Despite such dark thoughts, however, he could not stop himself from picturing Chara’s face by the firelight, nor erase the joyful memory of his walk with her, feeling her presence beside him.
Emerging to the flank of the mountain he felt the full force of the storm wind in his face. It was gruelling work trying to force his way through it. Although he had slept for several hours he was still weary from the fight, and he had lost blood. He struggled on. Lightning flashed, and he saw that the trail entered the woods up ahead. Here, with the force of the wind lessened by the trees, he could make faster time.
But Kaelin was stumbling and weary by the time he reached the haven of the tree line, and he sat down on a jutting root. He had been walking now for almost two hours and was close to exhaustion. His anger-fuelled strength fading, he knew he needed a place to make camp. It was pitch dark here and he waited for another lightning flash, hoping to see a rocky outcrop or an overhang beneath which he could rest awhile out of the rain.
For some time he sat there, trying to accustom his eyes to the darkness. The root was uncomfortable and he adjusted his position. As he did so he saw a brief, flickering light in the distance; then it was gone. He stared into the darkness. There it was again. It flickered momentarily and faded. Rising, he began to walk in what he believed was the direction of the light. He blundered blindly into bushes, having to feel his way around them. Just when he thought he was lost the light came again. He realized it was a camp fire, and the wind was occasionally flaring the fames, causing brief, bright reflections against a rock.
The ground was rising now, the trees thinning. Up ahead was a group of huge boulders against a cliff wall. Firelight could be seen glowing red on the grey rock. He approached and called out. ‘Hello, the camp!’
‘Come on in,’ came a voice, distorted by the storm.
Kaelin, his hand upon the hilt of his hunting knife, walked to the fire, which had been set under a jutting shelf of granite. Beside it he saw Jaim Grymauch, who grinned up at him. ‘By heaven, boy, what are you doing out on a night like this?’
‘Felt like a stroll,’ said Kaelin, joy surging through him. Moving to the fire he sat down and removed his cloak. ‘I did not expect to see you here.’
‘I brought another of Maev’s wagons to the farm. They told me of your trouble with Call. Thought I’d come and see if you needed a friend. I see I was a little late. Who cut you?’
‘Bael. We fought a sword duel.’
‘You kill him?’
‘No, my sword shattered. Then he spared me.’
‘He’s a good boy, Bael,’ said Jaim. ‘Swift to anger, swift to forgive. I’m surprised Call would send you home on a night like this, though.’
‘He didn’t send me home. I decided to leave.’
Jaim glanced at him, but said nothing. Reaching into a food sack he produced some dried meat and a hunk of bread, which he passed to Kaelin. They sat in silence for a while, Kaelin enjoying the warmth of the fire. There was little wind here, and no rain. Having eaten, Kaelin stretched out on the rock. ‘It is good to see you, Grymauch,’ he said.
‘And you, boy.’
‘I am sorry for what I said to you back at the bridge. You are not a fool. You are a great man, and my friend.’
‘Whisht, now! Stop talking and get some rest.’ Grymauch gathered up his cloak and folded it, making a pillow for Kaelin’s head. ‘Dream good dreams. We’ll talk in the morning.’
When Kaelin woke the sun was up, and the storm had passed. Grymauch was sitting close by, chewing on a stale oatcake. Kaelin sat up, and winced as the stitches on his face pulled tight. He lightly touched the wound. There was blood on his fingers when he pulled them back. Without speaking to Grymauch he wandered from the camp and emptied his bladder. The sun was warm, making the freezing cold of last night’s storm seem unreal.