Breta laid Brann beside a small fire set in a small depression cut into the ground to minimise its glow. It had been allowed to burn low – the night was warm enough as it was, and, cooking time over, it served only to provide what little light was safe enough for them to allow. Gerens squatted silently beside him, his dark eyes burning with as little hint as ever of the thoughts behind them, but deep concern born in hope filling the way he leant forward. Cannick brought a water skin and a clean rag, and started washing around the two wounds and the lump on the back of Brann’s head. Satisfied that the bump was no more than that, he turned to the wounds, starting to clean them with short efficient movements. Brann sucked in a sharp breath through gritted teeth as the cloth touched the open wounds, and once more as water was again poured over them. His head grew light, but he forced his breathing to be deep and slow and, the more Cannick’s work was repeated, the more the feeling became bearable and more sensation than pain. Similar, he mused, to the cold plunge pools in Sagia – what seemed an overwhelming shock, at first, soon dissipated against all your expectations to a bearable level. Similar, but a bit more painful in this case. Still, the aftermath of every gladiatorial contest in the Empire’s capital had involved work of some sort to a variety of wounds, so he fell into the familiar process of concentrating on his breathing. The slice along his ribcage was attended to first, and the pricks when the needle and thread pulled together the deep cut on his arm brought him relief, as he knew the ordeal was close to an end.

Cannick grunted, peering at his handiwork. ‘It’ll do. Now get in the river and wash the rest of you before I pass out from the smell.’

Brann smiled his thanks. There was something he had to do first, however.

The horses were restless as he approached, the scent of death that still encased him making them shift nervously against the ropes tethering them but the noise helping him to find them in the darkness. His own horse whickered as he stopped in front of it, eyes widening and nostrils flaring. He stroked its face just as it liked, and spoke softly until it calmed. Moving to the side, he felt in the darkness behind the saddle to feel the familiar heavy cloth of a cloak. His fingers traced the line of a repair, feeling the marks of his mother’s careful stitches.

A throat clearing behind him made him jump. He turned, and then relaxed when he saw Marlo, receiving an apologetic smile in return.

‘You’ve learnt to move quietly!’

Marlo shrugged. ‘It was something I always could do, but Sophaya has been helping me improve, just as you help me with my weapons.’

‘Really? I never noticed.’ He saw Marlo’s look, and raised his eyes to the sky at his own slowness of thought. ‘Of course. That is the point of her speciality.’ Brann nodded, considering. ‘It is good. It helps to be as skilled as you can at as many things as you can. Especially the things that help you to stay alive.’ He ducked to one side and came up to flick the back of a hand at the side of Marlo’s head. The boy fended it off with a flick of his wrist and they both laughed. ‘I hope she is a more patient teacher than I am. And there are at least three others who have trained for years longer than I have.’

‘But you are the best at finding a way to win.’ Marlo grinned.

‘Mongoose moves more similarly to you. She would understand what works for you.’

‘I would not like to upset Hakon. He still has ambitions.’

Brann’s laugh burst from him. ‘You mean he still doesn’t know?’ Marlo shook his head, his eyes twinkling in the moonlight. ‘We really should tell him, but it’s too much fun.’ He laughed again, softly, as his mind pictured an image. ‘Anyway, Gerens is fine with you having private time with Sophaya?’

‘Of course. You know Gerens. Everything is taken as it is.’

‘True. But Breta – she is expert with weapons I have never even seen.’

‘I am quite happy with both of my tutors, thank you. Each is equally adept.’

‘Ever the diplomat, trying to keep us all happy.’

‘Why not? It is only fair, as you all make me happy by allowing me to travel with you.’

Brann gripped the boy’s shoulder. ‘Marlo, never be mistaken. You are as much a part of this group as any of us.’ The silence stretched, almost awkward. Brann turned to the horses. ‘Saddled?’

‘We kept them ready and the essentials already on them, in case we needed to leave in a hurry after we found you.’

Brann’s hand strayed to the bundle behind his saddle, and Marlo smiled. ‘Your father’s cloak is most definitely one of the essentials.’

Brann smiled. ‘Thank you.’ He made to start unbuckling the saddle. ‘Perhaps we can now make the horses more comfortable for the night.’

‘Indeed, but I am afraid that you must have become accustomed to the way you… well… not to put too fine a point on it… stink. It is not good for the horses. Even your own is finding it hard to stay calm.’

Brann paused. It was true. ‘I should wash.’

‘You should wash. I will see to the horses.’

It was only a short walk to the river, a small effort little more than a brook. Kneeling waist deep in the water, Brann savoured the refreshing cold, a welcome contrast to the hot humid air that was oppressive even close to the middle of the night. There was a splash behind him and he whirled, wary of the day’s danger not yet being finished. But it was only Breta he saw, striding through the water as if it were a puddle. He turned his back as quickly as he had first turned, clutching both hands to conceal his groin.

The girl laughed. ‘Fear not, little gnat. It is your arse that my eyes have always preferred to feast upon.’ A massive hand slapped the relevant part of him to emphasise the point. It also served to immerse him, face first, in the water, before the same hand caught his arm – thankfully his uninjured right one – and hauled him back upright. ‘That’s you rinsed. Let’s get you washed. You do the front and I will tend to the side you cannot reach, which also of course contains this firm little arse.’

Brann couldn’t help but laugh. ‘You really are just like a female Hakon, aren’t you?’

An even harder slap answered that, but this time with the other hand holding him in place. ‘He is just like a male me. A pale imitation. Ask the men of the last town we visited.’

Brann grinned his amusement. ‘Only you and he would use a town in the nightmare grip of a siege as an opportunity to bed as many locals as possible.’

‘He did try hard to follow my example with due enthusiasm, I’ll grant him that. It is always good to spread good feelings where otherwise despair would rule.’

‘You have a good heart.’

‘It was not the heart I was seeking,’ she guffawed, slapping him a third time. Brann resolved to end the conversation while he could still walk, and concentrated on washing himself while Breta did likewise on his back.

As soon as he had dried himself, and before he could fully dress, Cannick inspected his wounds and wrapped them in clean cloth. ‘This should keep them clean. I’ll check them each morning and night, but as long as the cleaning has kept infection at bay, they should heal without restricting your shield arm.’

Brann grasped the older man’s arm as a surge of emotion swept through him. ‘Thank you, Cannick. I don’t know what I’d do without you. What any of us would do.’

The broad shoulders shrugged. ‘One day you will have to. Learn enough from my infinite wisdom until then.’ He winked, passed Brann his clean tunic and carried his pack back to the rest of his belongings.

Tended and washed, Brann felt a weariness sweep over him. The others were pottering about with minor tasks, their attention on the minutiae of camp life. He moved to where his pack lay on the edge of the fire’s light, and spread his blanket on the ground as far from the heat of the embers as possible. The night was still warm, but the glow of light was also welcome. He took off his boots, curled up and closed his eyes.

Brann woke slowly but realised quickly that he would not find sleep again easily. His mind filled with thoughts, one racing on to find another waiting, and he tossed from one side to another before deciding a change of scene might help.

He rose and moved to the river bank, dangling his feet in the welcome cool of the water. The eddies swirling before him were lit by the full moon, and his mind whirled in tandem. Images of the pit of corpses merged into the degenerate fighting pits below Sagia where Loku had sent him to die and where the horror had forced him from his own mind to let his body survive. Dead bodies beneath his feet faded into dying bodies at his feet. And all the time, blood ran down his face, smeared his body, dripped from his hands.

Gerens sat beside him, his arrival causing Brann to jerk in surprise. ‘Have you all been practising creeping up on people?’

The other boy’s expression was as implacable as ever. ‘I don’t need to practise that.’

Brann’s irritation had already dissolved. He smiled softly. ‘I’m certain you don’t.’ He sighed. ‘Every time I go to do something since I got to the camp, someone seems to appear beside me.’

‘You wonder why?’ The tone was matter-of-fact, not challenging. ‘You were not in a good state when we found you.’

‘I was in a better state than when Grakk pulled me from the pits of the City Below after Loku had sent me down there to die.’

‘Better is not necessarily good, chief.’

‘I did learn a lot in those pits, right enough. Not so much in the pit of corpses this time.’

‘I suppose you learnt this time that you weren’t a corpse, which is a fairly good discovery to make.’

Brann almost smiled. ‘I was lost to myself in the City Below, Gerens. I will never be able to repay you all for what you did to bring me back.’

He sensed more than saw Gerens’s shrug. ‘You did what you had to do to survive. We did what we had to do to help you live.’

Brann paused to push aside the reluctance to say the next words. ‘There was a change in me, left by the pits. You know that, don’t you? There is a killer inside me.’

Gerens snorted. ‘There is a killer inside us all for when we need it. Some indulge it, some use it. The difference in you, chief, is that you are very good at it.’

‘And that is actually a good thing?’

‘In the world we live; on the road we travel?’ Gerens jerked and there was the sound of a soft plop as a small stone was cast into the water. ‘Without doubt.’

They sat in silence for a while. That Gerens was a more familiar companion than Marlo was reflected in the fact that quiet lay more easily over this pair.

Silence, until Gerens cleared his throat. ‘Warm weather.’ Brann looked at him. ‘Heavy air, hard to breathe sometimes, don’t you think?’

Brann nodded, looking back at the water. ‘It is. Need a storm to clear the air. Rain would help it.’

‘It would. Just enough to clear it. It has been pleasant to be free of quite as much rain as we have in our land.’

‘Indeed. These lands do have that advantage.’ Brann yawned. ‘It’s late, I suppose. Probably best to go back to sleep.’

‘Indeed.’

They walked back to the group of sleeping figures beside the fire. Konall’s space was empty – he would be somewhere in the darkness, keeping watch. Brann lay down once more on his blanket.

‘Gerens?’

‘Yes, chief?’

‘Thank you.’

‘Any time, chief. Every time.’

Dawn was starting to fade the darkness when he woke again. The camp was stirring as Grakk, Sophaya and Mongoose rode into their midst.

Mongoose stopped her horse close to the rising group around the fire. ‘So you found him then.’

Konall grunted. ‘Be glad it was us and not you who found him.’

The girl raised her eyebrows in question, but Hakon cut in. ‘Please do not start Konall on this subject again. He has been badly affected by the experience. He may never be the same again.’

Konall grunted. ‘Will never.’

Mongoose slid wearily to the ground. The other two also, Brann noticed, looked bowed by fatigue as they dismounted. She led the three horses to the river, while Grakk glanced at Brann, then looked pointedly at Cannick. The grey-haired old warrior nodded back briefly, enough to satisfy the wiry tribesman for now. Grakk nodded in return, the soft light enough to make visible the intricate tattoos on his shining scalp that marked him as from the people of the deserts beyond Sagia – people who allowed, and indeed fostered, the misconception of them as simple uncivilised nomads, to maintain the secret that they harboured the accumulated knowledge of the known world.

Gerens’s query was more audible, though barely in more words. ‘You took a while. Trouble?’

Sophaya shrugged. ‘Avoiding trouble, more like. We were on the far side of the field of dead, and had to lay low to avoid a patrol. We also took a trip into the main camp to see if Brann was among the prisoners, which by necessity was not the fastest of visits.’

‘You went into their camp?’ Gerens was aghast. ‘Do you realise how dangerous that was?’

Breta’s laugh boomed across the fire pit. ‘You say that as if we have a safe and dull life as it is.’

Gerens was not to be deterred. ‘But still…’

Sophaya smiled sweetly. ‘Oh, darling dearest, are you worried about me?’ She patted his arm softly. ‘Fear not, the three who were there were the three best suited to slipping through shadows. And I am the best of the three.’

Grakk winked at Gerens. ‘She is undoubtedly correct in that. She is like a shadow herself.’

Gerens nodded in acceptance. ‘She is magnificent,’ he conceded.

‘So,’ Cannick cut in. ‘We know you didn’t find him among the prisoners.’

Grakk’s stare was bleak. ‘We did not find any prisoners.’

‘You wouldn’t.’ They all looked at Konall. He shrugged. ‘What do you expect? This is the remains of an army, in retreat. Thanks to you,’ he looked at Brann, ‘they no longer have their leader, since you cut his head off in the battle that lifted the siege of the town, and they are no better than a rabble, looting to take what they can to, in their eyes, redeem a bad situation on their way, heading home. That does not include keeping prisoners to feed.’

Hakon frowned. ‘That doesn’t need to include slaughtering simple villagers. That was a whole settlement wiped out. Farmers and their families are hardly a deadly enemy to leave at your back.’

Cannick spat. ‘Some people just enjoy the killing. Doesn’t make it right, but it’s a fact.’

Brann nodded. He had seen enough of that in his time to know the truth in it. He frowned, however, frustrated at the fog in his memory that was obscuring something with as much magnitude as the slaughter of innocents, but leaving his questions for now.

Mongoose had tended to the horses and accepted a hunk of dry bread from Hakon. ‘Anyway, they’ll get what’s coming to them. If they had bothered to scout ahead, as we did after we needed to leave their camp on the far side, they’d know they are heading directly towards a proper army coming to teach them why they shouldn’t have come here in the first place.’

‘Good,’ Brann said quietly. They had their own business to concern them, but he was glad to think of the fate that awaited such savage butchers. ‘Let them meet their doom. They are heading east; we are heading north. We have Loku to catch, and we were delayed enough when we got ourselves trapped in that town’s siege. We need to make haste if we are to stand any chance of catching Loku and learning of the conspiracy he is part of. Any animosity we bear him from his misuse of his position as the Emperor’s spymaster and the ills he has done us personally is secondary to discovering the true nature and extent of the threat facing the lands of the North. We have to work our way up through his superiors, remember, if we are to learn both who is the leader controlling all and what actually is planned. We cannot afford to waste any time at all.’

Cannick had brewed coffee, and passed it around. ‘Take some of the Empire’s greatest export – after wine, of course – and settle down. These three need a rest. A few hours today won’t make a huge difference.’

Mongoose stood up. ‘If we stop early enough tonight, I can sit on a horse until then.’

Grakk glanced at Sophaya. She gave a defiant nod, as if any suggestion that she could not achieve the same were an insult. ‘Agreed,’ the tribesman said. ‘Let us saddle the horses.’

Conscious that they should be well clear of even the remnants of the army before they could feel safe, Brann waited a good hour before moving his horse beside Hakon’s to broach the subject he had been given little chance to address since being found the previous night. In truth, he could have asked any of his companions, but Hakon’s affable and guile-free manner would ensure he received the most open of answers.

The large boy proved the point before Brann had even opened his mouth. ‘You want to know how you ended up where you did, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ He desperately did. He could remember all of his savage primeval time in the fighting pits below ul-Taratac, and thanks to the administrations of the most learned of Grakk’s tribe in bringing him back from the creature he had retreated into as a means of surviving the pits, he had accepted his experience for what it was – a part of his life that had, at its most simple, happened. What it had changed in him, he could never change back, but the shaman Grakk had taken him to had rescued and returned Brann’s soul, his persona, his essence; whatever word was applied to it, and whatever the man had done to him, he had brought Brann back from where he had been hiding from those very changes. Now he was in control, he was the real Brann in normal life. But in combat the other Brann – the animal living only to survive – would re-emerge, only to subside, satisfied, when the danger was past. Or, at least, emerge as much as he would allow. He could not resist the rise of his other self in times of danger, as it was as much a part of him as any other part of his character, but in having the original side of him, the side of emotions, of civilised thought, of memories and the nuances of character that they create – in short, his personality – having that returned had given him an element of control over the cold efficiency of the side buried deep. When that other element rose, it dominated, but there was still a thread connecting him back to himself, like a cave explorer’s rope fed back in his wake to the outside world. But retaining that awareness when his primeval self took over, that knowledge of how he was behaving… did it remove the excuse that acting in such a coldly brutal way was outwith his true personality? Did it mean that he could not escape responsibility for what could, at times, be ferociously savage? And did that make him evil? A killer? Insane? But if those same savage actions and coldly efficient decisions were all that stood between the survival of himself and those he deemed good people, did that then justify them, make them morally the right thing to do? He had spent countless hours agonising over such questions before realising that it made no difference. He could not change it, so to wonder as to its label was immaterial. What did matter was how he acted towards those around him, and that this had indeed kept him, and at times them, alive. The rest of the time, he was much the same person as he had been before his time in the lawless pits in the caverns below Sagia, albeit hardened and less naïve and with lapses into melancholy and occasional nightmares – not all of which were when he slept. He could live with that.

And the thought of surrendering that tenuous link to himself, of allowing the darker side of him to assume total control, to swamp him, to open up the possibility of his true self never finding its way back – the thought made him shudder.

But what worried him more immediately was his lack of memory of the recent events. It reminded him too much of the immediate aftermath of his time in the vicious pits of the City Below, when his mind’s response to the blood-soaked and death-laden distortion of the more skill-based gladiator fights in the mainstream arenas above ground had been to abandon any concept of his real self. Was he slipping back into that shell? Was the cold killer asserting control? Was he losing himself?

‘Yes please,’ he said to Hakon.

Hakon’s look was appraising. ‘How recently can you remember? Sagia? Or the journey along the coast and then turning north through all those really nice small villages with the nice village girls? Or taking the boat into Markethaven during a siege because there had been news of a man matching Loku’s description having been seen there? Or becoming trapped there for the duration of the siege only to find that he had left before it started? Or leaving the city after the siege, and reaching the valley where the village was attacked? Or…’

Brann cut in. ‘The journey from Markethaven: I remember until that and everything before. I don’t remember the village, or setting up camp at that place, or anything after.’

‘Well, you weren’t with us when we set up camp, so you wouldn’t remember that.’ Hakon regarded him again. ‘So you don’t remember coming out of the trees to see those bastards cutting down the villagers. It was only a portion of what is left of the army, maybe a thousand soldiers or so, but the poor sods had no chance. The place was bigger than the smallest villages, but not as much as a town, just a few hundred ordinary folk living off the surrounding farms and the trades that go with their produce. The men were barely armed with working tools, never mind the women and children who were totally helpless.’

Brann stared into the distance. ‘Sounds like what happened to my village.’

The big Northern boy gave a grunt. ‘That would explain your madness. Before we knew it, you were galloping off to take on a couple of hundred armed men single-handed. You didn’t even have your mail on – it was a warm day, and we hadn’t expected trouble. We went after you, of course, but we were beaten back by the numbers. It was just too many. I’m sorry.’ He fell silent, but just as Brann started to reject the need for any apology, Hakon drew a breath and continued. ‘The last we saw, you had worked your way through to a group of men, maybe fifty, who were outside a hall where their families had taken refuge, defending it as best they could against many times their number. By the time we had regrouped, your horse had found its way clear, but you hadn’t.’

It was Brann’s turn to fall silent. Doubtless his companions in the burial pit had been drawn from those brave men.

‘It is I who should be sorry. I could have condemned us all.’

Hakon shrugged. ‘Sometimes the good in us overpowers the sense. This was your time for that. Those people were already dead. They didn’t know it yet and you just didn’t want to accept it.’

Brann frowned. ‘It was stupid. I should have seen that.’

‘We all have a demon inside us. The good you showed is what keeps it under control. It was our fault for not being quick enough to stop you. We know we are all capable of doing what you did, so should have anticipated it in time. But we didn’t, and you did what you did. Should have changes nothing, and pondering it only delays the solution. So we regrouped, waited until we could do something, and then did it. Except that we expected that the something we could do would be to find you and bury you properly – that’s what your people do, isn’t it? Bury your dead.’ Brann nodded. ‘It seemed your time had come. Only Marlo was determined you were still alive, but that’s Marlo for you.’ His face split into a huge toothy grin. ‘Turned out the wee mad bastard was right, after all, which we were all very pleased about. Especially me – I shudder at the thought of telling my sister I had returned but you had not.’

Brann couldn’t help but laugh. For the second time in a few hours, he was grateful for the counsel of his friends, no matter the form it took. And Hakon’s mention of Valdis gave him an extra eagerness to hasten their journey northwards. ‘Thank you, Hakon.’

‘No, thank you. It was worth all of it for the look on Konall’s face when we found you.’

Brann laughed again. Remembering that expression didn’t make the time in the pit worthwhile. But it did help.

Konall reined up his horse where the road crested a rise, and the others bunched around him. A walled town rose from the plain before them, buildings at this distance seeming to have been crammed in by a giant hand, so tightly packed that only a jumble of rooftops could be seen within the grey walls. The morning sun was high in the sky, and glittering around the outskirts suggested a moat of some sort. Farms dotted the plain as if the same giant had strewn them in one scattering sweep of his arm, but they were the only habitation outwith the protection of the walls. This place did not welcome intruders.

‘Belleville,’ Cannick said, staring at it. ‘The beautiful town. In reality, it is anything but. It is drab, dour, and unpleasant, and has the people to match. But the northern coast before we take ship for the Green Islands juts out into the seas at its north-west corner, so if Loku hasn’t wanted to sail round it and is instead cutting overland to sail the short distance to the islands, he will pass through this town. So, to my distaste, it is advisable that we do too.’

Hakon grinned. ‘So you’ve been here before then, Cannick?’

The old warrior leant to the side and spat on the dry ground dismissively. ‘More times than I would have liked. Two major routes, north-south and east-west, meet here, so it holds an important position, and don’t they know it. Still, passing through has been a necessity before, and it’s a necessity now. Might as well get it over with.’

The others readied themselves to move. Most were still mounted, but Brann’s pack had worked loose in its bindings and its rhythmic bumping against him for the past few miles had been irritating him, so he had slipped to the ground to take the chance to secure it more tightly. Grakk also was on his feet, picking a stone from his horse’s hoof, and Brann cast an eye over the road ahead. They were on the highest point and it undulated through a series of ever-lower rises until it met the floor of the plain. On the next rise, a man struggled alone to fix a cart that had lost a wheel. Brann nodded in his direction. ‘Looks like he could do with a hand.’ He glanced at Cannick. ‘I know you want to get in and out of this place as quickly as we can, and pick up Loku’s trail as soon as possible if he has indeed passed this way, but it wouldn’t take us long if it isn’t too badly damaged.’

The broad shoulders shrugged. ‘We are passing that way anyway. We can see when we get there.’ He kicked his horse forward without hesitation, accepting Brann’s opinion.

Brann swung himself into the saddle, his mail shirt clinking slightly as he did so. The pain from his ribs irked him more than that from his arm, not only because it hurt however he moved but also because it was a reminder of the folly of charging unprotected into a battle where blows will come from all unseen angles. Although ironically, he mused, had he not suffered wounds enough to render him unconscious, he would probably have fought on to his death. Still, he had donned his mail at the first stop to water the horses after Hakon had recounted his story, hot sun or no hot sun.

His hands automatically checked the helmet, shield, and bow hanging at vantage points around his saddle, and eased his sword in its scabbard, while his eyes fixed themselves on the scene at the cart. His gaze flicked to the area around it, searching for any sign of movement or disturbed wildlife, but his attention was mainly on the working man. Just because the distant figure had his back to them didn’t mean he was unaware of their presence. And just because he worked alone didn’t mean he was alone. Brann watched the man through the shimmering of the hot air, and continued to watch as they moved forward, waiting for a telltale glance towards hidden companions, or even the unnatural pretence of remaining oblivious to them beyond the point where he could not have failed to notice their approach.

His mind settled comfortably into the watchfulness. He felt happier to be putting more thought into a situation as opposed to reacting in line with the impetuous side that had been born in the pits of the City Below; born, admittedly, as a necessity in an environment where stopping to think was the first short stride in a one-step march to death. Thinking was a small sign that his darker side was not extending its control, but it was a small sign that he grasped and held tightly.

They moved at a trot, not wishing to move any faster lest it seem too aggressive. Brann’s eyes continually scanned for movement or shining metal in the area around, returning always to the man, but all that he could see was a carter labouring over a repair in the mid-day heat, the cargo, four large barrels, standing at the side of the road. When they were two bowshots away, the man straightened and turned, his face scarlet with effort and awash from pate to waist in sweat. If it was a ruse, the effort he was putting into his act was impressive. He watched their approach warily – a sizable group of riders, all armed, was a sight to make any stranded traveller nervous – and his hand strayed into the back of the cart for a hammer that, presumably, he had been using in his vain efforts to mend the wheel. He would know it would make no difference in the face of the odds he faced, but Brann guessed that he felt more comfortable with something, anything, but preferably something heavy, in his hand. Brann himself would.

Öncə.123 Növ.