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  She was silent.

  ‘She’s your key? A Mireces?’ Lim asked. Sarilla and Ash were eyeing the landscape as they listened and Dom knew the scout camp would be on high alert.

  Dom licked his lips and squinted. ‘She’s the key,’ he murmured, the words again coming from somewhere just a little outside of him, a touch beyond his control. ‘But not Mireces.’ She glanced at him at that, and then away. ‘I’d say an escaped slave—’

  ‘She’s a spy,’ Ash interrupted. ‘What better way to infiltrate us? A young woman, cold and filthy and starving … they know we’d take her in. So we don’t.’

  ‘Send her on her way?’ Lim asked.

  ‘Knife in the throat’d do it,’ Sarilla muttered.

  Dom winced, but he couldn’t blame either of them. Except that they were wrong.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Lim asked again. Still nothing. ‘We’re trying to help here, lass, but you’ve got to help us too.’

  ‘My name’s Dom Templeson,’ Dom tried with his most ingratiating smile. ‘This is Lim. He’s our chief. The scary woman is Sarilla and that’s Ash. He’s a hothead despite the cold.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ Ash said. ‘I wish they’d finished her off. You do realise you’ve compromised the camp, and possibly the village, by taking her and killing the Mireces? And for what? Some fucking mute who’ll likely murder us all in our sleep.’

  ‘You don’t wish that, because then she’d be dead and we wouldn’t know anything,’ Dom snapped as Lim snorted. Best get it over then, he thought. He reached for her face and she squirmed backwards, got her good leg under her and stood, cracking her head on a branch and sending a flurry of snow down on them all. Dom paused, secretly glad of the delay. The tremor he’d felt while carrying her had been strong, verging on painful. He wasn’t all that keen on repeating it, but if she wouldn’t talk, there was little choice. He needed to learn what she knew and he could probably force a knowing if he held on to her long enough.

  ‘The Mireces are hunting you,’ he said and saw her shudder, ‘so we will protect you. But you need to help us do that.’

  Lim looked at him, surprised, and Sarilla and Ash turned from their study of the terrain with identical expressions of disbelief. ‘We’re helping her,’ Dom said firmly. He ignored the mutters and focused on her again. ‘Are you Rilporian?’

  The girl nodded and Dom felt a flicker of triumph. ‘Were you captured by the Mireces?’ Another nod. ‘I need you to say something now, lass,’ Dom murmured, taking a soft step forward. She wasn’t fooled; she slid sideways out of his reach. He stopped moving and exhaled softly. ‘I need you to tell me where you escaped from. Can you do that?’

  As expected there was silence and Lim puffed out his cheeks. ‘It’s important, child. We need to know which village was tracking you, who it is we’ve killed on your behalf.’

  ‘Eagle Height.’ The girl’s voice was rusty with disuse, her accent thick with Mireces harshness. ‘Two days ago.’ Lim’s eyes narrowed, and Dom flinched.

  ‘You’re sure it was Eagle Height? Seat of Liris, King of the Mireces?’ Lim asked and then grimaced. The girl’s filthy robe darkened down the front, steaming piss streaking her legs and soaking into Dom’s careful bandaging.

  ‘Take her away, Ash, we need to talk,’ Lim grunted in disgust. ‘I’ll fill you in later.’

  Dom opened his mouth to protest but Lim gave a hard shake of his head and he waited until Ash had escorted her out of earshot. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ Dom hissed then.

  ‘I agree with Ash. She’s likely a spy.’

  ‘Really? You think she pissed herself on command?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Dom’s eyebrows rose. ‘She’s Rilporian and she’s managed to escape after who knows how many years serving the Mireces and you say she’s a spy. She needs our help.’ He flicked hair off his forehead and rubbed delicately at his right eye.

  ‘Don’t be taken in by a pretty face,’ Lim said.

  Dom scowled. ‘Don’t you be taken in by her accent,’ he retorted. ‘She’s Rilporian.’

  ‘So she says,’ Sarilla interjected and Dom threw up his hands in frustration, staring from one to the other.

  ‘It’s more than that,’ he insisted.

  ‘This is really what you meant, then?’ Lim asked. ‘You said a message, or a messenger. She’s it? What can she tell us?’

  Dom bit his lip, shook his hair out of his eyes again and stared at the girl. She was looking around, backing off slowly. Ash grabbed her arm and pulled her to a halt. ‘I’m not sure, but she’s important. I just don’t know how yet.’

  ‘Then find out,’ Lim said, ‘one way or another. Either she’s important or she’s dead, but we need to know which and we don’t have time. Gods,’ he muttered and rubbed the back of his neck.

  ‘You said there was no immediate danger,’ Sarilla said in a tone that was nearly accusatory.

  ‘I said there was always danger,’ Dom contradicted her, but quietly. Last thing he needed was to start an argument.

  Lim growled in frustration. ‘Fine, take her back to the village and get her some decent clothes or she’ll have her throat opened for her, Rilporian or not. I’ll stay here for a day or two, make sure they don’t come back with reinforcements. When I get back to the village, she’d better be ready to talk.’

  ‘I’m staying too,’ Sarilla said. ‘You’ll need my bow,’ she added when Lim would have protested.

  ‘Thank you,’ Dom said.

  ‘Just make sure you’re right about this, and about her,’ Sarilla muttered. ‘We don’t want to start a war over nothing.’

  RILLIRIN

  Eleventh moon, seventeenth year of the reign of King Rastoth

  Watcher village, Wolf Lands, Rilporian border

  Rillirin sat and watched. She was good at watching, and she was very good at sitting still. Being unobtrusive had kept her alive. It wasn’t as cold as Eagle Height, so she didn’t allow herself to shiver, to move, barely to blink. Instead she curled into the protective angle of the wall of Dom’s house and the woodpile, and she watched.

  She watched the men do the chores alongside the women, and she watched the women work with weapons alongside the men. Mostly, though, she watched the short, spiky-haired spearwoman who’d come to visit Dom and sat by the small fire outside his door.

  Her name was Dalli and she had a spear as long as she was tall, plus the leaf-shaped blade at one end. Rillirin watched her rub a fine layer of beeswax into the grain of the wood, and then rub most of it back off again. There was an expression of absolute concentration and contentment on her face as she worked, oblivious to Dom clanging the cooking pot or whistling through his teeth.

  Rillirin had never touched a weapon, if you discounted the knives in the kitchens of Eagle Height. Her palms itched at the thought of picking up a spear and knowing how to use it. A prisoner in a Wolf village was much the same as a slave in a Mireces village, though, so she didn’t move.

  Dalli gave the spear one more rub-down and stood up, hefting it in one hand and then the other. Then she spun it and it hummed through the air. She smiled, shifting her hands and whirling its length through a series of figures of eight, spinning it around herself, spinning herself with it, feet dancing through the snow.

  ‘Show off,’ Dom called from inside, breaking the spell, and Rillirin blinked and exhaled; she’d been holding her breath. I want to do that. I want to fight, to dance like that. To be strong.

  Dalli laughed, leapt at the door and stabbed through it into the gloom. Rillirin clapped a hand over her mouth and lurched to her feet. The movement alerted Dalli, who dropped into a crouch and spun, spear suddenly pointed at Rillirin’s chest. Rillirin flattened herself against the woodpile, a branch digging hard into her kidney, and put both arms over her face.

  ‘Hush, girl, I’m not going to hurt you,’ Dalli said, and Rillirin chanced a look. Her heart was thudding high in her throat. Dalli had straightened and was cradling the spear in the crook of her arm,
its butt resting on the top of her boot.

  ‘Maybe I’ll teach you one day,’ she said and Rillirin’s mouth formed an O of surprise. How does she know? ‘Every woman should be able to protect herself,’ Dalli added and Rillirin’s face twisted with shame. The woman was mocking her weakness. She lowered her arms and stared at the snow, feeling her face heat up.

  Dalli pursed her lips and then stepped forward and proferred the spear. ‘I didn’t mean anything by that,’ she said quietly. ‘Here, do you want to hold it?’ she asked and from the corner of her eye Rillirin saw Dom appear in the doorway, knife in one hand.

  It’s a trap. They’ll kill me if I take the spear. They can say I attacked them. But Rillirin looked at it, at the warm rich wood, the curves of the grain and the faint sheen of beeswax. She could just make out the hatchings carved into its middle for grip. It was beautiful.

  Dalli ran her free hand through her short spiky hair. ‘Go on if you want,’ she said. ‘It’s up to you.’

  Rillirin licked her lips, fingers twitching; then she shook her head and looked away, shoulders creeping up around her ears. I remember this game. Drink the wine, wench, you’ve earned it, then a punch in the face if I did. Punch in the face if I didn’t, sometimes.

  Dalli tucked the spear back under her arm. ‘Another time maybe,’ she said easily, with a smile Rillirin didn’t – couldn’t – trust. ‘You just let me know and I’ll be pleased to teach you. We all would, whatever weapon you fancy.’

  Rillirin didn’t reply. She slid down the wall on to the ground, arms around her knees. Still.

  CORVUS

  Eleventh moon, year 994 since the Exile of the Red Gods

  Watcher village, Wolf Lands, Rilporian border

  When Edwin had limped back into the longhouse and announced the slave had been taken by Wolves and his war band were all dead, Corvus had almost gutted the man there and then. One slave, one snivelling little bitch had managed to outsmart him and lead him into an ambush? And not only that, but she’d know all the secrets of the village, their weaknesses. If she talked, she’d give the Wolves all the information they could need to attack Eagle Height itself.

  Corvus gathered all the available warriors in Eagle Height and set out without delay. They found tracks at the Final Falls fresh and only hours old, so Corvus led his men on as fast as they could go. If they could catch the Wolves in the open, he could slaughter them all, take back the wench and find out who’d killed Liris. Could be one of the men with him now, waiting for an opportunity to make a bid for the throne in much the same way he had.

  Freezing sleet fell, marring the trail, and Corvus grimaced and sped up even more. Lanta, in a knee-length gown and black leggings, ran easily at his side, as she had done for the last day and a half. He still didn’t know why she’d insisted on coming, but despite his misgivings she hadn’t held them up. She was faster than some of his men.

  The sleet had plastered her hair to her skull, dulling its vibrant blonde to sand. He couldn’t help but smile at her discomfort, though she hid it well. As war chief of Crow Crag, he’d run and fought through every kind of weather the mountains could throw at him. He was made for this. Sacrifice and communion no doubt had its strains, but she was in his world for a change and he intended to ensure she knew it.

  Firelight. Corvus skidded to a halt and flung out an arm to stop Lanta running past. His warriors spread out in a skirmish line and hunkered down, and Corvus quartered the trees ahead. Campfires, more than one, and the smell of cooking.

  ‘Gosfath’s balls,’ he muttered, ‘we’ve found their fucking village.’ He had a few hundred men, but there was no way of telling how many Wolves there were. Could be a hundred, could be a thousand. The Lady’s will. My feet are on the Path.

  ‘We’re looking for the slave, remember. She’s not a warrior, so capture any woman who can’t fight. Kill everyone else.’ He got the nod from Fost to his right, Valan to his left, and drew his sword. He heard the creak of bows being bent and strung. He gestured and they started the advance, a silent line in the wet, melding with the dark beneath the trees. ‘Blessed One, stay here,’ he said, not waiting for a response.

  Pitch torches hissed and sputtered at intervals in the village, doing nothing to light the darkness. He signalled again and men began peeling off in pairs into the houses, pulling daggers as they slid through the doors. They’d entered all of three buildings before yelling put an end to their stealth.

  Shouts of alarm went up and Corvus waved his men on. Wolves poured from the houses and arrows flickered in both directions; the clash of steel started up, shivering loud on his left flank. The empty village was suddenly full of Wolves, armed and armoured as if they’d known he was coming. About a hundred, maybe more; it was hard to tell in the sleet and flickering of torches. Fewer than he had, anyway.

  An arrow stuck into the meat of his forearm and Corvus yelped, looked for the archer, saw him and charged. Bow and hand came up to block and Corvus’s sword thunked home; the archer squealed and kicked, falling to his knees, the bow cracked, fingers pattering into the mud. Corvus stepped forward and mashed the severed digits beneath his boot. The archer’s other hand came around in a blurred arc and a knife stabbed into his ankle. Corvus roared in pain and stumbled back, and then another Wolf leapt over his companion, hair flying, howling a wordless challenge as he swung his sword.

  Corvus brought his blade up and they clattered together, screeching. The man was shorter, lighter than him, and Corvus bared his teeth and bore down, forcing the Wolf back, herding him into the archer so he’d trip. But somehow the archer wasn’t there, and the Wolf managed to lash a boot into Corvus’s knee, buckling it. He went down hard, twisting to the side, and felt a sword tip rake the bearskin on his back. Motherfucker.

  And then Valan was there, hammering into his attacker, driving him back. Corvus swatted the arrow out of his arm and lurched to his feet, gasping, his attention snagged by one of his men clubbing a short Wolf in the face. He wrenched the spear from her hands and dumped her belly down across a wall. He kicked her legs apart and was fumbling with her trousers when a man glided out of the darkness and slipped a sickle-shaped blade around the Mireces’ neck, jerked it in and across. Blood erupted across the woman’s back and she lunged upright, turned and drove her elbow into his temple. She picked up her spear and lunged back into the fight, shrieking defiance. Fuck, these women are tough. Pity they’re faithless whores or I’d have one as queen.

  Still, the man was a fucking idiot, going for a rape when the battle’s not won. If they hadn’t killed him, Corvus would’ve taken great pleasure in doing it himself.

  Flames were licking up from inside a few of the houses now, the smoke adding further to the chaos, and Corvus took the moments Valan had won him to turn in a circle and search. He stilled. There.

  A tall warrior stood in a doorway, sword unsheathed. He made no move to engage any of the Mireces running rampant through his village, holding his position in front of a door. Corvus sucked blood out of the arrow hole in his arm and material of his sleeve and spat it on to the ground as an offering, then ran for him, stabbing a Wolf on his way past and leaving him to fall. The tall Wolf saw him coming and braced himself. Their swords met with a clatter and the Wolf parried and punched at the same time. Corvus gave ground, but the Wolf didn’t follow and he knew the slave must be inside.

  ‘Here,’ he called, and heard Valan shout in acknowledgment.

  ‘Wolves,’ the man shouted in his turn, ‘to me.’

  Corvus attacked, shoving him back so he crunched into the door, and there was a scream from inside. ‘Give us the girl,’ he yelled as he trapped the Wolf’s thrust on his guard and stepped close, drawing his dagger as he did. ‘We just want what belongs to us.’

  The Wolf snarled at that and attacked again.

  ‘Come out or he dies, bitch. They all die,’ Corvus shouted as he ducked a thrust. His dagger scraped over the Wolf’s chainmail and the man spat in his face. ‘Do as commanded, slave,
’ he added and the Wolf hacked at him again, fury clouding his eyes. The door opened and Corvus grinned. ‘Good little bitch,’ he muttered, and then he recognised her. ‘Rillirin?’

  His hesitation when he saw her nearly killed him. An archery string appeared around his throat from behind and someone dragged at his neck, sawing the string back and forth. ‘Get her out of here,’ his attacker shouted. ‘Waypoint three. Fuck’s sake, go!’

  Corvus rammed his elbow back once, twice, and then the other one, half twisted and got his forearm under the back of his attacker’s knee, yanked on his leg and flung them both backwards into the dirt. The archer had no response and landed hard, Corvus on top of him. The string slackened and Corvus struggled to his feet, kicked the man hard and then spun to the house. The door was open and empty. They were gone.

  ‘Fuck,’ he roared, and rounded on the archer, but the man was on his feet and backing off between the houses, hand axe in his right, long knife in his left. He reached the trees and fled, not looking back. The other Wolves were fighting a controlled retreat into the treeline north, south and east of the village, splitting up, turning tail and running, fading like smoke. In seconds the village was deserted.

  Corpses littered the ground, most in the greens and browns of the Wolves, but there were scores in blue as well and his jaw tightened. Treacherous, heathen bastards.

  ‘Valan, Fost,’ he called. He swept his uninjured arm across the village. ‘Burn it down. Every last fucking hovel.’ He stared around in frustration and then let out a roar of pure disbelief. Rillirin? How?

  Lanta prowled out of the darkness, predatory as she stared at the carnage, her hands extended in offering – the dead belonged to the gods now. Corvus grabbed her arm and squeezed, dragging her forwards and breaking off the prayer, ignoring the shocked mutters from his men. The wound in his forearm blazed and the pain made him squeeze harder. Her lips compressed but she made no sound and the triumph in her eyes made him want to beat her to death.