Throughout their rest Cha’ra volunteered no other conversation. She would reply if spoken to, but apart from that merely sat, her eyes fixed on some distant point. Kaelin knew instinctively that this was not the time to talk of her ordeal, but he tried to find some other means of drawing her out.
‘Why did you leave Rigante lands?’ he asked at last.
She looked at him, and he saw the anger in her eyes. ‘Wullis Swainham told me you were sick. He said you had a fever and were like to die.’
‘Why would he say that?’ asked Kaelin, surprised.
She looked away for a moment. ‘He sold himself to the beetlebacks,’ she said.
‘He gave you up for money?’
‘No. For revenge. I do not want to talk about it.’ Chara turned towards him. ‘Let me have one of your pistols and a knife.’
‘You do not intend to harm yourself?’
‘Harm myself? What are you talking about?’
‘I knew of a woman once who, after she was . . . attacked . . . killed herself.’
Chara laughed then, but it was not a merry sound. ‘I will not harm myself, Kaelin. If there is justice at all in the world I will one day meet Wullis Swainham again. And I will kill him.’
Kaelin drew one of the Emburleys and passed it to her. ‘It pulls a little to the left,’ he said. Then he gave her one of his knives.
‘I need to wash,’ she said. ‘I stink of beetlebacks.’
‘The stream will be cold,’ he warned her.
‘I expect so.’ She made no move to undress, and Kaelin found the silence uncomfortable.
‘Are you not going to bathe now?’ he asked.
‘Would you turn your back?’ she said. The words stunned him.
‘Turn? Why? I have seen you naked before. You told me I was Varlish-tainted because I was embarrassed by your body.’
‘Well now I am Varlish-tainted,’ she said softly. ‘And no man will ever see me naked again.’
Kaelin said nothing for a moment. ‘I will scout a little and be back in a while,’ he said sadly.
Then he strode away towards the west.
Ranaud’s fury raged for most of the morning. The bodies of the guards in the gatehouse had not been discovered until just before dawn when the relief sentries arrived. Ranaud himself had been jerked from sleep by someone pounding on his door. It was the young officer in charge of the Night Watch.
‘What the hell is it, man? Are we under attack?’
‘No, sir. Two gatehouse guards were killed in the night.’
‘What?’
‘They were stabbed and stripped of their armour, sir.’ Ranaud’s sleep-befuddled brain tried to make sense of the attack. What was the point of such an enterprise? Moving to his bedside table he poured a goblet of watered uisge and drained half of it. The spirit flowed like fire in his throat. ‘No-one else was attacked?’ he asked.
‘No, sir.’
‘It makes no sense.’ Ranaud climbed into his leggings and pulled on his boots. Why would the attackers want the guards’ armour? The answer was obvious. To pass unobserved within the barracks and the keep. Were they here to assassinate him? Ranaud strapped on his sword belt. No. Had it been a murder attempt they would have found him long before the dawn. What then was the purpose? Suddenly he swore. ‘Has anyone been to the dungeons, lieutenant?’
‘The dungeons, sir?’ replied the man, shocked.
‘You idiot!’ stormed Ranaud, pushing past the man and heading for the stairs. The startled officer followed him. Soldiers were milling outside the mess hall. Ranaud ordered three of them to follow him and ran downstairs.
The lantern in the dungeon corridor had guttered and died. All was dark and silent. Ranaud ordered a soldier to fetch another lantern and waited on the stairs. When the man returned he eased past his colonel, holding aloft the light. It shone on the two corpses, and the blood which had flowed across the floor.
‘Check the cells,’ ordered Ranaud, knowing that Chara Jace would not be there.
Filled with cold fury he swung on the young officer. ‘You were in charge of the Night Watch?’