CHAPTER SEVEN
Caim awoke to the smell of wood smoke and opened his eyes to see Kit floating above him. Her long, silver hair hung loose about her shoulders.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
Caim opened his mouth, and then closed it. He hadn’t expected her back in such a good humor. It made him suspicious. But now wasn’t the time to get to the bottom of it. Knowing Kit, she would let him know why when she was good and ready.
Hagan bent over the fire pit. His pan nestled in the embers, giving off an aroma of sizzling meat. Beef this time. Caim pushed away his blanket and took stock of his condition. His leg was stiff, but it felt better than the day before. His face didn’t hurt as much either. When he probed the area around his ear, flakes of dried blood came away on his fingers. The gouges in his back weren’t as deep as he’d feared. Good thing, or I’d be crippled.
When he reached over to put on his boots, a jolt ran up his right forearm. Pulling up his sleeve, he peeled back the bandage. The flesh underneath was torn like his leg wound and sore to the touch. He pulled off his shirt and started ripping it into strips.
When he had rewrapped his arm and donned a fresh shirt from his pack, Caim scooted up to the fire. The morning was bitter cold. Holding out his hands to the warmth, a memory came to him of another bitter winter, of him and Kas sitting across the table in their ramshackle cabin, shivering over plates of beans and mutton while a blizzard wailed outside. He could see the old soldier’s grim smile as he joked about people someday finding their frozen bodies.
Hagan held out a steaming cup. “Cha? Not strong enough by a fair measure, but it’ll warm you up.”
As Caim took the cup, Kit brushed against him.
“I already checked for poison,” she said. “But he’s a good man. You can trust him.”
Caim almost choked on the hot, bitter liquid. If this was weak, he didn’t want to know this man’s idea of a proper cha. Still, it was hot, so he drank until the cup was empty, whereupon Hagan filled it with browned meat from the pan. They ate in silence. More snow had fallen in the night. It covered their tracks and made everything look new and clean, as if he had dreamt the apparition that attacked him. He would have liked to ask Kit about it, but while Hagan looked rather old, he didn’t seem hard of hearing.
They washed out their cups in the snow and packed up. Grabbing his gear, Caim walked out from under the tree with only a slight hobble. Hagan didn’t wait for him, but started off toward whatever landmarks he used to guide his path. Caim was content to trail behind. It wasn’t like he was going to lose the old man out here in the wilderness. While he walked, Kit kept pace with his strides.
“Where have you been?” he asked her in a low whisper.
“Right here. I was watching you sleep.”
“I mean last night.”
“Why? Did something happen? Did the old guy try to cut your throat in the night?”
“Of course n—I thought you said I could trust him.”
Her laughter rang like a chorus of bells. “I’m just teasing. He’s a good egg.”
“Good egg, eh? Well, to answer your question, yes, something did happen last night.” He told her about the strange apparition and how it vanished into the night.
“That’s odd,” she said. When he gave her a strained look, she asked, “What?”
“Well, for a start you could tell me what it might have been.”
“Do I look like a ghoul hunter?”
Caim sighed and shifted the bundles on his shoulder to a new position. “Don’t get pissy. I just asked a question. It’s just that you’re…you know…”
“What? Fae?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
Hagan turned his head to the side as if he’d heard something, and Caim dropped his voice ever lower. “I figure you would know more about this stuff than me.”
“Not without being there to see it myself, or getting a better description than what you’ve told me so far.”
“I didn’t get a good look at it. The darkness seemed to, I don’t know, gather around the thing.”
“Well, that’s interesting, but what I was going to say…” She paused until he nodded for her to proceed. “I was going to say maybe I don’t know any more than you about such things.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say it sounds like something from the Shadow.”
“Our guide says people disappear a lot out here.”
“So you’ll be careful?”
“That’s why I keep you around.”
She floated closer and put her arms around his neck. “I thought it was because you couldn’t resist me.”
“Go see where we’re going.”
Her teeth snapped at the end of his nose. “Fine. Be that way.”
Then she was gone. The sky had lost some of its color and now glimmered with an icy grayness. The breeze was slight, but with the exertion of hiking he didn’t mind the chill. In all, Caim felt like he was finally heading in the right direction. But within a candlemark, he started to slow again and pulled down his hood over his eyes. They kept traveling cross-country and stopped at midday to share a cold meal of bread and cheese provided by Hagan.
As the afternoon waned, Caim began to wonder where they would make camp. Hagan surprised him with an invitation.
“My home is close by,” he said. “Just past the next stand. You’re welcome to stay for the night.”
Tempted by the idea of sleeping under a roof, Caim assented, and Hagan adjusted their path a couple points westward. As the sky darkened, a ridge appeared before them. Denuded trees sprouted from its snowy slopes. At the base of the hill stood a small cottage. Tufts of grass showed through the snow covering the low roof. Squares holes covered by hide panes served for windows.
Hagan pushed open the solid plank door and stood aside for Caim to enter. The inside of the cottage was a single open room. It reminded him of Kas’s cabin. Three small beds sat against the walls. A fire burned in a round hearth in the center of the floor, surrounded by a bench of fieldstone. The place smelled of smoke and old leather. Wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, hung with herbs. A young woman turned toward the door as they entered. The first thing Caim noticed was the way the firelight glimmered in her amber-brown eyes. She was quite pretty, with a pert nose, and copper-hued braids draped down her shoulders.
“Daughter, we have a guest.” Hagan stomped his boots to shake off the snow. “Caim, this is Liana. Seat yourself by the fire and take the chill off.”
Caim set down his burdens and pulled a chair over to the hearth. Liana grimaced as she maneuvered around her father to take a stack of plates down from a shelf and set them around the homemade table. Caim watched the girl out of the corner of his eye. He doubted she’d seen her twentieth summer yet. Twice, he caught her glancing in his direction. He smiled after the second time, and she pulled her father aside. Snippets of their conversation reached him.
“…is he?”
“Mind your…guest…”
“…don’t even know…”
“…the proper respect.”
Liana brought over a bowl of warm water and a cake of hard soap so they could wash. Caim was embarrassed when his hands turned the water brown, but Hagan didn’t appear to notice as he splashed his face and dried off with a cloth. Hagan dragged the only other chair up to the table and sat down. Caim got up to offer Liana his seat, but she swept by without looking at him and pulled out a three-legged stool for herself.
The meal was a simple affair, round loaves of bread hot from the hearth-oven, ash-roasted potatoes in the skin, and strips of chewy meat that were probably rabbit. Hagan worked his way across his plate like a lumberjack felling trees. Liana pushed around her food, but little made it into her mouth. Caim devoured everything they put in front of him. After a time, he had to stop or risk splitting his insides. It was with a satisfied sigh that he sat back in the chair.
A row of clay figurines stood on a shelf above Hagan’s head. Caim recognized the major deities of the north—Nogh, Saronna, Sirga, and Father Ell. All outlawed since the coming of the Church. Beside the pagan icons hung a sunburst medallion on a nail, which struck Caim as strange. Stories of the crusade that had brought the True Faith to Eregoth were legendary for their carnage and viciousness on both sides. Yet both faiths were represented here, side by side under the same roof. Caim would have liked to know the reason behind it, but he wasn’t curious enough to offend his hosts by asking.
Hagan pulled out his pipe and a pouch. “So, your father was a soldier.”
Caim plucked at the whiskers on his chin. Why keep lying? Who was he trying to protect? The air in the hut felt stuffy. He wished his host would prop open one of the flaps over the windows.
“I’m sorry, Hagan. I didn’t tell you the truth before. My father…” He took a breath, unable to believe what he was about to do. “My father was Baron Du’Vartha.”
If the old man was shocked, he didn’t show it. He combed his fingers through his beard and nodded as if he dined with nobility all the time. His daughter glanced up for a moment, and then dropped her gaze again.
“Liana, clear this off, won’t you?”
With a sharp glance at her father, the girl threw on a knitted shawl and carried the dirty tableware outside.
Hagan lit his pipe from a candle and took short puffs. Looking at him, secure in his home, surrounded by a growing cloud of smoke, Caim saw a different side to his host. There was an air of gravity about him, like a magistrate at his tall bench.
“It’s said none survived the attack on Du’Vartha’s manor. Not even the animals in their pens, all dead by fire or sword.”
Caim put both hands on the table, palms down. A rivulet of sweat ran down his spine. “I survived. And so did my mother.”
The old man leaned forward, and the top of his shirt gaped open to reveal a bronze torc around his neck. “I never heard that, and I know just about everything that happens in these parts.”
“What do you know about what happened?”
Hagan took another pull at his pipe. “Not much more than the tale I spun for you before. The baron made no secret that his wife came from the north, but she didn’t look like any Northman bride. Dark features, night-black hair. Eyes deeper than the sea. Some said she was a witch.”
Caim thought back to the woman at the prison gate.
Hagan coughed into his fist. “When the empire took the clans over the mountains to make war in the north, men came back with tales of all manner of unnatural things they’d seen. And now with the witch in Liovard—”
The door of the hut slammed open. Caim spun out of the chair, both knives leaping into his hands. Two cloaked men stood in the doorway. The first was tall with big shoulders and a double-bladed axe held in one hairy hand. No logger’s tool, the axe was made for hewing down men. The smaller man behind him clutched a sword. Both men were hooded, revealing little except that the bigger man sported a dark beard down his chest while his comrade was smooth-shaven.
Caim edged toward the wall where his bundles sat. Then he recognized the short sword in the smaller man’s grip by its poor-quality steel and flimsy guard. He had seen it before. At the roadhouse. The thin-shouldered youth.
The men stumbled sideways as Liana jostled them from behind. She gave them both hard looks as she pushed between them with an armful of plates. The big man recovered first and pointed his axe at Caim.
“We’re here for you, outlander.”
Hagan stood up. “What is the meaning of this? This man is my guest.”
“Don’t get involved, Father.” The smaller man pushed back his hood to reveal a slender face topped by the same mop of pitch-black hair Caim had seen at the hostel.
Hagan looked over. “This is my son. Keegan.”
Caim lowered his knives. “I saw him at the roadhouse, though he didn’t stick around to see how it all ended.”
Up close, Hagan’s son was a solid young man in his early twenties. His hands were small, with long fingers, more delicate than Caim would have guessed on a country lad.
“Never mind me,” Keegan said. “I saw what happened at Orso’s and told Ramon. He thought we should follow the stranger.”
“What were you doing there?” Hagan asked. “I told you I didn’t want you going there anymore.”
“Ask him how he took down five of the duke’s soldiers, Father,” Keegan said. “Not to mention Lord Arion his self.”
A sinking feeling hit Caim in the stomach. The duke’s son? Oh, gods. Kit, what kind of shit-storm did you let me walk into?
Hagan pounded his fist on the table. “Keegan, I will not—!”
Keegan pointed his sword at Caim. “Father, if you were more concerned about your people, and less about the honor of your house, you’d wonder the same thing.”
Liana came over holding a damp rag. “You’re always looking at things the wrong way, Keegan. If he fought Lord Arion as you say, then how could he be working for the duke?”
“It might have been a trick.” Keegan looked to the big man. “To make it look like he was on our side.”
She clicked her tongue. “Sounds like an awful lot of trouble, and no little risk, just to catch some blueflies like you and your friends.”
“I gave the order.” The other man said, still watching Caim. “We’ve been hearing about spies sent by Liovard to search us out. If he’s one of them, we’ll deal with him.”
“Stop this foolishness,” Hagan said. “You’ll not harm a guest under my—”
“It’s all right.” Hands by his sides, Caim took a step toward the men. “You want to know how I got out of there alive? It’s because those soldiers talked when they should have fought.”
He took another step. “And they fought when they should have retreated.”
A third step put him within reach of the axe. “And because, for all their size and bluster, they were piss-poor fighters.”
The big man watched him with a stony expression. Sweat beaded along Keegan’s hairline. His pupils were wide with…fear? Anticipation?
“Caim!”
Kit appeared beside the door. “Men with torches and weapons outside. Lots of them!”
Caim clamped his jaws shut before the questions spinning through his mind could escape in front of these people. He didn’t want to risk hurting Hagan’s family, but he didn’t fancy a trip to a dungeon cell, or a gallows.
Kit hopped up and down. “They’re surrounding this place. Maybe it’s time to call your little friends?”
Caim didn’t even consider it. He wasn’t going to unleash the shadows inside this house. But what were his options? The thought of running on his bad leg was almost worse than rotting in a cell. He made up his mind. The look on Kit’s face was worth the cost to his ego as he let his knives drop to the floor and raised his hands.
“All right. I’ll go with you.”
The big man grabbed Caim and spun him around, and Keegan produced a coil of hemp rope.
As they bound his wrists behind his back, Caim said, “Bring my things.”
Keegan picked up the satchel and slung it over his shoulder, but he left the knives and bundles where they lay. Caim started to object, but the big man prodded him with the butt of his axe.
“Move.”
Hagan sat down in his chair with a deep sigh. Liana had gone over to stand beside her father, one hand upon his sloped shoulders.
As Caim was ushered past them, he said, “Thank you for your hospitality.”
He passed through the doorway, and the light of a dozen torches shone in his eyes.