Tostig turned towards her. She was some twenty paces from him. Tostig began to move slowly to his right. ‘Well, well,’ he said, ‘a girl with a gun. What is the world coming to?’ He sheathed his knife. ‘Why don’t you run away, girl? This is a man’s game. You know you are not going to try to shoot me. If you wanted that you would have fired when my back was turned. So just leave. See if you can escape me.’
Chara’s pistol boomed, the shot ripping through Tostig’s throat. He took two steps back, his pistol dropping from his fingers. Chara strode through the snow. ‘I wanted you to see who killed you, dung breath,’ she said coldly. Tostig fell to his knees, his life blood gushing from his ruptured jugular. Ignoring him, Chara moved to Draig. ‘You’ve been shot in the head,’ she said, probing the wound with her fingers. ‘But it didn’t crack the skull.’ Draig swung away from her and vomited again.
‘How many . . . did we get?’ he asked.
‘I got two plus that scum bucket. You?’
‘Two. That makes … I don’t know what that makes. Can’t think.’
‘It makes five,’ said Chara. ‘There are two more.’
‘They must have got behind us.’ Draig heaved himself upright, staggered, then righted himself. Chara was reloading her pistol.
From the distance came two shots.
They are at the cave,’ said Draig. More shots followed. Then there was silence.
Draig was in agony as he stumbled after Chara. His head contained a roiling sea of pain, and he stopped twice to vomit. By now there was almost nothing to bring up, but his belly continued to spasm. Blood was flowing down the left side of his face.
Chara was well ahead now, and Draig called out for her to wait for him. He stood and held on to an overhanging tree branch to help maintain balance. Chara did not pause, nor look back.
Got to help her, thought Draig, pushing on up the slope. It was then that he realized he had no weapons. His useless musket had been left behind at the fallen tree, his two pistols dropped when he fought the assassins, and his knife lost after Tostig had shot him. He was now as useless as the musket, and in no condition to help anyone.
Even so he fought his way up the slope and staggered, at last, into the cave. Eain was by the fire, adding fresh wood. Chara was sitting with Feargol and Jaim. Close by were two bodies. One had been shot through the head; the other appeared to have been hit from the side, a pistol ball having smashed through both cheeks of his face. Eain’s knife was jutting from the man’s chest.
As Draig turned the corner in the cave Eain looked up at him. ‘Took your own sweet time,’ he said. ‘You want me to stitch that cut?’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Chara.
‘Can we go home then?’ Eain asked Draig. ‘I’ve had enough of this Rigante blood nonsense. I’m happy as a Cochland, you know that? I don’t need any of this.’
Chara moved alongside Draig, and he felt her once more probing the wound in his skull. ‘What happened here?’ he asked her.
‘Your brother killed the other two.’ She said it so matter of factly that Draig found himself chuckling.
‘Who would believe it?’ he said.
‘Sit still.’
He felt the prick of a needle in his skin. It was as nothing to the jagged pounding hammering in his skull. He closed his eyes, fighting to hold back another wave of nausea.
‘The ball struck you at an angle,’ he heard Chara say. ‘You were lucky.’
‘Oh, I feel lucky,’ he muttered. He took a deep breath, which seemed to calm his stomach. ‘We’re an army, we Cochlands, you know. Unstoppable.’
Feargol came and sat beside him. ‘There’s lots of blood,’ he said. ‘Are you going to die?’
‘I damned well hope not,’ answered Draig.
‘Are you going to stitch Eain’s wounds?’ the boy asked Chara. She paused, and stared down at the child.
‘Eain’s wounds?’
‘The men who came in shot Eain as he was by the fire. He fell over. Then they came over to me and Jaim. One of them said: “Which is the one?” And the other one said: “Don’t matter. Got to do them both anyway.” Then Eain got up and shot one of them through the face. Then he shot the other one. The man with the bloody face ran at Eain and stabbed him. Then Eain took out his knife and stabbed him back. You ought to stitch up Eain’s wounds.’