Brasti, walking towards us, heard. He shook his head. Kneeling on the ground, he said, ‘There are no signs of struggle, or tracks to indicate anything unusual.’ He looked up at me. ‘It looks as if they simply walked away.’
‘Look here,’ Morn called out. He stuck his head out of a cottage door and gestured for us to join him.
Inside, it was just as you’d expect: three small rooms, one with beds along each of the four walls. The main room had a wood-burning stove. The clothing chests were empty.
‘There’s nothing here,’ Brasti said, coming up behind me.
‘That’s the point,’ I said. ‘They haven’t just left, they’ve moved.’
‘Perhaps the mines ran out?’ Kest asked.
‘Most of these people would have been born here,’ Morn explained, ‘like their parents and their parents’ parents – whole generations never travel more than five miles from their homes. They don’t just pick up and leave . . .’
‘Let’s search for any signs that might indicate a struggle – or even some idea of which direction they went,’ I suggested, and chose a narrow alley that ran between two rows of cottages. I was running a hundred scenarios in my mind, but none of them made any sense. In the village of Phan, in Pulnam, the villagers hid out in broken-down old cabins in the hills when raiders came from the Eastern Desert – could something like that have happened here? But this was no rushed departure, and there were no signs of panic.
I heard the whisper of a sword leaving its sheath behind me and didn’t hesitate. I knew if it had been one of the others, they’d have announced themselves first. My rapier flew from its scabbard as I spun around, bringing up the true edge to strike where I guessed my opponent’s weapon-hand would be – barely managing to stop the momentum of my blade before it hit the boy standing behind me holding a child’s wooden sword. My entire arm shook from the effort of holding my rapier still as it lightly kissed the boy’s neck.
He was small, perhaps seven years old, with skin a little darker than the curls of his light blond hair. He looked at me, his own pretend weapon held out front, eyes wide, and stayed very still. A tiny trickle of blood slid down the side of his neck where my rapier had made the tiniest of cuts.
‘Don’t move,’ I said, and slowly took my blade away. Fool, I cursed myself. Another half-inch and you’d have killed a child.
I sheathed my rapier and knelt down so I wasn’t looming over the boy. ‘You’re not in any danger,’ I said. ‘My name’s Falcio. Can you tell me your name?’
‘Tam,’ he said, and threw his wooden sword at my face before turning tail and pounding down the alley.
I followed as fast as I could, but slipped on the dirt as I swerved onto the wider street. By the time I recovered my balance, the boy was gone. Kest came running towards me from the left and shouted, ‘He went down to the other end of the village—’
We checked at every junction to see if he’d turned, but saw no sign of him. Brasti and Morn, drawn by the sounds of our chase, soon joined us.
‘A boy,’ I panted, ‘maybe six or seven—’
‘A boy? What’s a boy doing here on his own?’ Brasti examined the tracks in the dirt. ‘I can find him.’
Tam’s footprints wound their way around the village until they finally led into one of the last cottages on the lane; we’d not yet got as far as checking that end.
The door was open and I called into the shadows, ‘We’re not here to hurt you.’
‘Then walk away,’ said a voice behind us, and I turned and saw a woman in hunter’s greens standing on the opposite side of the street. She had a longbow in hand and an arrow trained on me. The boy had led us here on purpose, I realised belatedly – stupidly – giving her the opportunity to come up behind us. The routine struck me as practised, and I wondered how many times they’d done it before.
Of the three of us, only Morn had his weapon out, but even his six-foot-long glaive wasn’t long enough to reach the woman before she fired. Brasti had his own bow in his left hand; his right was halfway to the quiver on his back.
‘If your bowman moves another inch, I fire,’ the woman said. ‘Better for you if you turn and leave.’
‘What happened here?’ I asked. ‘Where did everyone go?’
‘Away – same as you’ll do if you don’t want an arrow sprouting out of your chest.’
‘Just put the bow down and we can talk. I swear to you we won’t move from this spot.’
‘Who are you, that you parade about like bandits coming to steal what isn’t yours and then act as though I should believe for a second that you won’t have your way with me and the boy the first chance you get?’ she asked.
‘My name is Falcio val Mond,’ I replied. ‘I’m—’
‘You’re him,’ she breathed, almost as if I were some Saint come to her village. ‘The one they talk about – the First Cantor of the Greatcoats.’
I started to nod in agreement as her left eye closed and her mouth tightened, only slightly. She let loose the arrow and I watched as it slammed into my chest.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Hunters
It’s at times like these that I find myself conflicted about my relationship with the Tailor. On the one hand, she’s a conniving monster who manipulates everyone around her to achieve her own ends, which are always just slightly more vile than I can actually live with. On the other hand, that woman really knows how to make a good coat.
A loud crack filled the air as the arrow struck the front of my greatcoat, shattering one of the bone plates protecting my chest – but it stopped the steel head from driving straight into my heart. It still hurt like seven hells.
Before the scream had even left my mouth my attacker had another arrow ready – but so did Brasti.
‘Unlike Falcio, I can spot your muscles tightening just before you fire,’ he said. ‘You won’t get another shot out.’
The woman bit her lip, uncertainty and fear playing across her face.
‘Don’t,’ Brasti said wearily. ‘Just don’t.’
Whatever sign he was looking for, he must have seen, because I caught the slight motion too – just as he fired. ‘No!’ I shouted, far too late to do any good. The woman fell backwards, hit her head against a stone wall and slipped down to the ground. ‘Brasti, damn you—’
From behind us I heard the boy scream as he ran out from his hiding place to where the woman was lying.
‘She was going to fire again,’ Brasti said. ‘I heard the plate break in your coat, and she did too – and she’s good enough to hit the same spot twice. Besides, I didn’t kill her.’
The boy was standing in front of the woman, his fists in the air as if he would fight us all.
‘I’m . . . all right, Tam,’ the woman said. ‘Just hit my head.’ She stood up and I could see now that Brasti’s arrow had carefully grazed her right arm, just enough to leave a nasty cut. ‘Damn you,’ she said, glaring at Brasti. ‘It’ll be days before I can hunt again.’
‘Well, maybe you should have thought of that before—’