‘We were only waiting for you, my friend. Gulgothir in six days, then the river east and north. Say three weeks. Then Raboas and your Armour. Sounds easy, does it not?’
‘As easy as milking a snake. Have you heard that Cadoras is in Skultik?’
Durmast’s eyes opened wide in mock surprise. ‘No!’
‘He is hunting me, so I am told.’
‘Let us hope he does not find you.’
‘For his sake,’ said Waylander. ‘How many men do you have?’
Twenty. Good men. Tough.’
‘Good men?’
‘Well no, scum as a matter of fact. But they can fight. Would you like to meet some of them?’
‘No, I have just eaten. How many people are you taking?’
‘One hundred and sixty. Some nice-looking women among them, Waylander. It should be a pleasant few days.’
Waylander nodded and glanced around the camp. Runners all of them, yet he felt pity for the families forced to trust a man like Durmast. Most of them would escape with their lives, but they would arrive in Gulgothir as paupers.
He transferred his gaze to the tree-lined hills to the south. A flash of light caught his eye and for some time he stared at the distant slopes.
‘What is it?’ asked Durmast.
‘Perhaps nothing. Perhaps sunlight on a piece of quartz.’
‘But you think it is Cadoras?’
‘Who knows?’ said Waylander, leading his horse away from the wagons and settling down in the shade of a spreading pine.
High in the hills, Cadoras replaced the long glass in its leather container and sat back on a fallen tree.
He was a tall, thin man, black-haired and angular. A scar ran from his forehead to his chin, cutting across his lips and giving him a mocking devil’s smile. The eyes were cloudy grey and cold as winter mist. He wore a black mailshirt, dark leggings and riding boots, and by his hips hung two short swords.
Cadoras waited for an hour, watching the wagons hitched to oxen and then assembled into a north-pointing line. Durmast rode to the head of the column and led the way towards the mountains and the Delnoch Pass. Waylander rode at the rear.
A sound from behind him caused Cadoras to turn sharply. A young man emerged from the bushes, blinking in surprise as he saw the knife in Cadoras’ raised hand.
‘He didn’t come,’ said the man. ‘We waited where you said, but he didn’t come.’
‘He came – but he circled you.’
‘Vulvin is missing. I sent Macas to find him.’
‘He will find him dead,’ said Cadoras.
‘How can you be sure?’
‘Because I wanted him dead,’ said Cadoras, walking away and staring after the wagons. Gods, why did they give him such fools? Bureaucrats! Of course Vulvin was dead. He had been ordered to watch the cabin of Hewla, but on no account to tackle Waylander. Why not, he had asked, he is only a man? Cadoras had known the fool would do something foolish, but then Vulvin was no loss.
An hour later Macas returned – short and burly, with a petulant mouth and a permanently surly manner. He moved to Cadoras, ignoring the younger man.
‘Dead,’ he said simply.
‘Did you kill the old woman?’
‘No. She had two wolves with her – they were eating Vulvin.’
‘And you did not want to disturb their lunch?’
‘No, Cadoras, I did not want to die.’
‘Very wise. Hewla would have struck you dead in an instant; she has rare powers. By the way, there were no wolves.’
‘But I saw them’
‘You saw what she wanted you to see. Did you ask her how Vulvin died?’
‘I did not have to. She said it was pointless sending jackals after a lion – told me to tell you that.’
‘She is right. But you jackals were part of the contract. Mount up.’
‘You do not like us, do you?’ asked Macas.
‘Like you, little man? What is to like? Now mount up.’
Cadoras walked to his horse and swung smoothly into the saddle. The wagons were out of sight now and he eased his mount out on to the slope, sitting back in the saddle and keeping the beast’s head up.