Bird-song drifted through his dreams and he awoke. He did not feel refreshed for his sleep, and knew that he had dreamt of Tura. As always he could remember little, save her name echoing in his mind. He sat up and shivered. The fire was near gone and he knelt before it, blowing the embers to life and adding twigs to the tiny flames. Then he rose and wandered from the camp-site, gathering dead wood.
With the fire blazing once more he moved to the stallion, stroking its neck. He took some cold meat from his sack of provisions and returned to the warmth of the blaze. Kiall woke and carefully sat up. His colour had returned, and he smiled at Chareos.
The former monk sliced the ham with his hunting-knife and passed it to the villager.
‘Where are we?’ asked Kiall.
‘About ten miles from the old toll road. You look better.’
‘I am sorry to be a burden to you. And even more sorry that you had to kill for me.’
‘It wasn’t for you, Kiall. They were hunting me. A haughty child is disciplined and now three men are dead. Insane.’
‘You were amazing in the fight. I have never seen anything like it. You were so cool.’
‘You know why they died?’ Chareos asked.
They were not as good as you?’ ventured Kiall.
‘No, they weren’t, but that’s not the whole reason. They died because they had something to live for. Finish your breakfast.’
*
For three days they moved higher into the range, crossing streams and rivers. Above them the snow-geese flew, heading for their distant breeding grounds. In the waters the beaver battled against the floods, building their dams. Kiall’s wounds were healing fast in the clean mountain air, and now he wore Logar’s sabre at his side.
The companions had spoken little during the climb and at night, at the camp-fire, Chareos would sit facing north, lost in thought.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Kiall as they saddled their horses on the fifth morning.
Chareos was silent for a moment. ‘We are heading into a settlement called Tavern Town. There we will purchase supplies. But after that I will be riding south across the Steppes. And I will be riding alone, Kiall.’
‘You will not help me rescue Ravenna?’ It was the first time since the tavern that the villager had spoken of the raid. Chareos tightened the saddle cinch on the stallion before turning to face the young man.
‘You do not know which direction the raiders took. You do not know the name of their leader. By now the women will be sold. It is a hopeless cause, Kiall. Give it up.’
‘I cannot,’ said the young man. ‘I love her, Chareos. I have loved her since a child. Have you ever been in love?’
‘Love is for fools. It is a surging of blood in the loins . . . there is no mystery, and no magic. Find someone else, boy. By now she has been raped a dozen times and she may even have found she likes it.’
Kiall’s face went white and Logar’s sabre flashed into the air. Chareos leapt back. ‘What in the devil’s name are you doing?’
‘Apologise! Now!’ ordered Kiall, advancing with sabre pointing at Chareos’ throat.
‘For what? For pointing out the obvious?’ The sabre lanced forward but Chareos swayed aside from the point and drew his own sword. ‘Don’t be a fool, boy. You are in no condition to fight me. And even if you were, I could cut you to pieces.’
‘Apologise,’ repeated Kiall.
‘No,’ said Chareos softly. The villager attacked wildly, but Chareos parried with ease and, off balance, Kiall tumbled to the ground, dropping the sabre. He reached for it, but Chareos’ boot trapped the blade. Kiall twisted and dived, his head ramming into Chareos’ belly, and both men fell. Kiall’s fist cracked against Chareos’ chin. The former monk blocked a second blow, but a third stunned him and he lost his grip on his sabre. Kiall swept up the blade and lurched upright. Chareos tried to rise, but the point of his own sabre touched the skin of his throat.