Black Rose Pt. 40

(Beginning with Freya and Five meeting the cattle train, this part, and also the next six (!) parts, take place in the course of a day, the same night and part of the following day.

It's a heck of a long day and night, and quite a hinge in this story, and the amount of stuff that happens will drive certain characters to the very ends of their tethers, with at least one of them becoming arguably tether-free before it's all over.

But, for now, scroll your minds back, dear reader, to when we last met young Norbert Gris, somewhat heartbroken after the girl he thought was a friend, turned out to be a smirking thief, who we now know to have been the Coney.

We begin by catching up with Norbert and his two masters, Allon Tanit and Robert Falco.)

Chapter 40

The Road to Scouts Bothy

Norbert took his piece of bread and wiped the inside of the bowl, picking up every last smear of soup.

Allon Tanit sat back and sighed, and took out his pipe.

Norbert looked over at Tanit's plate. Tanit hadn't even finished his stew, of which he'd ordered a double portion.

But Norbert knew better than to ask if he have Tanit's leftovers.

The first time, he'd just picked at them, until they'd noticed, and then they'd hit him. The second time, he'd asked if he could eat them, and they'd told him to fuck off. Every time since then that he'd asked, they had smacked him in the face. So he'd learned not to ask.

And now they were in yet another dreary little inn in a dreary little town, and they were looking for work, as usual.

At least, Norbert thought, we haven't yet got to the point where they would make good on their regular threat.

To turn me over to...

And have me...

He didn't even want to think about that. The whole idea made him feel cold, and he'd want to cry. But he wondered if they weren't just making it up to scare him.

Not that he wasn't easily scared.

This is no sort of a life, he thought.

His precious box, with all his potions, was held onto by Tanit, who carried it everywhere and never let go of it.

They're all wasting away, losing their power, because the only thing they want me to make is poison.

Still, there was some fun in being their pet poison-maker. When Robert Falco had finally decided that Norbert really did know what he was talking about, he'd ordered Norbert to make him a poison that he could smear on the tips of his pistol crossbow bolts, so that whoever he shot with them would have an envenomed wound.

Norbert had reluctantly agreed, and in due course he had presented Falco with a dark purple salve which he promised would be highly effective.

Falco kept it in a little vial hanging from his quiver and, although he hadn't had a chance to use it yet, he had seemed mightily content with its glossy colour and sharp herbal smell.

Norbert knew better than to tell him that the only active ingredient of the salve, and the reason for its smell, was a combination of crushed romarin and the juice of the waxgrass leaf, which, as every trainee alchemist knew, formed a most potent remedy for bad breath.

Falco was over at another table, negotiating with a large red-haired man. They had entered this inn just to get food and a bed, but Falco had spotted the man and had been, for him, unusually animated.

Overhearing their conversation, Norbert had gathered that the man was a mercenary, and that he was leading a party on the trail of some fugitives, but two of his men had come down with the shaking fever and he wanted two more to make up the numbers.

'Should be easy enough,' the mercenary had said. Norbert had been standing nearby, pretending to be studying a bug in his hand, but actually listening in on their talk.

'I don't foresee a lot of trouble, but I like to have fourteen men to a job, and I'm down to eleven.'

'You know we're solid,' Falco had said. 'Tanit and I have worked together for years. We don't mess about.'

'I know you,' the mercenary had said. 'I don't know this Tanit character. But you say he's all right?'

'Oh yes. One of the Duke's men.'

Falco had hesitated, then he'd leaned in and murmured something that Norbert hadn't caught. Falco had then laughed, and the mercenary had made a small and mirthless chuckle.

'Well,' he'd said, 'as long as he keeps it to himself. We have to get them all back intact, two to testify and the other for trial. Any hanky panky and somebody might not feel like testifying, and then it'll get nasty.'

'But they've got money, the family,' Falco had said, 'why even have a trial? They could have just sent you to deal with the man up here.'

'King's peace,' the mercenary had said. 'No more of that kind of thing. It's all got to be done the right way now.'

'King's peace,' Falco had said softly, 'fuck the king.'

'Indeed,' the mercenary had said. 'It's all shit, anyway. It's no more a trial than a pig gets tried at the slaughterer before being cut up. They think the man did it, and they'll kill him.'

Then Allon Tanit had told Norbert to fetch food and drink, so he'd heard no more of the talk. But since then, Falco had been finishing up the bargaining, and when Norbert swallowed the last of his bread, he saw Falco coming over.

'It's a deal,' he said, looking satisfied. 'Seven a day each to join the company, get the runaways and return them south.'

'Good job,' said Tanit, and he rose, shook Falco's hand and clapped him on the shoulder.

'Should be fairly easy,' Falco said. 'From what Fred told me, anyway.'

'What am I supposed to do,' Norbert said.

'Tag along,' Falco said to Norbert, unsmiling, 'but stay out of the way. When this job's over, we will talk about your position. You're not pulling your weight.'

Norbert nodded unhappily. They were always saying that.

'What do you propose to do about that,' Falco said.

'I don't know,' Norbert said.

'I'll tell you what,' Tanit said, 'start showing some balls. We don't just give you bed and board to make potions for us. You need to start thinking of how to use the stuff you have.'

'I told you,' he said, 'most of them aren't good for... for what you want to do.'

'Look,' Tanit said, sighing heavily, 'so most of them are healing ointments or whatever. Fine. So you make a batch of stuff that looks like the healing ointment, you go in the town square, make a big noise, demonstrate the healing ointment on someone, whoop-de-do, god be praised, he's healed, and then you flog the fake stuff to the idiots. Simple stuff like that. You could do that in your sleep.'

'But that won't work,' Norbert said.

'Why?' Tanit was exasperated. 'Don't tell me, your alchemist's oath or something, you can't make fake ointment because it would be against the law of the mighty demiurge who farted out the world. That's it, isn't it?'

'I'm not an alchemist.'

'You trained as one.'

'I never graduated.'

'Don't be so fucking literal!' Tanit said, slapping the table in front of Norbert. But not, at any rate, slapping him.

'It won't work,' Norbert said, 'because the healing ointment doesn't work right away.'

'What?'

'I mean, it doesn't heal you instantly. It takes days.'

'But it takes days to heal anyway! What the fuck use is a healing ointment that doesn't heal people?'

'Look,' Norbert said, 'if you get wounded, and you don't look after the wound, it usually goes rotten. What the ointment does is that it stops that from happening.'

Tanit stared at him.

'So how come the Dominies could heal people on the instant, and you can't,' Tanit said.

'They couldn't,' Norbert said. 'They just made it look like they could.'

'They could, boy. I saw them do it.'

'No, you didn't.'

'I am getting tired of your evasions, boy,' Tanit said, leaning close to Norbert and speaking low. 'We saw you kill the old man like he was falling asleep. That was impressive. Since then we've had shit out of you. We took you on because we thought you knew the secrets of the Dominies.'

'I do know the secrets of the Dominies,' said Norbert, looking at him and shoving his hands between his knees to stop himself from shaking.

'So, show us.'

'The secret of the Dominies,' said Norbert, 'is that they were liars. They made everyone believe that there was a thing called magic, and that they knew how to use it. They used it to get wealth and power, and to exploit people...'

He stopped because Tanit had whacked him over the ear. His head rang and he felt like his brain was rattling inside his skull. He hung sideways in his seat, his head throbbing with pain.

'The Dominies,' Tanit said quietly, 'were the last trace of the greatness of the old gods. The Dominies could take to the air, and talk to each other across miles, and shoot streams of steel at a man, that would split him in half like cutting a fig. When the Dominies fell, the old world fell with them. Don't talk shit about things you know nothing about.'

Norbert kept his mouth shut. He put his hand to his ear and it came away with blood on it.

'And don't start whining like a little girl,' Tanit said.

Norbert looked at him.

'And don't fucking look at me like that, either,' Tanit snapped. 'Just, don't do anything. You stupid shit.'

Norbert nodded and looked around the room.

I can't hear anything in that ear now.

I wonder if that's permanent.

'So who are these lost birds that we're tracking,' said Tanit.

'Some rich farmer's son got killed, down south,' said Falco. 'Two of them are witnesses, and the other one's the one the family wants for the killer.'

'What do we know about them?'

'Not a lot,' Falco said. 'A girl, a swordsman and a bookman. The bookman did it, they say.'

'Really,' said Tanit. 'Unusual for a bookman.'

'Who knows why they do what they do,' Falco said.

'Well,' said Tanit, 'if it's one less bookman in the world, I for one will not shed any tears.'

*** 

Freya and Five went south.

And in going south, they stopped off from time to time, working in fields, in return for a meal and the chance to sleep in a warm barn.

And they made some friends, and their journey was less eventful than it had been, when they were actively seeking worms to defeat.

They asked whoever they met if there had been any trouble from the creatures.

The further south they went, the more they were told, no.

The speaker had heard of them up north having trouble with the beasts, but up here, no, not so much as a peep, thanks.

This did not improve Freya's mood. Five had noticed that Freya was more dour and silent than usual.

Five guessed that this had something to do with their encounter with Arclite.

After Freya had got over being surprised and fascinated and even entertained, she seemed more troubled, and more thoughtful.

The high spirits of the worm hunt had worn off. Things had Got Complicated.

And, the more you worried about Freya, the more you began to think about things, generally.

Five had been brought up to believe that life was basically pretty shit, but you got on with stuff, and you didn't complain, and as long as you did that, you would eventually get ranked, and complimented on dealing with things, like a good 'un, and you'd get recognised, and you'd get rewarded.

But, the trouble with this was...

The getting on with stuff happened, and the not complaining happened, and then the other stuff didn't happen.

And Five had to admit that, leaving herself out of it, because she'd never been nothing, so with her it was sort of whining...

... Freya was the example.

She'd given herself over to fighting, and she'd given up everything else, and she'd done everything to serve Hargest.

And then, when it went to shit, in the mountains, with the Casman folk, and Freya had been abused and left naked in the dirt, Hargest had said: Uh, no, sorry. Don't want to know you. Bye!

Five could not put this together.

In one ear, she could still hear the voice of Erik, telling her what was right and good. And Erik was right and good. (Mostly.) He was. (He told you you're a man and to shut up.) Shut up.

In her eye, in all her senses, she'd the example of Freya, giving up everything to be the best warrior, and then being left for dead, because Ulf Jansson couldn't handle what he'd let be done to her.

It wasn't right.

It didn't make sense.

But it had to make sense, on some level you didn't get, yet.

And now there was this worm, Arclite, which seemed to know ancient history better than they knew it, and which seemed to mock them, for not knowing where they had come from, as well as it did.

As if anyone knew that history.

I mean, Five thought...

... I thought nobody knew that?

*** 

And, as Freya and Five travelled southwards, they met others.

They joined a trade route, one bright rainy autumn morning, and encountered a long train of cattle, roped together, guided by youths who looked like they weren't sure what they were doing.

It was almost at a standstill, because further up ahead, one of the cows was not pleased, and was trying to shake itself free of its rope, as if it knew what its eventual fate was going to be.

Only the lead drover, who was a good deal older seemed to have experience; the others were green and uncertain.

Freya and Five joined in the effort to subdue the beast, although Freya did not have the first idea of how to do so.

Five called for more rope, and directed one of the others on where to put it, and the lead drover, who was already holding a rope on the beast, nodded in approval, and told the others to do what Five said. When the cow was calmer, Five calmed her further by standing next to her, patting her on the nose and talking to her quietly.

'You've a good touch with beasts,' said the leader.

'I were an army cook,' said Five. 'Only thing I know how to do with them. Well, that and kill 'em.'

The leader grinned.

'Thought so. These are all meant for the army.'

'All these?' Five said, looking down the long chain of cattle and looking at Freya, who looked puzzled. 'How so? Hargest has its own stock, what's it need with all this?'

'Been more fighting,' said the leader.

'Against who? War's over.'

'You from there?'

'Both, yeah.'

The leader frowned.

'Surprised you don't know.'

'We've been on a thing,' Five said. 'Sort of mission, up north. We're a bit behind on news.'

'Them lads,' the leader said, 'them cult buggers from the mountains. King's given the baron permission to launch an offensive.'

Five looked at Freya, who was pale.

'Fucking hell,' Five said. 'First we've heard of it.'

'You two soldiers, then?' the leader said.

'Sort of.'

'Didn't think Hargest put women in the field.'

'He put his own daughter in the field.'

'Yeah, and look what happened to her.'

'What happened to her?' Five said

'Well,' the leader said, 'she got killed by them cult bastards.'

'That's what they say,' Five said, glancing at Freya, who was standing listening and watching.

'Oh,' the drover said, pulling a face, 'are you two of them?'

'Two of what?'

'The ones who go on about how Freya Aelfrethe's not dead. She'll rise again, blah blah.'

'There are people who go on about that?'

'Yeah. Lunaticals, mostly,' said the leader. He examined his hands, which, rough as they were, had red welts on the palms from where he'd been holding the rope.

'My brother's mate's cousin was there when Sir Ulf delivered his report. Said he was a broken man. Grief all over him. But there are some sad bastards say it's all a big story, and Freya's just waiting for a chance to come back.'

'What do you think?' Five said, looking sidelong at Freya.

'I say it's bollocks. Don't get me wrong, be nice if it were true. She was a fucking legend. But people get killed, and that's what happens.'

He fell silent. Five guessed that he'd seen more death than most, and some of it had been too close for the sorrow to have faded.

'Well,' she said, 'you never know what's gonna happen.'

He turned to her and shrugged.

'That is true, young one. That is true. Look, you've got her back to herself. Smashing.'

The cow was docile once again. The drover pulled a wisp of hay from a bag over his shoulder and gave it to her, and she munched.

'Many thanks for that, Lady,' he added, inclining his head at Freya. Freya had been little use at calming the cow, but she'd helped to restrain the animal when it was threatening to bolt, and she'd been stronger than the boys who were helping.

But that's not why you thank her and not me, is it, Five thought.

'We're riding ahead,' said Five. 'But we're headed for Hargest. We'll tell 'em to keep an eye out for you, and to keep a barrel aside.'

'You're a gentleman,' he said. 'I mean,' he added, without batting an eyelid, 'a gentlewoman. Well. No. But you might be one day.'

'Thanks,' said Five, laughing, as she got on her horse. Freya smiled and lifted her finger to her forehead in a salute to the drover, and they rode ahead.

As they rode on, Five found that Freya kept glancing at her, and indicating to her to hurry. They broke into a gallop, and rode for a long time before Freya rose in her stirrups and looked ahead, and then lowered herself and pointed right.

Sure enough, they came to a bend in the road and there was a gap in the hedge that led to some common land. Freya slowed and Five did likewise, and they rode through the gap.

Freya quickly dismounted and Five did too. They stood holding their bridles.

'We should go to Hargest at once,' Freya said.

'Yes,' Five said. 'This is dire news.'

'Damn,' Freya said, and she dropped her bridle and Five grabbed it. Freya's horse was panting and nervous. Five patted and soothed it. Freya walked off, agitated, muttering to herself, and after a moment she pounded her head with her fist.

'Why are they fighting them?' Freya exclaimed. 'Why?'

'Maybe they want revenge for what happened to you,' Five said.

'Do not be so foolish,' Freya snapped. 'If they had wanted to avenge me, the news would have been all over the kingdom, months ago. But all know I am dead, and all know they have done nothing. It is not vengeance.'

'Sorry,' Five muttered.

Freya glared at her, and she cleared her throat and spat blood onto the grass.

She stared at her own blood stringing across the turf, and Five saw her thinking, and saw the rage rising in her.

'As soon as they knew I was no longer a maiden,' Freya said, 'Hargest cared nothing for me. Nothing. Be not such a child, as to think they valued me more.'

Five watched her, wary. Freya was seething, pacing back and forth.

'No,' Freya said after a moment, 'it is not that. The cult has struck them, and they are fighting back.'

She paused, and looked at Five.

'It would be justice,' she said, 'to leave them to it. To let them fight without me.'

Five stayed silent. Freya looked up at the sky, blue with white clouds. A wind was blowing from the west, shoving the clouds from horizon to horizon.

Freya stared at them as if they had personally insulted her.

'Let them see, then, how well they do,' Freya said. 'Since they valued my maidenhead more than my skill, and my arm, and my courage! Let them see what glory they can achieve with Ulf Jansson leading their army!'

She walked up to Five and jabbed her finger in Five's face.

'For I will tell you, I am minded not to go back, but to let them fight and lose.'

'Freya,' Five said quietly, 'you're not yourself. Listen to yourself! Who lets their own people fight, and stands by and does nothing?'

'Someone wise to the world,' Freya said, staring at the air.

'I'll tell you who,' Five said. 'Someone with no army, and no family, and no friends. That's who fucking who.'

Freya looked at Five, wide-eyed.

'Think about it,' Five said. 'Them bastards, going after our people, taking the young women, delivering them to that... fucking... thing. They've got to be stopped.'

'Five,' said Freya, her voice low and dangerous, 'I have fought for them, my whole life. I have done nothing but bring glory to my people. I gave them my youth and my happiness, and everything I wanted for myself, I put aside, to bring them victory. And they took what I gave them, as long as it suited them.

'And as soon as they thought me defiled, they left me on the earth like their shit. Tell me now, what do I owe them? You, who they have lied to, and used, and beaten, and abandoned? Please, tell me.'

Five stared back at her, furious. Grief tore at her.

I know, she thought. I know. You're right, in so many ways.

But, this is what you do. You fight for people. This is who you are. I know you said we've to be more than soldiers, but...

Freya waited for Five to reply, and when Five remained silent, she tossed her head and walked off a few paces over the thick grass. The sun shone thinly down on them.

'Freya,' Five said at last, 'I don't know. Truly, I don't. Yeah, they lied to me, they abandoned you. We've so many reasons to be angry with them.

'But you're not yourself. You're angry, and with good reason, but anger puts people off the right way. We need to get back there and help them. Otherwise, I don't know what else there is, because it's just you and me and nothing else.'

Freya stared at nothing.

'And I love you,' Five said, thinking that she sounded like a begging little girl, 'more than anything, but please, don't let it be just... us. Please.'

'So,' Freya said, coldly, 'you would betray me too, at long last? You'd let them use me again?'

That fucking did it. Five felt her rage boiling up.

How can you--

'Why did I save you?' Five screamed at her.

Freya glared at her, and Five could feel just how

much Freya wanted to strike her. But Five stood where she was, and faced her.

Oh fucking hell, I'm gonna start crying again. This is not how heroes do this.

'Why did you stop feeling sorry for yourself?' Five said. 'Why did you let me look after you? Because...'

She stared at Freya and managed to stop herself from actually weeping.

'I know what happened to you, more than anyone. I've seen it, I saw you puke up what that fucking worm left in you. You think I don't know what that thing did to you? I was there! I've got the scars! That you gave me! And fuck knows you've got more!'

Freya stared past Five, and she shook her head.

'You do not know,' she said. 'You cannot know.'

Five strode over to her and grabbed her hands.

Freya made to pull them away, but Five held onto her.

'Then tell me,' she said. 'Tell me, my love. Just tell me. I can't know if you won't tell me. And there's nothing I don't know about being wrong.'

Freya stood rigidly still, staring past Five.

'Please,' Five said, quieter. 'Come back to me, because I love all of you, and I'll go anywhere you want to go, but I know you well enough that if you don't do what's right, even with everything they did to you and me, you'll hate yourself, and you'll end up hating me, because I didn't try to talk you out of it.'

'I will not.'

'You will!' Five said. 'You can't do anything else.'

Freya made no move, but she stopped looking like she was no longer listening.

'I know you love me,' Five said, 'but you've other mistresses than I, and you've had them for a lot longer. And they may be lovelier than I am, but they're also more jealous.'

Five tried to smile. Freya didn't move, but she was looking at a spot on Five's sleeve.

'You have to do this,' Five said. 'God knows, I don't want you to. Be so much easier if we could just... bugger off somewhere, keep bees, let things happen. But I know you can't, and if I let you, I'll lose you.'

Freya finally looked up at her.

'Yeah,' Five said, 'they've treated us like shit. But they're the only home we know. We have to go back. Don't see no other way.'

Freya stared at the grass over Five's shoulder, and Five saw her calming herself.

And, slowly, a faint, grim smile came over Freya's face.

She stared at her own hands in Five's, and after a long moment, she sighed and shook her head wearily.

'We are not ready,' she said. 'I wanted to go back in peacetime, and make a proper reckoning. I wanted time to train you to lead, to be my right hand. Now it will be chaos.'

'Nobody's ever ready,' Five said. 'You taught me that.'

'No,' Freya admitted. She took her hands from Five's, and held out her arms. Five took them, and embraced her.

'I am sorry,' Freya muttered. 'You deserve better.'

'All I've ever wanted,' Five said in her ear, 'is to serve you.'

'To serve me is no great deed. You have more in you than that.'

'Well,' Five said, 'I hope so. Don't want me whole bloody life to be me encouraging you to pull yourself together.'

Freya disengaged and looked at her, critically. She smiled in a way that pierced your heart.

'You are wrong,' Freya whispered.

'About what?'

'Hargest is not the only home I know.'

Five pulled Freya to her, again, and they kissed.

Then Freya sighed again, and shook her head at her own folly, and gave Five a look, and Five knew that it was all right.

'So,' said Five, 'are we going?'

'Yes, but we need rest. We will make for Scouts Bothy, and we will rest there. Then we will ride for Hargest, because we have so little time.'

They separated, and stood for a moment, apart, more formal.

'It may be no great deed to serve you, Freya,' Five said at last, 'but... being the only one who gets to do it, trust me. It's an honour.'

Freya looked back at her, considering this, and gave her a brief nod of the head. Five nodded back. Freya smiled crookedly.

'Let us go,' she said, and they remounted their horses and rode back to the gap in the hedge and set off.

They were about a quarter of an hour down the road when Freya felt a sudden sharp pain in her side, and glanced downwards.

Nothing had hit her. Nothing had pierced her skin.

It stayed a moment, and she felt a twinge of nausea, then it passed.

Odd, she thought, and she set her mind on thinking about tactics to use against a people so nomadic and so quick to melt away.

They rode on.

***

The cattle train stretched for a good mile. Solveig stopped counting them after a while. The incessant lowing was mournful in the spring air.

Owyn drew level with her. They had at last acquired a third horse; poor Hertig had been suffering from having to carry Paul and herself so many miles, so Paul had his own rather docile gelding.

'What do you make of it?' Owyn said.

'It makes no sense,' she said. 'Cattle, bound south? Hargest has thousands of head of cattle.'

'Why don't you ask them?'

They were level with the head, and Solveig eyed the drover.

'I doubt he'd tell me,' she said. 'Still.'

She waved, to get the man's attention. He ignored her.

'Hello?' she cried. 'Sir?' He went on ignoring her.

'Sir,' she called, 'where do you go with this great herd?'

'If you have to ask,' he called back, in a Hargest accent, 'you don't need to know.'

'I am curious.'

'Piss off.'

'Charming,' she said. 'I see that etiquette in Hargest is as demanding as ever.'

'You are from Hargest?' he said, and Solveig felt Owyn's eyes on her and could almost hear him thinking Don't tell him, you fool.

'I am not,' she said. 'But I have spent many happy hours there.'

'I can't talk to you, then,' said the wagoneer, 'though, less I'm mistaken, you speak the truth about having spent time there. I hear it in your speech. But for all I know, you could be a spy.'

'For who?'

'Never mind,' he said gruffly. 'Be on your way and let us be on ours.'

'One question,' she said, 'not about your journey, but about who you may have met on the road?'

'I will answer if I can,' he said cautiously.

'Have you seen or heard anything of the woman they call the Serpent Queen?'

He scratched his chin.

'Met no-one of that name.'

'No one?' she said. 'In truth, sir? A tall woman? Commanding, one might say. With dark skin and tattoos.'

He eyed her, and in the pause before he decided not to trust her, she jumped in.

'She has done my people great service,' she said, smiling eagerly, 'and we'd reward her, and any who know of her whereabouts.'

'Reward, you say.'

'In the king's coin,' she said, and glanced at Paul.

'Show me your coin,' he said, 'and it my help my old memory.'

Paul rode up beside her, nervous on his horse, and handed her the money pouch from his coat pocket. Solveig opened it and took out five silver coins, which she tossed one by one to the drover. He saluted her.

'Like I said,' the drover said, 'we've met no one of that name, but this morning, we did meet a tall woman with a serpent tattooed on her face. Perhaps there's some connection.'

Solveig made her face radiate happiness.

'That is her indeed! Was she accompanied?'

'She was. By a youth. A girl. I'm fairly sure she was a girl. Good sort. Helped us with a heifer had the collywobbles.'

'Is there anything else you can tell me about them? I take it they gave no names?'

'No names, but the girl said that they had been soldiers of Hargest, and that she'd been an army cook.'

'You believed her?'

'She knew one end of a beast from the other, is all I can say.'

'Do you know where they went?'

'That way,' he said, pointing up the road.

'You may have done Hargest great service, sir,' she said, standing in her stirrups.

She bowed her head to him, urged Hertig on and broke into a canter. After going ahead several dozen yards she slowed and waited for Owyn and Paul to catch up.

'We have her,' she said. 'She has hours on us. If either of you can think of any way in which we can narrow the gap between us, speak.'

Paul held up his hands.

'I do not know the country around here, nor do I have expertise in cavalry tactics.'

'They must be in a hurry, if they know Hargest is at war,' Owyn said. 'I think our best bet is to go straight for Hargest, and for you to lie low while we scout it out.'

'We can't catch them up,' said Solveig, 'but neither can they make it to Hargest in less than a week. They will have to stop somewhere.'

'They could stop anywhere,' Owyn pointed out.

'But would they,' she said, 'given that up ahead is Scouts Bothy?'

'Ah,' said Owyn, and smiled.

'What?' said Paul.

'Scouts Bothy,' said Owyn. 'I thought you people travelled.'

'We rest in places that we ourselves have approved,' said Paul. 'Not just anywhere. I have never heard of this place.'

'All right,' Owyn said. 'It was built years ago as a travellers' rest, but during the war, it was so useful to whatever side held it that they built more onto it, then more again. It's better than some inns, now. Good views, plenty of beds, food storage, good hunting country. There's even an orchard and a trout stream. The only rule is that you leave it as you found it.'

'What if you find it in bad condition?'

'Anyone who leaves Scouts Bothy in bad condition deserves a smack in the head with a rock,' Owyn said. 'But, if you do find it in bad condition, you bloody well fix it up, that's all.'

'That's where we're going,' said Solveig. 'They will have ridden far after hearing about the fighting and they will want rest. It's our only chance. I suggest we... what's that?'

Owyn saw her look up, startled, and after a moment he heard it too: hooves, galloping towards them. They moved to the side of the road, and after a moment a rider came around the bend, wearing soldier's gear and an unsoldierly wide-brimmed hat.

He reined to a halt and looked down at them. He was a large man, his face and clothes dirty from the road and hard riding.

'You seen a cattle train on this road?' he said.

'Down yonder,' said Owyn, pointing back the way they came. 'Less than a mile.'

'Obliged,' the man said, and kicked his horse into a fresh gallop.

Owyn watched him go, wondering what his hurry was. Then he looked at Solveig, and saw that she had drawn her scarf over her head and covered the lower half of her face with it, and was looking away.

She slowly lowered it and looked at them.

'I know him,' she said. 'He's a knight of Hargest.'

'What's his name?'

'Harasteorra. There's something about him... I don't know what, but he's always been held in distrust at court. He's friends with Ulf Jansson, though.'

She looked down the road, feeling troubled.

'What's his hurry,' she said to herself.

'What does he want with the cattle train?' Paul said.

'That's what I'm wondering about,' Solveig said.

'Hadn't we better be on our way?' Owyn said.

'Wait,' said Solveig. 'Wait. He was desperate to find the cattle train. Now, they can't go any faster, so there's no point sending someone to tell them to hurry. So what did he want to tell them.'

She peered down the road in the direction he'd gone in.

'We have to go, if we want to get to Scout's Bothy,' Owyn said.

Solveig looked at them both doubtfully.

Damn. It's the only way. I have to know.

'You two go ahead,' she said. 'I must go back and find out why he wants to find the cattle train.'

'Why?' Owyn said.

'Because it could be important, don't you see? And given my past stupidity, I don't trust my ability to guess it.'

She waited for one of them to protest that no, she had learned much, but as wise as she had become, yes indeed, Solveig, it was prudent to take pains in this matter. However, neither of them said anything.

'Right,' she said, 'since neither of you disagree with me, I'm definitely going. I must know for sure. You two find the Bothy and lay low. If Freya and her companion are there and they come out, try to detain them till I get there. I may even catch you up before you reach it. But go. Now.'

'Solveig,' Owyn said helplessly, but she shook her head.

'I'm not going to take chances,' she said. 'I'll be careful. If Harasteorra sees me and knows me, he may want to harm me, and since I can't risk fighting him, he must not see me. With luck I'll see you both soon.'

'Why don't one of us go?' Owyn said.

'Because you let me be in charge,' she said. 'Now, go!'

She galloped off back down the road.

'It's not right,' Owyn said. 'I don't like her being on her own.'

'We have our orders,' Paul said. Owyn rubbed his chin and shook his head.

'No,' he said, 'sod this. I'm going after her. Just to keep an eye. You stay here.'

'Durberry,' said Paul.

'Keep off the road, if you can.'

'Owyn!'

Owyn paused and looked at him in wonder.

'What? I'm looking after her. It's my job.'

'You talk about how you respect her,' said Paul softly, 'but you only defer to her judgement when it suits you. The minute she orders you to do something you don't want to do, you treat her like an errant child. If you truly have the respect for her that you claim to have, you will do as she damn well says, and accompany me to Scouts Bothy like the good soldier you once were.'

'Don't you...' Owyn snarled.

And then he stopped, because he suddenly felt like a complete tosser.

Because it was true.

Damn, damn, shit and a fuckload of fuck for afters. I hate being wrong.

He pounded his fist on his forehead, shook his head to clear out the cobwebs, and then looked back at Paul.

'Sorry, Paul. You're right.'

It took him a moment to get himself under control, but a bit of deep breathing helped.

'How'd you get to be so wise,' he said, smirking. He had to vent his irritation somehow. 'How'd you get to be so clever.'

'For a start,' Paul said, 'I have not spent my best years befuddling myself with violence, lechery and intoxicating drinks.'

'Well,' Owyn said, 'that'd do it.'

He reined his horse around to face southwards, and Paul did.

'Right then. Scouts Bothy. If we're quick we can sleep under a roof tonight.'

'Good,' Paul said. They started to walk, then trot.

'Thank you,' Paul added.

'Don't thank me,' Owyn said irritably. 'I was being a dick.'

'Yes.'

*** 

Solveig rode for only a couple of minutes before reining her horse to a halt, by a gap in the hedge.

She could hear, up ahead, the sound of the horse's hooves, and the more distant lowing of the cattle. She dismounted, led her horse off the road and tied it to the hedge, then advanced forward on the field side of the hedge, quickly and quietly. She heard the man's voice before she could hear what he was saying.

'... A sign of intent to fight on,' Harasteorra was telling the drover. 'That's why. So, those are your orders.'

'But what about the cost,' the drover said. 'It's bought and paid for, this lot.'

'I'm to go ahead and arrange about that. For now, you have to turn this lot round and bring it back.' This brought cries of exasperation from the others.

They're sending it back, Solveig wondered. Because they don't want it to look like they're still fighting. So they must have stopped fighting. A tactic? Or a truce?

'So who's won, then,' The drover said.

'No-one. That's why there's a truce. The bastards say they'll keep fighting as long as Hargest wants to, but Hargest can draw on support that they can't. But they keep making new friends. Had to do something.'

'It's a load of bollocks, is what,' said the drover loudly. 'Them bastards took my niece. Killed my sister and brother-in-law, when they tried to stop 'em. And now she'll be lying in some tent somewhere, pumping out their brats for them.'

'You don't have to like it, friend,' said Harasteorra, 'but you have to go along with it, same as everybody else.'

There was a silence.

'Fine,' said the drover, and there was the sound of a whistle, then the lowing of the animals as they began to turn around.

'There's talk of bandits on the road,' said Harasteorra.

'We've seen none, but thanks. Who to look out for?'

'There's that Carlish lot, they attacked a carwan two weeks ago. Killed two and made off with some money. Who else? Sam Devis and his gang, they're back round here again. The Yellow Fox have been holding up lone travellers. Oh, and there's some story about a group of men looking for someone. Dunno what that's about, but they're not being nice about it.'

'Good to know. All right, sir, thank you. You going back?'

'No, I've to go on ahead and arrange some things.'

'We have to turn around. Ride on, sir, or we'll be blocking the road for a quarter hour.'

'No, you go on. I've just ridden like buggery for a full day. I could use a breather. I'll overtake you when you're done.'

'Very well, sir.'

Solveig lay on her stomach and peered through the hedge. The turning cattle train was blocking the road, so he couldn't leave straight away. The man's horse was standing in the road; he was still on it.

I have to speak to him, she thought.

It's risky. If he sees you and recognises you, he will want to tell Hargest about you. Someone might come looking for you, to get justice for the terrible murder of the handsome knight and the kitchen girl. Everyone in Hargest hates you.

Unless. Damn, there is so little time. He may start moving at any minute.

Solveig retreated a little from the hedge, but stayed where she could still see his horse's legs through the branches. Then she took her scarf from her head and pulled out her hair.

She took out the sharpest of her several knives, and reached up and grabbed the hank of hair that hung over the back of her collar, and quickly cut it off.

She scattered the hair on the grass and looked around. There was a rutted cart track along one edge of the field, and in one of the ruts there was a puddle. She crept quickly over to it and, using the puddle as a mirror, she cut her hair as quickly as she could, her eyes watering with how painful it was. She kept having to dart back to her original spot to check that he was still waiting there.

When she had chopped her hair back, she used a little oil from her pack to slick it down to her head and make it look less awful. Then she grabbed some mud and rubbed it on her face.

There was little to be done about her chest; she took off her jacket and used a piece of bandage to wrap it, to make her look more flat, then buttoned up her jacket and hoped against hope that he wouldn't notice.

By the time she was done it seemed like an hour had passed, but she looked and he was still there.

It's fate, she thought. I'm meant to meet him here. It's the only way.

She went as quickly and quietly as she could back to her horse, mounted, and then rode down the road in the direction of the train. On an impulse, she wrapped her scarf over her head and the lower part of her face, as if to protect herself from dirt and flies.

He came into view, still sitting on his horse. He had a flagon of wine in his hand and he was swigging it. He turned as she neared him, and glanced over at her, and then looked again and smiled.

'Good day,' he said.

'Good day,' Solveig said, lowering her voice as much as she dared.

'Annoying,' Harasteorra said, indicating the cattle, 'but what can you do?'

'What is this?' Solveig said.

'The king,' Harasteorra said expansively, 'has called a truce with the cult. These beasts were destined for Hargest, but with the new peace, there is no need for them. So they must go back where they came from. And poor fellows like me who are tasked with giving the order, must wait until they have cleared the road.'

'Peace with the cult?' Solveig said. 'This is news.'

'It is only declared now,' Harasteorra said. 'Have you been travelling, young sir?'

'I have,' Solveig said. 'In the north, learning the ways of other lands.'

'An excellent occupation for a young man. You're fair of speech, and have the accent of Hargest, I think.'

'I do. I grew up there.'

'Did you? I probably know you,' said Harasteorra with a grin.

'I doubt it, sir,' she said. 'I have not been back these many years.'

'To whom am I speaking?'

'Ranald Gjarrsson,' she said. 'My father died before I was born, and I was raised in the household of my cousin, Torvald Gerdby.'

'I know the man, a little,' said Harasteorra. 'Well, welcome back to the south, Ranald Gjarrsson. Might you take that scarf from your face and let the sun fall on it? It is a fine day.'

'I thank you, sir,' she said, improvising frantically, 'but, I... have weak lungs, and I have been prescribed a salve to rub on my scarf, the fumes of which help with my condition.'

'I'm sorry to hear that,' said Harasteorra, and he looked it. 'I hope your condition will improve.'

'Perhaps, with time, it will,' she said.

He glanced up at the sun and blinked, as if in pain. She noticed that one of his eyes looked darker and cloudier than the other, and the lid drooped over it.

The wagon train, like a huge snake reversing direction in a gutter, had almost finished turning around.

'It is near time to move on,' said Harasteorra. 'Ranald, there is an inn off this road which at any rate used to serve a very good ale. I am dry from riding, and I am also hungry. Might you ride with me, and we could dine? There are also bandits on the road, and two riders make for a less, a less attractive target.'

You stray off what you were going to say. Is it the wine? No. You're not sober, but you're not befuddled. What...

Did Siegfa ever mention you? We talked about everyone he served with, but I don't recall him ever mentioning you. Curious.

'Certainly, sir,' she said.

As the last cow fell into line behind the others, Harasteorra nudged his horse into a walk, and Solveig followed.

God. Durberry and Beckhulder will be far away by now. I must make this as quick as I can.

'So, young Ranald,' Harasteorra said, 'what have you learned of the ways of the other lands?' He smiled; his face was ruddy and shiny around the nose. The wine.

'I wish I could say I spent my time in nothing but study and business,' she said, smiling back, keeping the scarf close around her face. 'Alas, once I acquired my freedom, I confess I indulged overmuch in pleasure-seeking.'

'And in what did this pleasure consist?'

'Oh. Ale,' she said.

'It is not good for the young to be too sober,' he said. 'One should learn the pleasure of licence before one buckles under the chains of responsibility. What does the poet say? "Youth is a brief madness."'

'I thought it was anger,' she said.

'Is it? You're probably right. I was very poor at study. I was off fighting.'

'I did learn restraint,' she said. 'The day came when I overindulged. I am not proud of what happened. I learned that...'

She paused. She felt him watching her, smiling.

'Go on,' he said. 'You cannot shock me.'

She glanced at him. He was looking at her, and she had the sense that he was looking at all of her.

'I learned that drink, when taken to excess,' she said, 'will fuel a man's lust, just as readily as it can break a woman's will.'

'Ah,' he said after a pause. 'Yes.'

'As I say, it was a humbling lesson.'

'Well, women have their wiles. You cannot blame men for succumbing to them.'

Steady, she told herself. She gripped the reins tighter.

'In any case,' she said, 'I vowed, later, that never again would I allow such a thing to happen.'

'Very honourable of you. But you do not know what will happen the next time you meet a woman you find alluring.'

'Believe me, there's small chance of that.'

'Oh,' he said, with a questioning tone.

She was silent. They rounded a bend and he pointed down a lane, and she saw the inn, modest and shaded, with a few horses outside.

Inns, inns and more inns. It is a long time since anyone showed me hospitality that was not bought and paid for.

And sooner or later he is going to wonder why I'm not going straight back. He must believe I have family back in Hargest.

'I can only taste this ale that you mention,' she said as they tied up the horses. 'I cannot stay. I must return to Hargest.'

'Of course,' he said. 'Of course. But you'll see that I've not lied.'

They went into the main room, and it was fragrant with peat smoke and humming with talk. They sat at the bar, and Harasteorra ordered two ales from the silent barman.

'Your health,' he said, lifting his mug. They clinked, and Solveig tasted it.

It was dark red and sweetish, and much unlike the clean-tasting, heavily hopped ales of the south. She thought it was disgusting.

'Delicious,' she said.

'Didn't I say?' Harasteorra said. They were more relaxed now. He had stopped speaking in perfect sentences.

'So what else did you learn,' he said, turning to face Ranald Gjarrsson.

'How to defend myself. I have met some fine folk on the road.'

'The road is the place to meet them,' he said. 'I take it from your survival that you've acquitted yourself well.'

'It was hard, but yes, I have learned to not fight like a fool.'

'Good boy,' he said. He was smiling, never taking his eyes off her.

'But tell me of the fighting between Hargest and the cult. Was this not the cult that was the downfall of Freya Aelfrethe?'

'It was, great be her name.'

'Great be her name,' she said, raising her mug and taking another sip of the sickly-sweet beer.

'Yes,' he said, 'the party was no sooner back from Casman than the cult redoubled its efforts on the border. Many daughters were taken, and wives too, if they were young enough. It was that, in fact, that helped unite all against them. Up until then, there were some who spoke well of the cult for keeping their women in check.'

'Really? I have always thought that Hargest was a place where women were treated with honour, not kept as brood mares.'

'It depends on what you mean by honour,' he said, shrugging. 'During the war, when the men were off fighting, the women ran the houses, and yes, they were as capable as the men, if not more so. But... things had to change when the men came back. Blacksmiths used to complain that nobody wanted them anymore, for there was no more call for weapons, but many a sword has been melted down and wrought into a scold's bridle.'

He eyed her and chuckled.

'I see your face go dark, young Ranald, but you needn't worry. A lot of those men soon found themselves losing their own kin to the cult, or their lives in trying to stop it. Nothing makes a man value his wife like someone trying to take her.'

'And yet the fighting has stopped,' she said.

'It had to. Hargest has powerful friends, and could have gone on, but the cult would not relent as long as Hargest did not give them the territory it wanted. So they handed over the land, and now the cult is pacified.'

'Do you think it will last?'

'I do not know. My fighting days are over, in any case. My eyes are not what they were.'

'Perhaps,' she said, smiling, 'if you went less to the bottle, you might give your eyes a rest.'

'Are you one of these wet-nurses who'll tell me what I can and can't do?' Harasteorra grinned. 'Away with you, lad! I've had enough of that talk in Hargest. No, I can see well enough to do the work I am given. I am still of some service to the baron.'

'So I see,' she said, and got off her stool. 'Pardon me, sir. I must...'

'Of course,' he said.

Solveig went out to the yard. She didn't really need to piss. It was a warm afternoon.

God. I do not like this; Hargest yielding to the cult. The baron has lost his backbone. The loss of Freya, maybe. Whatever else about her, she knew how to rally folk around a cause. Of course, if I am right, she is heading home. But what will she...

Her thoughts were interrupted by a touch on the arm. He was standing next to her, by the low wall. He reached down and took out his knightliness and started to piss.

'What's the matter,' he said cheerfully. 'Don't need to go now?'

'No,' she said, flustered. 'I, um. I... do not. After all. Pardon me.'

She turned to go and he quickly finished and put himself away and came after her.

'Wait, Ranald,' he said gently, touching her arm. 'Take a moment. Taste the day. People so seldom do, and they chase each other so fast. Look.'

She was not comfortable with his hand on her arm but she looked around at the hills and sky. The yard smelled of his piss and much, much older piss.

'Yes,' she said, 'lovely.'

'You know,' he said, 'it's not often one meets someone who is such pleasant company.'

'No indeed,' she said. 'Well.' She smiled briefly and made to go.

'What's your hurry,' he said softly. 'I have listened to your talk. I think I know what you want.'

'Do you,' she said.

'You said it yourself,' he said, moving closer to her, 'you are not interested in women. What, then, are you interested in?'

'Excuse me?'

He moved with her until she was standing with her back against the back wall of the inn. She pulled her scarf over her mouth and nose and pretended to cough.

'No need to be shy,' he murmured. She smelt the drink on his breath and realised he was drunker than he looked.

'It is not shyness,' she said. 'I explained. My chest is weak.'

'And your face is very dirty,' he said. 'I'm sure that underneath the dirt is a lovely face.'

'Sir,' she said, alarmed, 'your meaning is strange to me.'

'Oh, come on,' he said, laughing, 'do you really not get me?'

And before she could stop him he reached up and grabbed the scarf and yanked it off her head.

He stared at her exposed face, for a moment, smiling.

And then, his swimming eyes focused on her, and he went white as a sheet and emitted a faint whimper.

'No,' he said. 'No. No. You. No. You cannot.'

'Give me my scarf,' she said, furious. He was holding it. His fingers were limp. She grabbed it, but it was pointless to put it on now. He could see her.

He staggered back, shaking.

'You... I am sorry. I am sorry.'

'So you should be,' she said, but then she saw him blinking and shaking his head.

'What is it,' she said. 'Who do you think I am?'

He heaved in a huge breath, and a little colour came back into his face.

'You're not him,' he gasped. 'Oh, gods. You're not. I thought you were his ghost.'

'Whose ghost?' she said, advancing on him, and he stepped back, fearful.

'Wait,' he said.

'Whose ghost do you think I am,' she said, angry, but inside it was dawning on her, and it made her feel cold.

Because she knew.

He held up a hand to ask her for silence. They stood facing each other.

'Siegfa of Hargest,' he said, and hearing his name spoken out loud hit her like a lance to the heart.

She was breathless, and after a long moment, she had to make herself breathe deeply.

They stared at each other.

'My eyesight is bad,' he said, sounding tired. 'Yes, Solveig Stopbern Jornsdottir. It's the drink. If you want to know why I drink, it's to forget what I've done.'

'What did you do.'

'I have a weakness,' he said. 'I have never been drawn to the pleasures of love with a woman. I simply prefer the bodies of men. I was approached by someone and told to... to see if your brother was the same way. Something in his manner told me he was. So, I had him meet me, and we spoke.'

The ache was crushing her chest. She felt dizzy.

She leaned against the wall and got on her knees, and sat back on her heels, her hands in her lap. He looked down at her for a moment and stiffly lowered himself until he sat before her.

'And,' he said, 'my guess was right. Your brother was like me. And what I tell you is nothing but the truth, Solveig. I did not harm him. I only spoke to him, and we were in concord, and he, he responded to me, and we...'

'You what.'

Say it to my face. Tell me what you did.

'We made love,' he said.

'You and he,' she said. 'You mean to tell me you...'

It was too hard to say. She didn't want to look at it.

It was why he never spoke of other women.

All our lives, he was unawakened, until he met this man.

*

'I know I did not harm him,' Harasteorra said, staring at her, wary.

She was kneeling in the dirt, her hands folded in her lap, her face pale and stricken.

'I swear to you,' he said, 'on his memory, he liked his time with me, brief as it was. For we were then... interrupted. And he was exposed. And men took him and beat him. They did nothing else to him. Those men would not have. And then a serving girl found us, and one of the men and I had to make sure she would not talk.'

'What did you do,' she said, staring at the patch of dirt that lay between them.

'Siegfa was... well, he and I had been together, and so...'

'He was naked, I know. I found him like that,' she said. 'Then the girl came, and you killed her.'

'I did not. The other man did. I am as guilty as if I did, though.'

'There were eight in our house,' she said, still staring at the ground, her voice oddly calm. 'I knew them all. I gave them board and I paid their wages, and at festival times we ate together and they told me stories about their men and their families. Her name was Tine Skorvsdottir.'

'I never knew her name,' he admitted.

'You,' she said. 'You and those others. You did that to him. I sent her to find Siegfa, and you killed her. And you blamed me. And now I am known in Hargest as a pervert and a murderer.'

'They only took the rumours about you and spoke them out loud,' he said.

'When I found him, he refused my help. Do you know what he did, sooner than take help from me?'

'When I left,' he said, 'he was still alive. But, knowing him... he cut his own throat.'

*

She took a deep breath.

Funny. She wanted to feel more upset. But she felt very cold. Her eyes were dry.

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

The clouds pass overhead, she thought. The birds cheep. The worms move in the earth.

And I learn the truth. And it changes nothing.

'I swear to you,' he said quietly, 'I did no harm to him. He was... beautiful, Solveig, just as you are. All I did was show him what he wanted. And I am sorry, truly I am. For you have been most evilly wronged in this. But I did not hurt your brother. And I would swear on my life that those men did not violate him. They are cruel, but not monsters.'

She was silent.

*

'Who was it,' she said at last, looking up at him inquiringly.

'Who was who?'

'Who was it approached you, to see if my brother was... like you?'

'I cannot say.'

'I think you can.'

'Solveig, I cannot.'

'You will tell me,' she said, standing up. He rose too.

'You will not make me,' he said, drawing himself up to his full height, and staring down at her. 'I am sorry for what happened, but you cannot threaten me.'

'It's not a threat,' she said. 'You will give me a name, or I will geld you.'

He noticed suddenly that she had a knife in one hand. He hadn't even seen her take it out.

'If that's the way you want it,' he said, and reached down for his sword.

She dropped the knife in the dirt, reached up, pulled herself to him and kneed him in the stomach. He doubled over, winded and groaning, and then there was a crushing blow on the back of his neck. He fell in the mud, stunned, and then an arm folded itself around his throat and he was pulled up until he was lying back, half on her, trying to free himself from her arm. But she had her right arm blocking his windpipe and her left arm holding it in place. He choked.

'Tell me,' she whispered in his ear.

'No,' he gasped in return.

'Who are you scared of.'

'No one.'

'Then tell me.'

He felt his air running out and the strength was going from his fingers. He pointed to his mouth.

She relaxed the pressure a little and he was able to breathe in another lungful of air before she tightened her grip once more.

'You won't tell me?'

'I cannot.'

'You have too much faith in people,' she said, and for all that she was holding him in a vicious deadlock, her voice was frighteningly calm. 'Whoever did it, there's nothing he could do to you that I wouldn't do.'

He gagged, turning blue, and then she released him, and he rolled away, choking and staring at her, astonished.

'What happened to you?' he gasped. 'You were his sister. You kept his house. You didn't know how to fight.'

'Not true,' she said. 'We used to fence.'

'Fencing and fighting are not the same thing.'

'I know that now,' she said. 'I learned it the hard way. Along with a lot of other things. So, there is nothing I can do to induce you to tell me who put you up to this.'

'Nothing.'

'Hm,' she said, and gave him a sidelong look. 'I can see that I haven't made my point.'

'What point,' he said, and then recoiled as she flung a handful of dirt in his face. Then he felt the blow to the chest, and he fell back, and she was sitting astride him and he choked as her thumb pressed down into the front of his throat.

'If you won't tell me,' she said, staring down at him,

'I will find out another way. But there's still the matter of punishment.'

'I swear to you, I did not harm him,' Harasteorra gasped, his eyes bulging.

*

Good.

'Not for my brother,' she said. 'For the girl.'

And she poised her two fingers above his cloudy left eyeball.

'No,' he begged. 'Please. I could die. Something else. Anything.'

She hesitated, and then caught herself, but he didn't try to throw her off. She glanced quickly around the yard and her eye was caught by something near the backdoor.

'You can write?' she said.

'Of course.'

'What hand do you write with?'

'The right.'

'Is it the same hand you pleasure yourself with?' she said, getting off him and with an effort hauling him to his feet. 'The same hand you touched my brother with?'

'Y-yes, but...'

She dragged him over to the woodpile and threw him on his knees and placed his right hand on the chopping block.

'No!' he moaned.

'Stop whining,' she said in a flat voice. 'I'm not going to cut it off.'

'You fucking bitch,' he said, trying to wrestle out of her grasp, but she picked up the hatchet, turned it so that the cutting edge faced upwards, and slammed the metal boss of it down on his hand.

He screamed. She raised it to hit his hand again and finish the job.

'Please,' he whimpered, his eyes streaming. 'I will not be able to work. Not do anything. Please don't.'

She paused.

'I beg you, Solveig,' he said, weeping, 'please don't. I didn't harm your brother. All that would have happened is that he might have lived to enjoy himself. That is all I wanted for him.'

'Who hired you,' she said, holding the hatchet.

'You know who it was,' he sobbed. 'Don't make me say his name.'

*

She stared at him.

Of course I know who it was.

'I have many, many sins on my conscience,' he said. 'But none of them were committed on your brother. Please, Solveig. Don't cripple me.'

She paused.

You were the last sweet thing in his life, she thought.

Abruptly, she tossed the hatchet the length of the yard, grabbed him by the coat and pulled him into her.

She held him tight to her for a moment, her arms around him. He made a little whimper of disbelief.

'Live better, sir,' she muttered into his ear, and then she let go and shoved him back.

He stared up at her. She stood up, ran to the wall, and jumped over it, and vanished from his sight.

*

Solveig ran around the building to Hertig, quickly untied him, mounted him and headed down to the lane, back to the road.

Then she was off, the wind on her face, riding south.

It was only after riding for some time that she tasted her own salt, and felt the ache in her throat, and realised that, after all, she had been weeping.