‘Wolf call makes no echo, boy. Don’t you remember nothing at all?’
‘I was raised to be a priest, Finn. My father didn’t think I’d have much need for wolf calls and echoes.’
Finn chuckled. ‘If they find the cabin, you can go out and preach to them.’
‘How many do you think there are?’
‘Hard to say,’ Finn told him. ‘Usually they keep to bands of around thirty, but there may be less.’
‘Or more?’ suggested Maggrig, softly.
Finn nodded. The wolf call sounded once more.
And this time it was closer . . .
*
Chareos drew rein on a hill-top and glanced back down towards the valley. ‘What is it?’ asked Kiall. ‘That’s the fourth time you’ve checked the back trail.’
‘I thought I saw riders, sunlight gleamed from helms or lances. It could be a patrol.’
‘They would not be looking for us, would they? I mean, we have broken no laws.’
Chareos looked into Kiall’s face and read the fear there. ‘I have no idea. The Earl is a vengeful man and he feels I have insulted him. But even he could find no way to accuse me on this matter. Let’s move. We should be in Tavern Town by mid-morning, and I would sell my soul for a hot meal and a warm bed.’
The clouds above them were heavy with the promise of snow, and the temperature had dropped sharply during the past two days. Kiall wore only a woollen shirt and leggings, and just looking at him made Chareos more cold. ‘I should have bought gloves,’ he said, blowing at his hands.
‘It is not too cold yet,’ said Kiall cheerfully.
‘It is when you are my age,’ Chareos snapped.
Kiall chuckled. ‘You don’t look much past fifty.’
Chareos bit back an angry retort and urged the stallion on down the slope. All life is a circle, he reminded himself, remembering the days when he had chided old Kalin for being near senile. Old Kalin? The man had been forty-two – nearly three years younger than Chareos was now.
The stallion slithered on the slope. Chareos pulled his head up and leaned back in the saddle. The grey recovered his balance and reached the foot of the hill without incident. The trail widened into a mountain road, flattened by the wide leather-rimmed wheels of the wagons that carried timber to Talgithir. The trees gave shelter from the wind and Chareos felt more comfortable. Kiall rode alongside, but the grey nipped at the gelding, which reared. The villager clung on grimly.
‘You should sell that beast,’ said Kiall. ‘There is a devil in him.’
It was good advice, but Chareos knew he would keep the grey. ‘He is bad-tempered and a loner. But I like him. He reminds me of me.’
They emerged from the woods above a cluster of buildings, at the centre of which was a tavern. Grey smoke rose from its two stone chimneys, and men could be seen gathering outside the main doorway.
‘Bad timing,’ muttered Chareos. ‘The timber workers and labourers are waiting for their midday meal.’
The two men rode down into the settlement. The stables were at the rear of the tavern, and there Chareos unsaddled the grey and led him into a stall. He forked hay into the feeding-box and brushed the animal’s back. Then he and Kiall walked through into the tavern. It was near full and there was no room close to the fires, so the two men sat at a bench table.
A plump woman approached them. ‘Good morning, sirs. We have pies, and good roast beef and a rich honey-cake served hot.’
‘Do you have rooms available?’ asked Chareos.
‘Yes, sir. The upper guest room. I will have a fire lit; it will be ready shortly.’
‘We will take our food there,’ he told her. ‘But for now, two goblets of mulled wine, if you please.’
She curtseyed and moved back into the throng. The crowd made Chareos uncomfortable; the air was close and reeked of wood-smoke, sweat and broiling meat. After a while the woman returned and led them through to the stairs and on to the upper guest room. It was large and cold, despite the newly-lit fire, but there were two soft beds, a table and four deep leather chairs.