Would they all be waiting for him in the Void?
Huntsekker shivered and plodded on towards the Moidart’s rooms. His mind reeled with weariness and shame, which was why he forgot to knock at the Moidart’s door. Instead he lifted the latch and pushed open the door, stepping inside.
The Moidart, bare-chested, was standing by his desk applying a pale unguent to his upper body. Huntsekker stood in stunned amazement. The Moidart’s back was covered with angry scar tissue, the flesh twisted and puckered. There was blood seeping from a fist-sized lesion over his right hip. The nobleman was engrossed in his actions and failed to see Huntsekker, who silently stepped back outside, drawing the door closed. Then he rapped on it with his knuckles.
‘Who is it?’ came the commanding voice.
‘It is I, my lord. Huntsekker.’
‘Wait!’
Huntsekker crossed the corridor and sat on a wooden bench. The wounds looked almost fresh, and the pain from them would be ghastly. He could also tell that they extended to the man’s chest, for that was where the Moidart was applying the balm. How in the name of heaven did the man carry on with his life?
‘Come!’ called the Moidart.
Huntsekker entered the room. The Moidart had put on a grey silk robe, and was now sitting behind his desk. The jar of unguent cream remained. Huntsekker saw that it was almost empty.
‘Is Powdermill recovered?’ asked the Moidart.
‘Aye, my lord. Though his fear is growing. Good news, though, about the Lord Gaise escaping the trap.’
‘He is not safe yet. They will send men after him. I need you to go north. At speed.’
Huntsekker’s heart sank again. Who was he to kill now? ‘Yes, my lord.’
‘There is a woman there, named Maev Ring.’
‘I do not kill women,’ said Huntsekker, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.
‘Kill women? What are you talking about?’
Huntsekker rubbed at his tired eyes. ‘Forgive me, my lord.’ He sighed. ‘I am getting tired of death and I misunderstood.’
‘I want you to go to her with a letter from me. I want you to tell her of the situation here and impress upon her the need for unity of purpose. She could be vital, Huntsekker.’
‘In what way, my lord?’
‘She is rich, and as a highlander unable to bank her wealth probably has a great deal of gold and silver hidden. My letter will request. . .’ Suddenly the Moidart shook his head. ‘In days not so long gone by I would have confiscated her wealth and had her hanged. Still, no point harping on about lost golden times. My letter will request a loan.’
‘Why send me, my lord? Surely I am more vital here. There will still be those among the Pinancers who will wish to see their lord avenged.’
‘I don’t doubt it. However, you are the man for this task, Huntsekker. She trusts you. You will assure her that my word is good, and that every chailling will be repaid – with interest.’
But will it, wondered Huntsekker?
He noticed the Moidart’s hawk eyes staring at him intently. ‘Do you doubt my word, Harvester?’
‘I have served you faithfully, my lord, and I have always been loyal. Do you doubt me?’
‘Not so far,’ answered the Moidart, carefully.
‘Then I shall be frank. I helped Maev Ring because of Grymauch. He was a good and heroic man. I promised him that no harm would come to her while I lived. That is not a promise I will break. I am not a forgiving man and will destroy any who seek to harm her.’
‘You are getting soft in your old age, Huntsekker. Time was when you would have had the wit to keep that information to yourself. It does not matter in this case. I too have a regard for Maev Ring, and you have my promise that I will not, now or ever, seek to cause her harm.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’
‘You liked Grymauch?’
‘I did, my lord. He was . . . colourful.’
‘Which is why you lied about the escape of Chain Shada? You said you were attacked from behind, whereas the reality is that it was Jaim Grymauch who rescued the fighter. Your man, Boillard Seeton, was killed by you to prevent him from giving me his name.’