‘The two fighters disobeyed me, and betrayed the honour of the Varlish,’ the Moidart had said at their last meeting. ‘Unless they are dealt with we face civil disobedience and perhaps a revolt. It is up to you, Huntsekker, to see this does not happen. You will find the man Gorain, take him into the woods and hang him. You will leave this paper under a rock close to the body.’
‘Yes, lord. What of the other fighter?’
‘Galliott will arrest him and bring him to me. Once here he shall answer for his impertinence.’
Huntsekker had little doubt as to the nature of Chain Shada’s punishment. He would be tortured and killed in the dungeons below the Winter House. Still, it was not his problem.
Except that Galliott had failed. Chain Shada was no-one’s fool and had broken free of the soldiers, escaping into the town, and from there into the countryside. Now it was Huntsekker’s task to kill him, and anyone with him. The breeze touched him again, and once more he found himself staring back at the bridge. This was a magical land. Huntsekker had felt drawn to it from the first moment he had marched here with the Second all those years ago. Having completed his nine years Huntsekker had taken his pension and found work on the High Farm, buying it from the ageing owner six years later. Dal Naydham and Vinton Gabious had been with him since that time. Both men had married since, and now had houses on Huntsekker’s land. Dai’s wife had died last year in childbirth, and his three children now lived in Vinton’s house, alongside the latter’s own six boys.
Huntsekker shook his head, trying to free himself from such thoughts. Any moment now the two victims would appear and he needed to be ready. Taking up the blunderbuss he stared again at the crest. They should have reached it by now. He pictured the route they must take, across the open field and into the woods, down the short slope and through to this trail. There was no other way they could have reached the bridge without being seen.
A pistol shot sounded. Huntsekker jerked. Boillard Seeton came running from the undergrowth to the north, the sleeve of his grey shirt stained and dark. A powerful figure came running after him, followed by a youth carrying two pistols. There was no sign of Dal, Vinton or Bass. With a curse Huntsekker stepped out from behind the tree. ‘Down, Boillard,’ he shouted, bringing up the blunderbuss. Boillard Seeton hurled himself flat, screaming as his injured arm struck the earth.
Something cold touched Huntsekker’s throat. ‘Best be putting that dreadful thing down, Harvester,’ came the voice of Jaim Grymauch. ‘I’d hate to be cutting your throat on such a fine night as this.’
‘Aye,’ agreed Huntsekker. “Twould spoil the moment.’ Carefully he uncocked the piece and laid it against the tree.
‘Now step forward, if you would, and join your friend.’
Huntsekker walked across the clearing. Chain Shada was kneeling beside Boillard. ‘The shot bounced off the bone,’ he said. ‘It didn’t break it. A few stitches and you’ll recover, though you’ll hurt for a while.’
‘What of the rest of my men?’ asked Huntsekker.
‘Bruised and sleeping,’ said Chain Shada.
‘That’s a relief to me. They are family men.’
Jaim Grymauch moved from behind Huntsekker. His clothes were wet through. Huntsekker smiled. The old rogue had slipped down to the river and swum to the bridge, coming up behind him. ‘You’ll catch a chill, Grymauch,’ he said. ‘You’re not as young as once you were.’
‘Maybe I’ll take that bearskin coat,’ replied Jaim. That’ll keep me warm.’
‘It’s too big for you, son. Takes a man to wear a coat like this.’
Grymauch chuckled and moved to Chain Shada. ‘The way is clear,’ he said. ‘Time for you to be going.’
‘What about these two?’
Jaim swung to face Huntsekker. ‘It is a good question, Harvester. What are your plans?’
‘I’ll go back to my farm and tend to my cattle. As far as I am concerned I got here too late and the fighter had already crossed the bridge. I saw no-one else.’