‘Not all of them,’ said the voice of Vorna in his mind. ‘There are more than eleven hundred refugees here, many of them older people, or women with young children. Without proofs of invasion many of them will choose to stay in the shelter of the community, rather than risk walking out into the snow and the cold. But I will do what I can.’
The vision faded. The mist ring disappeared. The crow cawed and flapped its wings, rising higher and higher above the trees until Bane could see it no more.
The young warrior ran back to the house, waking Gryffe and sending him into the forest with orders to find Wik and bring him and all the other outlaws to the farm.
‘Why would they come?’ asked the bleary-eyed Gryffe.
‘Tell Wik there is gold to be had for every man. He’ll come. But tell them to come ready to fight.’
The first person Vorna approached was young Finnigal, calling out to him as he walked from Ruathain’s funeral. The soldier hesitated, unwilling to be drawn into conversation with her, but then strolled over to where she stood.
‘What do you want of me, lady?’ he asked, his voice coldly polite.
‘Walk with me,’ she commanded, then moved away from the crowd towards the first bridge. He strode alongside her.
‘I have little time for idle chatter,’ he said. There is much to be done.’
‘I think you will find you have less time than you think,’ she said, walking out onto the humpbacked wooden bridge and pausing by the rail to stare down into the rushing water below. Chunks of white ice floated beneath the bridge, thumping against the foundations. Only a few days ago the stream had been frozen solid, village children playing upon it.
Vorna swung towards the tall soldier, her dark eyes holding to his gaze. ‘You stood beside the grave of your friend and recalled a time when both of you were hunting. Ruathain’s horse stumbled, hurling him into a thorn bush between two jagged boulders. He rose laughing and scratched, and you pointed out to him that had he struck the boulders he would now be dead. He told you he planned to live for ever. Is that not so?’
He stepped back a pace, his face blushing. ‘I did not know you were a mystic,’ he said. ‘It is most discourteous to enter a man’s mind in that way.’
‘Indeed it is,’ she said, ‘and I apologize for it. But it was necessary, Finnigal, so that you would give credence to what I have to tell you. And believe me I have spent many years keeping this gift secret, and only something of the greatest import would cause me to reveal it.’ She glanced back at the crowd making their way to their homes. One elderly woman, almost crippled by arthritis, was being supported by two soldiers. Vorna sighed.
‘Tell me what you have to say,’ said Finnigal.
‘There are Sea Wolves to the east of us. They are heading for Three Streams.’
‘What? That is not possible!’
‘It is true, Finnigal. Two hundred, perhaps more. They will be here within three days.’
The young man swung towards the east, scanning the land as if expecting to see the raiders marching over the hilltops. ‘Two hundred?’ he whispered. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I am sure.’
‘Why here? There are settlements closer to the sea.’
‘I do not know. What I do know is that they are coming. We must organise a withdrawal, head west for the Narian Forest. The raiders will be carrying their own supplies. They will not have the food to follow us far.’
Finnigal stared back at Three Streams. ‘We have around sixty wagons. There is no way to transport all of the villagers and refugees. Narian is . . . what. . . twenty miles or so. The weather is breaking, but the land is still frozen. We couldn’t make it in a day, which means a night out in the open. And when we get there what shelter would we have for the elderly and the very young? Gods, woman, many would die of the cold.’
‘More will die if they stay here,’ she said. ‘We should head for Bane’s farm. He has outbuildings and several barns, and within the forest there are sheltered clearings.’