The bald man appeared again, stepping into Drem’s view, this time with a spear in his fists, the tip levelled at Olin’s chest. Drem heard the sound of steel scraping free of sheaths, the other three pulling blades. Something changed in Olin’s eyes and he shifted his feet, drew the short axe at his belt with his right hand, a knife with his left.
Maybe the bald man saw the same change in Olin’s eyes that Drem saw, because he hesitated a moment; only the sound of the wind, the groaning of men with broken bones, the scraping of dirt as Drem managed to drag himself to one knee.
Then voices were shouting, footsteps drumming, and Drem saw Calder the smith appear, a huge man, bare-armed and bare-chested apart from a thick leather apron, a hammer in his hand. Hildith and her two burly guards were with him. Asger and other traders from the market appeared from the other direction, coming to stand behind Olin.
The bald man stood there a moment, then he was shrugging, stepped back and lowered his spear. He helped one of his comrades stand, the others still on their feet doing the same, moving away, carrying those who couldn’t do it themselves.
‘Do they need throwing into Kergard’s gaol?’ Calder asked Olin, a scowl on his face.
‘No.’ Olin shook his head, slipped his knife and axe back into their homes at his belt and hurried over to Drem.
‘Slowly,’ Olin said as he knelt beside him, face all twisted with worry. He helped him stand, checking limbs for broken bones, holding a finger before Drem’s eyes, ordering him to track them. Asking him questions, like what moon it was.
‘What about kind and polite words fixing a disagreement?’ Drem wheezed at Olin, his mouth thick with the copper tang of blood, his split nose throbbing, pulsing with his heartbeat.
‘There’s a time for that,’ Olin said. ‘But sometimes, son, the only answer is blood and steel.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
SIG
Sig unwound the bandage from Hammer’s paw, the bear rumbling dolefully.
‘That’s what you get for standing on a Kadoshim,’ Sig said.
The stab wounds were healing, no pus or scent of rot, for which Sig was relieved. Gently she washed them out, then reached for a fresh poultice of honey, yarrow and comfrey, packing it tight into the many red punctures and finally binding it back up with a fresh bandage of clean linen. She stood and patted the huge bear’s neck. Hammer’s muzzle sniffed Sig’s face, a blast of air sending her blonde braid flapping.
‘You’re doing fine, my faithful friend,’ Sig murmured. ‘We’re not leaving for a few days yet, not until you’re ready for it, so just rest easy, and eat.’
Hammer licked Sig’s cheek, leaving a trail of saliva.
‘Lick this brot instead, it’ll taste nicer than me,’ Sig said, pouring a thick, viscous liquid into a bucket, more like porridge than anything else. It was the giants’ staple travelling food, incredibly nourishing and possessing healing agents as well. Hammer sniffed it and began to lick it up with relish.
Sig slapped the bear’s muscled shoulder and left the converted stable block. Hammer was now its sole resident, as the horses of Uthandun had made it clear they were not comfortable sharing their stables with a giant bear.
The courtyard of Uthandun was awash with activity, warriors in the grey and green cloaks of Ardain everywhere, the honour guard of Queen Nara newly arrived from Dun Vaner to the north-west. Word of the Kadoshim coven had spread quickly and there was a sense of menace and tension in the air.
Warriors parted for Sig as she strode across the courtyard, their faces a mixture of unease and admiration. Giants were rare in Ardain, even with the close relationship between Ardain’s Queen Nara and Dun Seren’s Order of the Bright Star, but word of Sig’s Kadoshim-slaying had circulated quickly, and that was a feat respected by all.
Though I didn’t actually kill the beast, Sig thought as she made her way up a stairwell to the walls above Uthandun’s southern gate. A cold wind blew from the north, reminding her of winter’s approach.
Hammer should get the credit for that deed.
Cullen was there, waiting for her, his wounded arm in a sling, but apart from that looking for all the world like the happiest man alive.
‘How is it?’ Sig grunted, jutting her chin at his wounded arm.
‘That, oh, it’s fine. Just a scratch, hardly know it’s there.’
‘The spear pierced your arm and came out the other side,’ Sig said. ‘Even by my judgement, that’s no scratch.’
Cullen shrugged. ‘A tickle, nothing more.’
‘Make a fist,’ Sig said.
Cullen’s eyes pinched as the fingers on his left hand twitched and slowly formed a loose fist. A bead of sweat dripped from his nose.
‘Huh,’ grunted Sig. ‘You’ll not be holding much in that hand for a while. Next time, look before you leap.’
Cullen blinked at that. ‘I took a spear meant for you,’ he said, somewhere between angry and upset.
‘What, you thought I needed saving?’ Sig growled. ‘I would have dealt with the spear, without losing the use of an arm. And you fouled my net throw, which would have ended the battle then and there.’
Cullen withstood Sig’s gaze a moment, then looked away.
‘I—’
‘No,’ Sig snapped. ‘You acted recklessly. Truth and Courage does not mean hurling yourself in front of every thrown spear.’
Cullen was silent.
Sig stared at him, knew that she had hurt his pride and felt a glimmer of sympathy for him.
He is young and reckless. I can remember that feeling. But I would rather have him ride back to Dun Seren beside me with his pride injured, than be carrying his corpse tied to a horse.
‘Give your arm time; rest it properly and it won’t be long before you’re back to risking your neck,’ she said.
Cullen grinned. ‘Can’t wait,’ he said.
Sig rolled her eyes.
‘You didn’t come away bloodless, either,’ Cullen said, looking at the lattice of cuts upon Sig, on her face, forearms, legs. She felt them as she moved, scabs pulling, tight skin itching. A long gash cut across her new tattoo of vines and thorns, added to the one already curling up one arm and down the other, a tale of the lives she’d taken.
‘Aye, but mine are just scratches.’
‘Well, it was a good fight, so it was,’ Cullen declared, ‘and no denying.’
Tell that to Elgin’s dead sword-brothers. Twelve men beneath a pile of stones, now nothing more than cold sacks of meat. He’s like a young pup, feeling invincible and too eager to please.
She didn’t say anything, though. Cullen had fought well, with courage and skill, and acted to save her life without a thought for his own.
‘The Kadoshim is dead, its followers slain,’ Sig said by way of agreement.
‘We for home, now?’ Cullen asked.
‘Hammer needs another day or two.’ Sig shrugged. ‘Should give Keld the time he needs to get back to us.’
‘Thought he’d be back by now. He ever been gone this long before?’ Cullen asked.
Sig didn’t answer, just looked out over the meadow that rolled away from Uthandun’s walls towards a bridge that arched across the river Afren, which flowed slow and sluggish to the sea. On the far banks of the river a wall of trees grew, the fringe of the Darkwood, quickly becoming a sea of green and gold and russet that filled the southern horizon.