He stumbled on behind Chara Ring, following the line of tracks they had left earlier in the day, trying not to think about Tostig. But it was no use. The man’s face was constantly in his mind, with its mocking half-grin. Draig had always been frightened of him. There was something unhinged about Tostig; something cold and empty.
He had come to the Low Valley around six years ago. At first he had been like every other outlaw; careful lest the Moidart’s soldiers learned of him. However, since the war in the south had started there were few soldiers in the north, and Tostig had grown more reckless and more daring. Many of the vilest crimes of the last few years – rapes and murders – had gone unsolved. But Draig knew that Tostig and his men were behind them. One lowland farmer and his nine-year-old daughter had been killed in a raid two years ago. It had stunned the lowland community, for the child had been abused before being murdered. No-one had discovered the identity of the killers, though it was rumoured they were deserters from the army, passing through. Draig knew otherwise. One of Tostig’s men had tried to sell him a silver engraved powder horn bearing the initials of the farmer.
Tostig was a man with no soul, and he had gathered to him like-minded men.
However, his evil deeds were not what bothered Draig Cochland. Draig was not responsible for the sins of others. What tormented Draig was that from the first moment he had met Tostig he had known fear. There was something in the way the man looked at him – the way in which a butcher might study a carcass, measuring the cuts and the joints with practised eye. For some time after that first meeting Draig had suffered nightmares. He had dreamt Tostig was coming to kill him.
They went away after a while, but returned after news came through of a traveller who had been robbed and killed. He had been tortured and partially skinned. Tostig carried a skinning knife, a small, crescent-shaped blade sheathed horizontally on his belt.
Ahead of him Chara ducked down behind a fallen log, and stared out over the snow. Draig moved alongside her. ‘You see anything?’ he whispered. Chara glanced at him. He looked away, knowing she had heard the terrible fear in his voice.
‘I thought I saw movement,’ she replied, pointing towards a stand of trees. The moon was bright, and high in the sky. Draig narrowed his eyes and peered at the trees. He could see nothing. ‘Is your musket loaded?’
‘Yes.’
‘Make sure the action is not frozen.’
Draig tried to cock the weapon, but there was ice around the hammer. He rubbed at it to no avail. Lifting the weapon to his face he breathed against the action.
‘I can’t loosen it,’ he said. Then he noticed that the action of Chara’s musket was wrapped in a cloth. He felt foolish. ‘I am sorry, Chara. I am unused to these weapons.’
‘Keep working at the action,’ she said.
Then he saw movement further down the slope. Three men emerged from the trees, following the tracks. Draig swore, and rubbed furiously at the cold iron. Eventually the hammer eased back.
‘Check the flash pan,’ ordered Chara. Draig flipped it open. There was ice on the powder within. Chara saw it. ‘The weapon is useless.’
Four more men appeared, some twenty paces behind the first group. ‘Which one is Tostig?’ asked Chara.
Draig suddenly felt the cold wash over him. It was as if he had fallen into an icy river. His hands began to tremble. ‘Which one?’ said Chara again.
Draig sucked in a huge breath, letting it out slowly. ‘At the centre of the second group. The one with the hood.’
Chara lifted her musket, removed the cloth then cocked the weapon. Resting the barrel on the log she brought it to bear. The shot boomed, and echoed across the empty land. Black smoke drifted around Draig, making his eyes sting. He rubbed at them, then scanned the slope. One man was down, but it was not Tostig. The figure tried to rise, then slumped back to the snow. The others were running, but not away from the gunfire. They were struggling through the deep snow towards the trees at the foot of the slope. Chara was calmly reloading her musket. A shot screamed by above them. Another thudded into the fallen log. Draig cast aside his musket and drew a pistol from his belt.