The screams of Wullis Swainham had followed them, occasionally dying off only to rise again just when they thought his agony was over. Kaelin sat at the mouth of the cave, staring out over the moonlit forest. He wished Grymauch were close, and half hoped -as had happened once before – that he would see a small camp fire, and the giant clansman would be sitting there waiting for him. The Wyrd was right. Jaim was a magical man. No matter how difficult the situation the presence of Grymauch always brought hope. Kaelin had a feeling that the one-eyed highlander might even be able to break through the wall around Chara Jace.
He glanced back at her. She was gazing at the rock face, but he knew her mind was far away. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked. She shook her head. ‘Perhaps you should eat anyway. It will give you strength.’
‘All right,’ she said.
Kaelin moved back into the cave and searched through the canvas sack, coming up with some strips of salted beef. Chara ate in silence. Kaelin felt there was a chasm between them, and did not know how to cross it.
‘Why did you stop me from taking my vengeance?’ she asked suddenly.
‘He was dying anyway,’ he replied. ‘And in great pain.’
‘I hope that his pain lasts for an eternity,’ she said.
‘Why did he betray you? Do you know?’
She shook her head, and lapsed once more into silence.
‘You said it was for revenge,’ he prompted.
Chara sighed. ‘He wanted to marry me. My father laughed at him. I knew nothing of this. He told me as he . . .’ Her face reddened. ‘He told me that everything I was suffering was the fault of my father. I should not have let you stop me. I should have cut his eyes out.’
‘It would not have brought you peace,’ he said.
‘Peace? You think I will ever have peace? How would you know? You are a man – just like those stinking men back in the keep.’ The force of her anger shocked him, yet it did not spark his own. Instead it saddened him.
‘I am not like those men,’ he said at last. ‘I would never harm a woman. No true Rigante ever would. Get some rest.’
Returning to the mouth of the cave he sat in despair. Wullis Swainham was dead, and yet his evil lived on. Kaelin was powerless to change that. The night grew colder. He saw that Chara was sleeping, and once more he covered her with his greatcoat. It began to rain, and he drew back from the mouth of the cave. Chara suddenly screamed and sat bolt upright, scrabbling for a pistol.
‘It is all right!’ shouted Kaelin. ‘You are safe. I am with you.’
‘They are coming for me again,’ she cried.
‘I will not let them harm you.’
She blinked and her breathing slowed. ‘You will not let them take me?’
‘I promise.’
‘You will kill me?’
‘I will not let them take you.’
‘I need more than that, Kaelin. Promise you will shoot me.’
‘It will not come to that. But if it does, then, yes, I will kill you. You have my promise.’
By late afternoon of the following day they had reached the western flanks of the mountains. Kaelin climbed a high tree to look out over the valley and the road to the pass. Hundreds of soldiers were garrisoned there. Kaelin could see men pitching rows of tents. A line of twenty cannon had also been drawn up. Horses were being picketed to the east.
Climbing back to the ground he told Chara what he had seen. ‘Can we slip by them?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘What do we do? We cannot just sit in the forest until we starve to death.’
‘I need time to think,’ he replied. Moving away from her, he approached the towering cliff face and stared up. They were already high, and the cliffs soared for at least another six hundred feet. Wispy clouds prevented him from seeing the very top. He walked along the base of the rock face. It was not the soft sandstone of the southern hills. There were many cracks and juts that would make fine hand- and footholds. This would not be the problem, though, he knew. Grymauch had taught him to climb, and he had learned that the greatest danger to a climber was not from the rock face, but from within. A handhold that was merely ten feet above the ground felt solid and large. The same handhold a hundred feet up seemed tiny. The higher one climbed the more dangerous it felt. Fatigue would seep into the muscles, the wind would tug at the climber’s clothing. Fear sometimes led to a dizzy feeling, when it seemed the mountain was swaying back and forth, seeking to dislodge the arrogant human clinging to it.