‘We’d best leave the track, now,’ Drem said beside Sig. After hearing the news from Ulf’s wife they had ridden hard from Drem’s hold, using a well-worn path that hugged the fringes of the northern woodland. To their right was the Starstone Lake, dark and still, and in the distance Sig saw the outline of a stockade wall, buildings rearing within. A pier jutted into the lake with boats moored along it.
Sig looked up at the sun, veiled behind fraying louds, saw it was a little past highsun. She grunted an agreement with Drem and barked a command, the four of them riding into the eaves of the wood, Hammer ploughing a way through the snow that as good as made a new track, the others falling in behind. Every now and then Sig saw the grey streak of Fen shadowing them.
After a while the woodland grew too close and dense and they dismounted, Drem taking the lead, as he told them he knew the ground a little, which was a lot more than them.
‘Five years my da has taught me to track, hunt and trap in this northern Wild,’ he said, ‘and for a good while before that further south. If I can’t do a job, or someone can do it better than me, I’ll tell you.’ He looked at Keld. ‘He’s as much a hunter as his wolven-hound, and far better at it than me, but I know this ground. Know where I’m leading you.’
Sig glanced at Keld, always her first port of call, and he nodded.
‘He knows what he’s doing,’ Keld said. ‘I’m happy to follow him.’ He’d told Sig of the number of traps and work he’d found around Drem’s hold, his preparation for the coming of the Kadoshim’s acolytes. Keld had laughed, he’d been so impressed.
‘He dug an elk pit. In the heart of winter, and then sank a dozen spears into it. And that wasn’t all. A nail trap, a bear trap, a mini-stampede, and he blew the barn up. On purpose.’
Sig liked what she saw in Drem. There seemed to be no falsity to him, no bluster or hidden ways. He spoke the truth as he saw it and displayed very little bravado.
Which is good, as I have enough of that to put up with in Cullen. Though he’s a good lad, too, just trying to live up to his heritage. One day soon he’ll realize it’s more about what he does than what he says. I think he and Drem could work well together.
Sig was already beginning to form plans on how her small crew would be changing once they got back to Dun Seren.
Best not get ahead of myself. If Drem’s right, there are Kadoshim and a host of enemies out there. Getting back to Dun Seren alive is going to be task enough.
There was a flapping above and behind. Rab appeared, blending with the snow-glow.
‘Done it,’ he squawked, alighting on Cullen’s shoulder. The young warrior scratched his neck.
Sig had been loath to walk into such a dangerous situation, knew the perils around them and feared that if things went sour Byrne would never hear of the Kadoshim and their dark goings-on in the north, so she had inked a letter on a scroll of parchment at Drem’s hold. She could not spare Rab to fly the parchment all the way back to Dun Seren, as she needed his eyes here, but Drem had told her of a woman at Kergard whom he trusted, whom he believed would make sure the scroll reached Dun Seren. It was not as reliable an option as Sig would have liked, but assessing the situation, she could think of no other way to get word to Byrne.
‘You’re sure you gave the parchment to the right woman?’ Sig asked.
‘Hildith, Hildith,’ Rab squawked.
‘What did she look like?’ Drem asked.
‘Stern. Big men with her. Smelled of mead.’
‘That’s her,’ said Drem.
‘Good enough.’ Sig nodded. ‘Well done, Rab.’
Rab bobbed his head and puffed his feathers out.
Welcome,’ he croaked.
‘Now, would you fly ahead and have a look at this mine for us?’ Sig asked.
‘Course,’ Rab squawked and then he was flapping away.
Drem led them on.
‘How did my mam die?’ a voice said. Sig looked down to see Drem walking beside her, leading his horse by its reins. Hammer was following at her own pace, treading her own path at the edge of Sig’s vision.
‘She was slain by a Kadoshim, at the Battle of Varan’s Fall,’ Sig said, a rush of memory flooding her mind. Of trees and Kadoshim and blood.
‘I know that,’ Drem said. ‘I have the Kadoshim’s tooth.’ He drew his sword and showed Sig the hilt of his father’s blade.
‘I remember,’ Sig said. ‘I helped your father hunt the beast. Moloch was its name. It was the Kadoshim that struck your mam down. Olin made it scream when finally we brought it to bay. It was not a quick death.’
Drem nodded, looked as if he was storing that piece of knowledge deep inside.
‘Varan’s Fall?’ Drem said. ‘My da said it was an ambush.’
‘Aye. In the north of Forn Forest. We were after the Kadoshim’s captain, second only to Asroth. His name is Gulla. But we were over-confident, did not scout ahead properly. Dead Kadoshim were heaped around your mam in piles that day. She and your da fought back to back, but were cut off from the rest of us for a while. Many of our sword-kin fell that day. Gunil,’ she whispered, then fell silent, remembering the others who had been cut off and slain. Brave, noble Varan. And his brother . . .
Gunil. How I miss you. A memory of his smile filled her mind, the way it would start in his eyes.
‘Gunil?’ Drem said.
His ears are good.
‘A giant,’ Sig said. ‘A friend.’
More than a friend.
‘You were close?’
‘Aye,’ Sig sighed.
I have never spoken of Gunil to anyone before. There is something about this lad, a goodness in him.
‘Death and heartache are all about,’ Drem said quietly. He looked up at Sig. ‘So, Gulla was responsible for my mam’s death, then. He did not strike the blow, but he led the attack.’
‘Aye, you could say that.’ Sig nodded.
‘And responsible for your Gunil’s death, too.’
Sig regarded him a long moment.
‘Aye,’ she growled.
Rab flapped and threaded through a gap in the canopy above.
‘It’s close,’ the crow squawked. ‘Buildings, torches burning.’
‘There it is,’ Drem said, though the place hardly needed pointing out.
They were standing to the north of the mine, behind a cluster of boulders and hawthorn, Drem having led them in a wide circle around the encampment, all of them of the opinion that any watch would be focused more to the west and the road to Kergard. It was sunset, the sky above a dull orange, shifting towards pinks and purples.
‘Looks quiet,’ Cullen observed.
‘Aye, it does,’ Keld agreed. ‘Could be an ambush.’
‘I hope it’s an ambush,’ Cullen said, his fingertips brushing his sword hilt.
Sig sighed.
‘Is he always like this?’ Drem asked.
‘Like what?’ Cullen frowned.
‘So keen for bloodshed.’
‘Yes,’ Sig and Keld said together.
Rab flapped down and landed on a hawthorn branch.
‘Only a few on walls. Something happening inside. A meeting. Bad smell.’