Caim watched his crew as they marched ahead of him. After just a couple hours' sleep, everyone rode in silence, but they were wound tight. Though he'd been riding with Malig and Dray for weeks, he didn't know them well enough to recognize their breaking points. When they came, he was afraid it was going to be ugly.
“You look troubled.”
Shikari looked down from atop his horse. Though the temperature had dropped overnight and remained uncomfortably frigid, the former slave didn't complain. And Caim couldn't criticize her resilience; she and her protector kept up with the pace without faltering.
“Just thinking about what's ahead.”
She gazed northward, her eyes narrowed as if studying the darkness. “Yes, Erebus. Aren't you afraid?”
The question caught Caim off guard. Fear wasn't the word he would use for his feelings. Resigned, maybe. “Back at the ruins, you-”
“Sturmgaard,” Shikari said. “That is what the Northmen call the place. It's very old. Older, perhaps, than anything else in the wastes.”
“You know a lot about this land. How long were you a slave?”
“Less than a year, but it felt like most of my life.”
Caim considered the path ahead. The tugging had intensified. Was he getting close to his goal? “Don't the Northmen brand their slaves?”
“Sometimes. I had the good fortune to be owned by a man who didn't want me blemished. Hoek, show Caim your mementos.”
The big slave pulled up his shirt to reveal several marks burned into his skin. The older ones were seared over, but Caim could make out an animal paw with three claws and a wolf's head under the scars.
“You don't trust easily, Caim,” Shikari said. “In that way you are like the people of this empty land.”
“I've learned that things aren't always what they seem.”
“All that is gold does not glitter?” She laughed. It was more sultry than her petite frame would suggest.
“You were held by the Bear tribe?” When she nodded, Caim asked, “What are they like?”
“They are a grim people. They never laugh and seldom cry.”
“Not even the children?”
“When they reach the age of three, every child is taken from their mother and given to the asherjhag-the priests. Those found worthy are given to the warrior's society or the women's hall to raise in the ways of the tribe.”
Caim didn't want to know what happened to the children found unworthy. “We saw some of those priests. Do they hold much power in the Northman tribes, then?”
“Not even a chieftain will defy the asherjhag. They speak for the dark lord, and as such their word is law.”
Caim stepped carefully over a patch of ice. From what he'd learned from the Eregoths, the relationship between the priesthood and the Shadow Lord sounded suspiciously like the cult Sybelle had formed in Liovard. It sounded logical, to control the populace through a state religion. “What do the Northmen say about this dark lord?” he asked.
“They speak of him as a god. According to the asherjhag he is the Prince of the Night who once ruled these wastes millennia ago. Their myths say he was banished to the outer darkness, but he has returned to bring endless night to the whole world.”
Not a pleasant image. But Caim could believe it. They'd heard plenty of tales about the other marchlands, stories of Northmen armies bent on conquest. It had almost happened in Eregoth-would have if Caedman and his men hadn't risen up in defiance. All of it led back to the wastes. To Erebus, the heart of the darkness.
A jackdaw called from the front of the party. Dray was pointing. Caim followed the pointing digit to a flicker of fire atop a low hill. It looked like a bonfire, or perhaps several fires. It was too far away to be sure. Caim felt unfriendly eyes upon them, but saw nothing in particular. The shadows remained quiet.
“You think it's a town?” Malig asked.
Caim called for Egil, and the guide came hustling back. “A Bear tribe holding,” he explained.
“Swing clear of it,” Caim said.
Dray sawed on his horse's reins. “We should go for a look.”
“The last thing we need is more trouble.”
Dray lifted his brother's spear. There were thin gouges carved into the shaft. “If my brother's killer is up there, I'm not about to pass by without-”
Caim heard the high-pitched whine a moment before his brain registered the sound of the arrow's flight. He pulled Shikari down from the horse and dove to the ground, cushioning her from the fall. Malig's horse reared up. Caim thought the Eregoth had been hit, but then Egil rolled over from where he lay on the ground, a feathered shaft protruding from his chest. Everyone else was down on the ground or crouching behind their mount.
“How many are there?” Dray asked.
Malig attempted to string a bow, but the string snapped in his hands. Egil groaned as another arrow passed overhead. Caim traced the flight to a snowbank about seventy paces north of their position. He gathered his legs under him. “Stay here!”
“Wait!” Shikari called.
But Caim was already running. The hilts of his knives were burning cold through his gloves. He stayed low as he moved across the snow, hoping the shooters didn't have his night vision. Two men with short bows peered over the snowbank. Both wore a stuffed ursine head over their helmet. Bear tribesmen, just as Egil had warned. Caim was stalking toward them when a bright light lit up the wastes. A pillar of flames erupted from the vicinity of his crew. What in the hells?
The two archers looked right at Caim. He charged their position. An arrow sizzled past his head as he dove. His seax knife took the nearest archer in the throat, cutting straight through the meat of the Northman's neck to come out the other side. Caim ripped the knife free with a twist of his wrist and lunged across the falling Northman for his partner. The second archer hopped back, swinging his bow like a club. Caim took the blow on his shoulder and punched his suete knife into the man's thigh near the groin. The Northman stiffened as Caim tackled him to the ground. They thrashed for a couple moments until Caim knelt on the barbarian's chest, the point of his suete under the Northman's chin. “How many are with you?”
The Northman glared up at Caim. His mouth was a flat line framed with bushy, reddish-brown curls. Caim applied more pressure, and a line of blood trickled down the man's hairy neck. “I said-”
“Drepta mae, ter fridjen sekrburr!”
The Northman tried to punch him, and Caim drew his knife across the jugular. Steam rose from the bright red blood pouring onto the ground. Caim stared at it, feeling himself lean down. The blood called. If he just-
Caim wrenched himself away from the dying Northman. The bloodlust lingered, taunting him. This place is turning me into a gods-damned ghoul.
Sickened, he turned away. The second archer was stone dead. Beyond the snowbank, flames rose from a clump of bushes where he'd left the others, and the sounds of combat rang across the plain.
Caim leapt over the bank and ran back, alert for arrows. He arrived to find Dray bashing a Northman across the face with the butt of his spear. Blood and teeth exploded from the barbarian's mouth as he collapsed. Dray reversed the weapon and drove it down, pinning his foe to the ground. Streaks of blood ran down Dray's face as he twisted the spear back and forth. A knife's throw away, Malig dueled with another Northman. Malig swung his axe like a thresher flailing grain. It was a losing strategy, for the Northman was cagily holding back, waiting for Malig to exhaust himself. Caim could foresee the end. Malig would keep swinging away until he made a mistake, stepping out of balance for a moment too long, and then the Northman would cut him down. Caim hefted his knives. He could throw the suete in a flicker of an eyelash, but would Malig thank him for interfering?
Caim tensed as Malig's foot slipped out from under him. The Northman moved quick as a cat, swinging his sword for the kill, but Malig planted on his “slipped” foot, twisted away, and plowed the edge of his broadaxe into the Northman's side. Before the barbarian could recover, Malig's axe split his face from forehead to chin, splattering his brains across the snow.
“Bear tribe,” Dray said, kicking his dead foe. “Could be more of them out there.”
Snow crunched as Hoek trudged up to them. Blood covered his hands and forearms up to his elbows. His face was a white mask, showing no thought or emotion. Shikari walked behind him.
“What happened back here?” Caim asked. The fire was dying down, leaving behind charred stumps and a strong smell of spirits.
“She fucking threw away our last bottle of hooch,” Malig grumbled.
“A diversion,” Shikari said. “While Hoek and I went to make sure there were no other enemies lurking.”
Dray jerked his spear from the corpse. “And?”
“There was another man with a bow, but he is dead.”
Caim went over to Egil. The guide was unconscious, which was probably a blessing for him. His breathing was labored. Caim cut away the guide's clothing. The arrow was sunk deep. The steady stream of blood leaking from the wound was bright red. Tiny bubbles formed around the mouth of the entry site. The arrow would be damned difficult to get out without shredding Egil's lung. Pushing it all the way through was the safer option, but that wouldn't stop blood from filling his lungs and eventually drowning him.
Malig came over to them. “He don't look good.”
“What are we going to do?” Dray asked.
Caim sat back on his heels, trying not to look at the blood or listen to the tiny voices chittering in his ears. Egil needed a chirurgeon, and the last inhabited town was days behind them. He'd never make it. Caim considered what he would want if he were the one dying. A quick knife to the brainstem to end it? “Let me have some water.”
Dray went to his horse and came back with a sloshing water skin. Caim popped the cork and held the skin to Egil's mouth. Most of it poured down the guide's chin, but he swallowed a little. His chest rose and fell with little shudders.
“Get some blankets,” Caim said. “We'll make a sling to carry him.”
“He's done for,” Malig muttered. “We need to get away from here before more company shows up.”
“Just do it.”
Malig and Dray did as he told them. Then he led them in the direction of the fires on the hill.
“Caim!” Malig hissed from the back of the stretcher. “You're going in the wrong direction!”
But Caim kept walking. With each step the settlement on the hill's summit became clearer. The bonfires were enclosed inside a stout wooden palisade. Caim approached from the south where there was a gate in the fence. It was closed, of course, and he saw several holes in the wooden ramparts, presumably to allow for arrow fire. He stopped a hundred paces from the wall. Singing and shouting-chanting maybe-and the rapid beat of drums could be heard from inside. A pair of bear skulls perched above the gate. Caim studied these things, searching for something to tell him if he was wrong or right. Would these people kill Egil out of hand?
“You sure about this, Caim?” Malig whispered as he set down his end of the burden.
“No, but it's his best chance. I'll take him from here.”
“I'll go,” Dray offered.
“No, I'll go alone. If anything happens, run hard.”
Malig gave a short laugh. “You can count on that.”
Just then, Egil coughed and tried to sit up, only to fall back on the blanket sling with a moan. Caim hunched over him. “We're here.”
“Hurts,” Egil whispered. “Arrow?”
Caim reached out to stop him from moving. “Through the lung. We can't do anything for you, but we can take you someplace nearby.”
Egil craned his head toward the fires, and then settled back on the litter. “At least there's”-he gasped as a shudder shook his body-“no feud between them and my people. Anymore.”
Caim bent down lower. “We have to keep moving. What do you want? I can take you inside, or…”
Egil moved his hand down to his hunting knife. His fingers wrapped around the bone handle. “I'll take the chance.”
Caim took up the end of the litter and dragged Egil as smoothly and quietly as he could. While the drums inside continued to pound, he set his burden down by the gate and paused at Egil's side. “We'll try to stop on our way back.” Do you really believe that? Don't insult him.
But Egil nodded. “I'll be all right. By the time you get back, I'll be married with a pack of little warriors running around.” He coughed and winced. “Oh! Don't tell Jenna I said that.”
Caim squeezed the guide's shoulder and pressed a pouch into his hand. It held all the money he had left, a handful of copper coins with a few silver in the mix. Then he whistled three notes out loud and ran.
When he reached his companions, Dray and Malig were huddled together, discussing something. Shikari and her guardian crouched farther back. Caim looked back to the compound as the gate opened. Two men appeared with spears in hand. When they found Egil, they shouted in their harsh language, and the drums ceased. Caim gripped his knife hilts as more people appeared at the gate. Was he willing to risk his life if they harmed Egil? But his conviction was not tested as two burly men took up the litter and carried it inside. Egil was too far away to see the expression on his face. At least now he's got a chance.
Caim started down the hillside, and the others hustled to catch up. “What are we going to do now?” Dray asked.
“We're going to die out here is what,” Malig grumbled. “A thousand shit-suffering miles from home. We're almost out of victuals, and we don't even know where we're going without Egil-”
“I know,” Caim said with a calmness he hardly felt inside.
“How can you? The sky's as black as a witch's cunny. We got no guide, no map, nothing!”
Caim pointed along the invisible line that was pulling him north. “That's the way. I can't tell you how far Erebus is, but it's in that direction.”
Malig snorted. “Yeah? Well, I think we've been wasting our fucking time out here. Now Aemon's gone. Egil's probably dead. When's it going to be enough?”
Caim winced like he'd been punched to the jaw. “I can't bring Dray's brother back and I can't heal Egil. And I can't promise any of us will survive this. I told you before. If you want to leave, then go.”
“Where are we supposed to go?” Malig said, too loudly. “We're stuck in the middle of nowhere. You ever think about the trip back home when you were planning this shit, Caim? Or maybe you figured we'd be happy to just follow you anywhere and give no second thought about it?”
They reached the horses, and Caim took up his steed's frayed reins. “I never claimed to have a grand scheme. All I've got is a cold trail and an itch in my brain that won't go away.”
“You and your fucking quest.” Malig spat on the ground, some of it catching in his beard as he yammered. “You know what I think? I think you're batshit crazy. How about that? And we're crazy for following you. Your ma's dead and gone, but you can't face that.”
“Mal,” Dray said.
“No! He needs to hear this from somebody, because he sure as shit can't figure it out for himself. We've heard you, Caim. Talking to yourself when you think no one can hear. I've seen the way you look out into the dark like there's answers out there. You're on a death trip and you're dragging us to the grave with you.”
Caim sucked in a deep breath and turned around. Malig stared back with an angry frown. This was the moment. In his younger, wilder days this was when Caim would have drawn and attacked. Kill or be killed. The urge was still there, but he kept both hands at his sides. Malig wasn't saying anything the others weren't thinking. Maybe this was a fool's errand, but he'd come this far. “I don't have any answers. But I'm going to keep following this feeling until I find out where it ends, or someone ends me. If you're coming along, you need to shut up and start riding.”
Caim mounted up and steered his steed to the north.