“You okay, boss?” Aemon asked.
Sitting on his bed shirtless, Caim nodded as the needle pushed through the skin of his shoulder, and he tried to think about something else.
Dray came over carrying his gear and bedroll, all bundled up. “Fuck me! You got more scars than I ever seen.”
Caim looked down at his body. The scars were like a roadmap, tracing the violent history of his life. Knife wounds, punctures, burn marks, and enough stitch tracks to sew a fair-sized quilt. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten most of them. The fights and jobs all blended into a crimson fog.
Malig bit into an ice-pepper as he pointed to Caim's side. “Is that one from a spear?”
That one Caim remembered like it was yesterday. Carrying Josey over the side of the pier, the sudden pain like a mule kick in the back, and then the icy cold of the bay waters closing over them. “Crossbow.”
“Damn.”
When Aemon finished his amateur doctoring, Caim eased into his shirt and laced his jerkin over the top of it. The back was a little damp from the blood, but it would dry out on the road. “You three head out to the stables and get the horses,” he said. “I'll meet you there after I settle our bill.”
Caim buckled on his knives as the clansmen left the room. A touch of the weakness he'd felt at the storehouse still lingered with him. His balance was slightly off, and a chill had settled into his bones. Maybe he was coming down with something. Just what I need when we've got who-knows-how-many days of travel ahead of us.
The common room was packed. Servers bustled back and forth between the bar and the tables. A faint haze smelling of rotten leaves hung in the air.
“Wow,” Kit said as she appeared beside him. “Too bad we're leaving. This place is full of interesting characters.”
“Nice seeing you again,” he muttered under his breath.
She patted his hurt shoulder. “Poor darling. Good work back there, by the way. I was wondering if you'd be able to pull it off.”
Caim started making his way through the crowd of people. He ground his teeth together when a laughing Northman holding two mugs jostled his shoulder. When he got to the bar, he waved to get the attention of the nearest bartender, but he had to wait a few minutes before someone saw him.
“We're heading out,” he said over the noise. “I need to pay up.”
While she went to find the owner, Caim put his back to the bar and surveyed the crowd. He didn't see any familiar faces.
Kit eased up beside him, mimicking his pose against the counter. “He's not here.”
“Who?”
“Svart. Last I checked in, he was laid up in some woman's shack with snow packed around his jaw. Malig thumped him pretty good.”
The innkeeper shuffled over. “You leaving?”
“Yes. How much for last night?”
The innkeeper put up two thick fingers. “You pay for two night.”
Caim held his gaze. After several heartbeats, he asked, “How much?”
“Two big-heads.”
Caim felt a sigh rise from his chest. A big-head was the northern term for a double-weight golden soldat. It was more than most people in Othir made in a fortnight. Up here, it was a gods-damn fortune. “You want to try again?”
“Eh? You no pay?” The innkeeper glared under thickset eyebrows.
Caim growled to himself. This whole place was a nightmare. He reached into his pouch and plunked down two large gold coins. He started to leave, but the innkeeper said something in the northern tongue that sounded like a curse and started rattling off to the tap-woman while holding up the coins. Caim started to argue that they weren't counterfeit when he saw the markings on the faces. They were Nimean mint. Shit. Those are going to stand out around here.
He turned to go and almost ran into a man blocking his path. Caim started to go around, but the man put up a hand. Caim stopped, his right hand slipping down behind his back. The man was lean, an inch or two shorter than him. He wore a motley collection of scuffed leathers with a pair of rawhide gloves tucked in to one of two belts wrapped around his waist. The only obvious weapon was a long knife on his hip, almost as big as a suete.
Caim waited, his legs tensed. Then Kit floated over. “Oh. You've met Egil.”
“You're Caim?” the man asked.
It took everything Caim had not to reply with the man's name and see how that grabbed him. This guy didn't look like one of Svart's henchmen, but Caim was done with guessing. “I don't know you.”
“Name's Egil.”
“What do you want?”
“It's more what I heard you want. It's a little thick in here. Want to talk outside?”
Caim looked over Egil's shoulder. Aemon and the others were already outside. He felt the shadows stir. Then Kit's hand passed through his arm. “Be good!” she said. “He's a nice guy.”
Another good egg, huh, Kit? Okay. I'll play along.
“All right,” he said. “After you.”
Egil pushed through the press of bodies. Caim watched for covert nods or signals to anyone else in the room, but didn't see anything suspicious.
Kit hovered in front of him, keeping pace as he headed to the door. “Teromich sent him. He's a real guide.”
“Now you care?” Caim whispered, and covered it with a cough as he put on his gloves.
She pouted. “That's not fair. I was trying to find someone like him when you met that Svart. Anyway, I came in time to get you out of that mess.”
He scowled at her description of the fight at the storehouse, and Kit blew him a kiss before she sank into the floor.
The wind hit Caim in the face as he exited. If anything, it felt colder than before. With no sun, he wondered how cold it would get on the wastes, and then he remembered where they were headed. The cold was the least of his problems.
Egil walked a few paces from the door. Light shined from the windows of the surrounding buildings-the brothel next door gave off enough for them to see each other.
“The trader, Teromich, told me you're looking for a guide,” Egil said. “He said I could find you and your men here.”
“How did you know it was me at the bar?”
Egil smiled. He was missing an upper front tooth. “He gave me a description. Not too tall, long scar on the cheek, and the meanest eyes he'd ever seen. You fit the bill.”
The man had a quiet, almost cautious, way about him, but he also sounded confident.
“We're going north.” Caim rolled his shoulders and felt the sutures pull. He didn't know anything about the wastes beyond what little he'd learned from Kas, but he had a suspicion that the farther north they went, the more dangerous it would get.
Egil made a small shrug. “All right.”
“You know these lands pretty well?”
“Been hunting and trapping them all my life. Hunting's slow this season, so I thought taking you all for a walk would be a nice change.”
A smile tugged at Caim's lips. “Okay. There's only one hitch. We're leaving now.”
“If you can wait a bit, I'll get my gear. Or we can stop at my place on the way out. It's not far from here.”
They agreed upon a price, which was less than Caim anticipated, and headed around to the back of the hostel where the Eregoths were leading the horses out of the stable. Caim made introductions as he swung into his saddle.
After shaking Egil's hand, Aemon said, “I wish we could have stayed longer. For the animals' sake. They're still a little thin.”
“That can't be helped,” Caim said.
They left the yard. Ice crackled under their steeds' hooves as they rode through the dark streets. Caim kept a sharp watch as they rode past rows of taverns and flophouses. A dog barked a few blocks away. Egil's house was small, little more than a wooden shack with a peaked roof. Caim and the others waited in the lane while he went inside.
“What's this guy's story?” Malig asked.
“Teromich sent him.” Caim looked over his shoulder. “He knows the Northlands, and we can afford him.”
“I hope he doesn't turn out to be another fucking setup.”
Caim nodded. The shadows were quiet, which he took for a good sign. And there was always Kit. She was probably looking over them. At least, he wanted to think so. She'd certainly been more attentive since they left Liovard, for better and worse.
The door opened, and Egil came out with a pack over his shoulder. A girl wrapped in a woolen housecoat stood in the doorway. She kissed him good-bye and closed the door as Egil walked over to them.
“Do you have a mount?” Caim asked.
“No,” Egil replied. “But I'll keep up.”
He led them through the dim streets past the outlying buildings and onto a wide, snow-packed road. Once they were beyond the town, Caim wanted to dig his heels into his mount's sides and take off, but he kept it to a steady walking pace. A wind blew down from the north, searing the insides of his nose and mouth.
They rode for several candlemarks, and the sky darkened from slate gray to charcoal. The wastes spread before them, a magnificent desolation bereft of even an occasional hill or wood to break up the monotony. The others couldn't see much beyond the light of the two lanterns they carried, but they weren't missing anything. They traveled on what passed for a road, an ice-encrusted trail broad enough for a pair of riders abreast. Egil walked at the head of the small company with one of the lanterns. Good to his word, he managed to keep up. In fact, from time to time he would range ahead of them. While Caim rode, fighting the urge to yawn, he studied their guide. Egil's coat was patched together from a variety of animal skins, the hood flapping on his back. He also had stiff hide gauntlets that came up nearly to his elbows and furry pants tucked into his boots. His only gear was his belt knife and the rucksack, yet he moved with the practiced ease of someone at home in his environment.
Caim was rubbing his gloves to work some warmth into his extremities when an amazing thing happened. Crimson pinpricks appeared in the sky. At first it was just a handful peeking through the inky veil of the night sky, but then more appeared until they covered the firmament like an array of twinkling rubies.
“Saronna's ivory teats!” Dray swore.
The others stopped and admired the view. Something bothered Caim about them, but he couldn't say what.
Then Aemon said, “They're all wrong.”
The familiar constellations were gone. This time of year the Sickle should have been right over their heads, but that space was empty save for a few red stars in a different pattern. Caim saw something that sort of resembled the Hind, but it was much too far north and its brightest stars were in the wrong position. A superstitious dread crept into his chest.
“How can the stars be wrong?” Malig asked. “By the Dark, Caim. Where in the seven hells did you bring us?”
Caim shook his head. I wish I knew.
“How much longer do you want to keep going tonight?” Egil asked, coming back to meet them.
Caim looked to the horses. “I suppose this is far enough. I don't figure we'll find much shelter out here.”
“Not much,” Egil said. “There's a few places where hunters hole up when the weather gets bad, but most of them are off the road.”
“What cities lay north of here?”
Egil shook his head. “Aren't any cities on the wastes. A few villages, but you can go days out here without seeing another person.”
That didn't make sense. Caim remembered his last moments with Sybelle in her sanctum. As her life bled out on the floor, his aunt had mentioned a name. Erebus. He hadn't learned anything more in the months since to explain what she'd meant. Where was this Erebus? He wanted to come right out and ask, but held back.
It started to snow as they bedded down. While their mounts huddled under tarps, the men slept on the ground huddled around a fire that did little to ward off the bitter cold. Caim listened to the soft fall of flakes on the snow. When the others had closed their eyes and drifted off, he held out his arm. The shoulder was stiff where he'd been wounded. Caim went to the place in his mind where his power resided and called for a shadow to aid in his healing. Moments passed without an appearance, but he could sense them beyond the firelight, watching him with invisible eyes. Sweat formed on his upper lip. What's wrong? You lost your taste for my blood?
Finally, he dropped his arm and gave up. Maybe the shadows were acting strange because of this place. He hadn't felt like himself since crossing the mountains. Sighing, Caim closed his eyes. He had just drifted into the first, light throes of sleep when a gentle touch caressed his temple.
“You awake, darling?” Kit asked.
He opened his eyes to find her lying on his chest, her chin propped in one hand as her other hand teased his upper lip. In the dim firelight, he could almost believe she was real. It made his blood quicken. She was more than beautiful. He knew every inch of her face. He could close his eyes and see the exact shade of her violet eyes.
“Let's sneak away,” she said.
“You're crazy,” he whispered. “It's freezing.”
“I'll keep you warm.”
“You're not-”
She levitated up a few inches and frowned. “Not what?”
Caim stifled a groan. This was the last thing he wanted right now, an argument with a spirit in the middle of the night after a long day, and with a longer day ahead of him tomorrow. “I'm just tired, Kit. Let me sleep and we'll talk tomorrow.”
She sunk back to press against him, but the frown didn't move. “There's a place up ahead if you stay on this path.”
“What kind of place?” He lowered his voice as Aemon rolled over in his sleep. “A town?”
“Not quite. But there's people.”
“Is it safe?”
She shrugged. “I was thinking we could stay the night.” Her fingers walked up his chest, making goose bumps on his flesh. “Get a room to ourselves.”
Caim closed his eyes. “All right. If you let me sleep, we'll do that.”
“Really?” Her lips made buzzing tingles on his cheek. “Sleep tight, love. I'll keep watch.”
He drifted back into the pull of slumber with the snow falling around him, into a series of interesting dreams.