?’