The plan was essentially simple. The three armies would converge on the city, closing in like a mailed fist, crushing the life from the defenders. The attacks from east and west would draw away men from the centre, and then Winter Kay would strike like a lance, leading his Redeemers on a sudden, deadly thrust to the castle. On this day Winter Kay’s twenty thousand were due to march to within twenty miles of Eldacre.
Only they did not march.
Winter Kay had rolled from his pallet bed and sat up. His head was aching terribly, and his mouth was dry. He felt exhausted, drained of energy. It was then that he realized he was fully clothed, and his muddy boots had stained the blankets. He stared down at the boots. It was inconceivable that he would have slept like this. He clearly recalled undressing some hours before dawn.
He rubbed at his temples in a firm, circular motion. The veins were like wire under his fingers. A water jug was placed on a folding table. Lifting it he drank deeply. The water tasted sour and metallic. There was only one sure way to clear his head. Rising from the bed he walked to where the iron box lay, and opened the lid. The shock that struck him was like a blow to the belly. His body convulsed.
The iron box was empty.
Winter Kay spun round, his eyes scanning the tent. There was no sign of the skull.
The pain in his head forgotten he stumbled to the tent entrance and dragged back the flap. Two Redeemers stood guard outside.
‘Who has been in here?’ yelled Winter Kay. Both men stood transfixed. Never had Winter Kay appeared so distressed before his men. ‘Answer me, damn you!’
‘No-one, my lord,’ said the first. ‘We’ve been on guard ever since you came back.’
‘Came back?’
‘Yes, my lord. From your ride.’
‘What are you talking about? What ride?’
‘The men glanced at one another. Then the second Redeemer spoke. ‘Just before dawn, my lord, you told me to saddle your horse. Then you rode off to the north.’
‘Liar!’ screamed Winter Kay. His fist hammered into the man’s face, hurling him from his feet. Dragging a knife from its sheath he knelt over the fallen Redeemer. ‘Give me the truth or you die now!’
‘It is the truth, lord!’ The knife point plunged through the man’s right eye. Blood spurted and he writhed under Winter Kay’s grip. The knife tore into the man’s brain and he twitched once and then was still. Winter Kay tore the knife loose and swung on the first man, who was backing away, horrified.
The truth – or you die too!’
‘What do you want me to say, my lord? I’ll say anything you want!’
‘Just the truth!’
‘He told you the truth. You called for a horse and rode out. Everyone saw you. The captain asked if you wanted guards to ride with you, but you ignored him.’
Winter Kay stood very still. The knife dropped from his fingers. ‘What was I carrying?’
‘A black sack, my lord. Velvet, I think. It’s true, I swear it.’
‘Did I have it when I came back?’
‘I don’t recall . . . Wait! No, sir, you did not. I remember helping you down from the saddle. You seemed weary and we wondered if you were ill.’
‘Fetch me a horse, and find someone who knows how to track,’ said Winter Kay.
Two hours later Winter Kay and a footsoldier entered the Wishing Tree woods. The undergrowth was heavy and Winter Kay needed to dismount and tether his horse. He followed the man deeper into the woods, down a long slope and up to an ancient site of broken standing stones.
The tracker knelt and examined the soft earth around the stones. ‘You came here, my lord. You were met by someone with small feet. Likely a woman, though it may have been a child. Then you turned back.’
‘Where did the woman go?’
The tracker took an age walking around the rim of the hill. ‘There are no fresh tracks at all leading away from the hilltop, my lord, save yours.’