Ralis was breathing heavily as he topped the last rise and gazed down on the flower-garlanded cabin. The wind died down and a beautiful silence settled over the forest. Ralis took a deep breath. ‘You can both step out here,’ he said softly. ‘I may not be able to see you, but I know you’re close by.’
The young woman appeared first. Dressed in leggings of oiled black leather and a tunic of grey wool she rose from the undergrowth and grinned at the old man. ‘You’re getting sharper, Ralis,’ she observed.
He nodded and turned to his right. The man stepped into view. Like Miriel he wore leggings of black leather and a tunic shirt, but he also sported a black, chain-mail shoulder-guard and a baldric, from which hung three throwing knives. Ralis swallowed hard. There was something about this quiet mountain man that always disturbed the ancient tinker, and had done ever since they met on this same mountainside ten years before. He had thought about it often. It was not that Dakeyras was a warrior – Ralis had known many such – nor was it in the wolf-like way that he moved. No, it was some indefinable quality that left Ralis thinking of mortality. To stand close to Dakeyras was somehow to be close to death. He shuddered.
‘Good to see you, old man,’ said Dakeyras. ‘There’s meat on the table, and cold spring water. Also some dried fruit – if your teeth can manage it.’
‘Nothing wrong with my teeth, boy,’ snapped Ralis. ‘There may not be so many as once there were, but those that are left can still do their job.’
Dakeyras swung to the girl. ‘You take him down. I’ll join you presently.’
Ralis watched him move silently back into the trees. ‘Expecting trouble, are you?’ he asked.
‘What makes you ask that?’ replied the girl.
‘He’s always been a careful man – but he’s wearing chain mail. Beautifully made, but still heavy. I wouldn’t think he’d wear it in these mountains just for show.’
‘We’ve had trouble,’ she admitted.
He followed her down to the cabin, leaving his pack by the door and stretching out in a deep horsehair-padded leather chair. ‘Getting too old for this life,’ he grunted.
She laughed. ‘How long have you been saying that?’ she asked him.
‘About sixty years,’ he told her. Leaning back he rested his head against the chair and closed his eyes. I wonder if I’m a hundred yet, he wondered. I’ll have to work it out one day – find a point of reference.
‘Water or fermented apple juice?’ she asked him.
Opening the pouch at his side he removed a small packet, handing it to her. ‘Make a tisane of that,’ he requested. ‘Just pour boiling water on it and leave it for a little while.’
‘What is it?’ she enquired, lifting the packet to her nose and drawing in the scent.
‘A few herbs, dill and the like. Keeps me young,’ he added with a wide grin.
She left him then and he sat quietly, drinking in his surroundings. The cabin was well built, the main room long and wide, the hearth and chimney solidly constructed of limestone. The south wall had been timbered, and a bearskin hung there. Ralis smiled. It was neatly done, but he had walked these mountains before Dakeyras was born, and he knew about the cave. Had sheltered there a time or two. But it was a clever idea to build a cabin against a cave mouth, then disguise the entrance. A man should always have an escape route.
‘How long should I leave it brewing?’ came Miriel’s voice from the back room.
‘Several minutes,’ he replied. ‘When the shredded leaves start to sink it’ll be ready.’
The weapons rack on the wall caught his eye: two longbows, several swords, a sabre, a Sathuli tulwar and half a dozen knives of various lengths and curves. He sat up. A new crossbow lay upon the table. It was a nice piece and Ralis levered himself from his chair and picked up the weapon, examining the gold embossing.
‘It is a good bow,’ said Miriel, striding back into the room.