Jaim rolled to his knees and, lifting Lanovar into his arms, pushed himself to his feet. Lanovar’s head was resting on Jaim’s shoulder. Moonlight bathed them both. ‘We’re going now, Lan.’
Lanovar groaned, his face contorting with pain. ‘Put . . . me . . . down.’
‘We must find the Wyrd. She’ll have magic. The Wishing Tree woods have magic.’ In his mind he saw the woods, picturing the path he must take. At least four miles from here, part of it across open ground. Two hours of hard toil.
Two hours.
Jaim could feel Lanovar’s lifeblood running over his hands. In that moment Jaim knew they didn’t have two hours. He sank to his knees and placed his friend on the ground. Tears misted his eyes. His great body began to shake. He fought to control his grief, but it crashed through his defences. Throughout his twenty years of life there had been one constant: the knowledge of Lanovar’s friendship, and, with it, the belief that they would change the world.
‘Look after Gian and the babe,’ whispered Lanovar.
Jaim took a deep breath. He wiped away his tears. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said, his voice breaking. His mind, reeling from the horror of the present, floated back to the past: days of childhood and adolescence, pranks and adventures. Lanovar had always been reckless, and yet canny. He had a nose for trouble, and the wit to escape the consequences.
Not this time, thought Grymauch. He felt the tears beginning again, but this time shed them in silence. Then he saw Gian’s face in his mind. Sweet heaven, how would he tell her?
She was heavily pregnant, the babe due in a few days. It was the thought of the child to be that had led Lanovar to trust the Moidart. He had told Jaim only the night before that he didn’t want the child growing up in the world of violence he had known. As they sat at supper in Lanovar’s small, sod-roofed hut, the Rigante leader had spoken with passion about the prospect of peace. ‘I want my son to be able to wear the Rigante colours with pride, not be hunted down as an outlaw. Not too much to ask, is it?’
Gian said nothing, but Lanovar’s younger sister, the red-haired Maev, had spoken up. ‘You can ask what you like,’ she said. ‘But the Moidart cannot be trusted. I know this in my soul!’
‘You should listen to Maev,’ urged the raven-haired Gian, moving into the main room and easing herself down into an old armchair. One of the armrests was missing, and some horsehair was protruding from a split in the leather. ‘The Moidart hates you,’ she said. ‘He has sworn a blood oath to have your head stuck upon a spike.’
“Tis all politics, woman. Peace with the highland Rigante will mean more tax income for the Moidart and the king. It will mean more merchants able to bring their convoys through the mountain passes, and that will bring down the prices. Gold is what the king cares about. Not heads upon spikes. And, as one of his barons, the Moidart will have to do what is good for the king.’
‘You’ll take Grymauch with you,’ insisted Gian.
‘I will not. We are to meet alone, with no weapons. I’ll take Raven.’
Later Maev had come to the hulking fighter as he sat in the doorway of his own hut.
Normally his heart would beat faster as she approached him, his breath catch in his throat. Maev was the most beautiful woman Grymauch had ever seen. He had hoped to find the courage to tell her so, but instead had stood by as she and the handsome young warrior, Calofair, had begun their courtship. Calofair was now in the north, trading with the Black Rigante. When he came back he and Maev would Walk the Tree.
Jaim glanced up as Maev approached. ‘You’ll go anyway,’ she said.
‘Aye, of course I will.’
‘You’ll not let him see you.’
Jaim had laughed. ‘He’s a bonny swordsman and a fine fighter, but he’s a hopeless woodsman. He’ll not see me, Maev.’
Gian came walking across to them. Maev put her arms around the pregnant woman, and kissed her cheek. Jaim Grymauch wondered briefly how it would feel if Maev did the same to him. He reddened at the thought. Gian stretched and pressed her palms into the small of her back. This movement caused her pregnant belly to look enormous. Jaim laughed. ‘Pregnancy suits some women,’ he said. ‘Their skin glows, their hair shines. They make a man think of the wonders of nature. Not you, though.’