by David Wragg
Tarfel looked befuddled. ‘What is?’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘you’re only a prince, as it were, because people agree you are.’
‘Nonsense. I’m a prince because my father is the king.’
‘Right. And people agreed he was.’
‘Nothing of the sort! He’s the heir of the true king of Vistirlar. My grandfather Akko reunited the provinces, reforged the kingdom.’
‘That’s the thing, though, isn’t it? We can all look back on it and talk about true kingy-ness, but you ask Old Man Rennic here about which of half a dozen company men or Horvaun warlords might have sat on the throne in those days, he’ll tell you some stories.’
Rennic grunted. ‘Not that old.’
Loveless scooped up another pack and pressed it against Tarfel’s midriff. ‘Here. And here’s where we have our current predicament. ’Cos you might have missed this part, but word’s been spreading of your princely demise at Denirnas in the Nort attack.’
Tarfel shuffled the pack onto his back, almost unconsciously. ‘But that’s no issue. I’m alive! People will be pleased to see me!’
Loveless raised an eyebrow, stretching the forked scar at her temple. ‘No one is ever truly pleased to see a prince, you can take my word for it.’ She reached out and steered him around, toward the dark spread of the woods that fringed the top of the bank. Already the rest of the company were shuffling through the darkness toward them. Chel picked up a sack with his good hand and slung it over his shoulder with a wince, then followed.
‘But your true problem is this, o princeling,’ Loveless continued as she began to walk. She had one hand on Tarfel’s lower back, herding him forward. ‘A dead prince is no longer one that anyone need concern themselves with, and it clearly suits someone’s agenda that you become such. To wit, you might not personally be dead, but the popular conception of Tarfel Merimonsun, Prince of Vistirlar, has passed on. And once no one agrees you’re a prince any more, well … you’re not a prince any more.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I’m sure you will soon.’
‘Why bother ransoming me, then? Why not just let me go?’
She smiled, stunning, chilling. ‘Don’t worry, princeling. You’re still valuable to someone. Someone with the heft to make you matter again.’
***
They made it through the woods into the foothills by dawn, the pale light in the north-eastern sky barely troubling the persistent darkness of the clouds. They were higher still when they saw the column of thick black smoke rising behind them, down in the valley. From the next rise, they saw the angry scarlet and orange flames roaring at the choking column’s base, before the ravaged hulk of the barge cracked and split and sank into the river, sending thick white clouds up after the black.
Rennic avoided Chel’s eye. ‘Keep moving. We don’t stop until dusk.’
***
The going was hard, especially an arm down. It was no surprise that the mercenaries were far hardier than Chel or the prince, capable of keeping an even, untroubled pace over the steep and broken ground as they wound their way higher. Whenever Chel or Tarfel lagged, one or two of Rennic’s crew would appear behind them with a firm nudge or grip on an elbow to drag them forward. The cuffs weren’t frequent. They didn’t need to be.
When not stumbling, sweating and feeling like his legs were aflame, Chel kept an eye out for the new woman, the silent late arrival. Already he was thinking back to the one-sided conversation he’d seen with Loveless. Had this woman been on the barge with them for three days without him seeing her? He thought of the arrows from above that had saved him from being on the wrong end of the boatman’s crossbow. If that was the case, he was glad of it.
He struggled to see her most of the time as they climbed through the trees, and not just because he spent most of the time with his eyes on his feet, blinking away sweat. The day was cool and clouded, at least. He saw the shaven-headed woman only sporadically, appearing at Rennic’s side for a moment, or walking beside Loveless for a few paces. Then she was off again, ahead, around, above, he couldn’t tell. The woman moved like a mountain creature, sure-footed, and eerily silent. Chel couldn’t shake the feeling that she was all around him, watching and laughing a silent laugh at his floundering.
‘Who’s that?’ he said to Lemon.
‘Whisper.’
‘Sorry, who’s that?’ he whispered.
‘Oh, you’re a right funny fucker, aren’t you?’
Chel continued in uncertain silence.
Despite his decree, Rennic allowed them an hour of rest at the day’s peak. Spare rations were shared, and both Tarfel and Chel collapsed against the hard, red earth of the slope and slept. Spider kicked them awake after what seemed like a moment, but the sun had moved into the north-western clouds and already the day was cooling. ‘Plenty miles to go,’ he said with his nasty grin. Spider, like the others, seemed unaffected by the climb. Even the Fly seemed no more blank than usual. Only Lemon gave voice to complaint, a steady stream of muttering and grumbles floating from her direction as she marched. Yet her pace never dropped, and while she seemed a little pinker when they stopped, she was up and off again the moment they resumed.
Chel staggered after, trying to force his aching legs back into motion. He watched Lemon’s boots stomp along in front of him and let the sound of her utterances lull him into a steady rhythm.
‘Oh aye, right, into the mountains we go. No bother there. Not like there’s fucken wolves and bears and whatnot. Always fucken wolves. Wildlife, shitehawks all. If I see a fucken wolf I’m gonna brain it with a fucken hammer and wear its flat head like a fucken hat. No fucken wolf better come near me. Lemon the wolf-hammer, that’s what they call me. Too fucken right, wolfy, just you try it. Just you show me your little wolfy teeth. I’ll have your fucken tail to clean my arse.’
‘Lemon, please, hush,’ Foss sighed from a few paces over.
‘No,’ said Lemon.
NINE
They trekked onward, winding through coarse red rock and dense moss-green forest toward the pass. When Chel’s strength failed, Foss and Lemon propped him up and helped him on. When Tarfel collapsed, exhausted, Foss slung him over his shoulder like Chel’s supply sack and continued his climb. By the middle of the third day, Chel saw the brilliant snow-carpeted peaks looming above, cloaked in drifting wisps of cloud. The air around them was chill and thin and worries of a frozen death from exposure superseded fear of their unseen pursuers.
Rennic drove them on at a brutal pace, his belief unwavering that the aggressors who had torched the barge were mere hours behind them. Every cracked twig became an assassin’s approach, every distant howl the advance of a hunting dog. Eventually, Chel tired of the constant tension, fatigue numbing his panic away. He could only be on edge for so long, and if they were caught, well, he’d either survive or he wouldn’t. The most bothersome thing about dying, he’d decided, was that his family would never know that he had, let alone where.
They came to a halt in the lee of a sheer rock face, pitted and weathered by the ages. The escarpment continued a few hundred strides in each direction, and above it lay a snow-covered plateau. By the time Chel and Tarfel brought their aching forms level with the others, Rennic was already in conference with Foss, Loveless and the silent woman, Whisper. Various gestures were made toward the summit of the cliff, and nods exchanged.
‘Spider!’
The ever-snarling man strode over, leaving his vacant companion sitting with her back to a boulder. Spider himself looked none too pleased by their surroundings and climate. He was wearing sleeves for the first time since Chel had met him.
‘Up there. See it?’
He nodded. Rennic handed him a thick bundle of rope.
‘Then away you go.’
Spider bared his teeth, then threw the coiled rope over his shoulder. He took a step back from the rock face, surveying it for a moment, then sprang up and forward, arms extended. He caught on a prominent chunk o
f rock with both hands, his feet moving up the rock face alongside his body, then he swung over and up with one extended hand, lodging in some near-invisible hold. Another extension and draw, and he was ten feet above them. He moved with extraordinary speed and power, his movements precise, and made no show of exertion or discomfort on the frigid, brittle rock.
Loveless saw Chel’s gaze. ‘Told you, cub. It’s all in the names.’
***
‘What is this place?’ Chel surveyed the bare interior of the dwelling, running his good hand around his battered midriff after being hauled up on the rope. Behind him, Foss and Rennic were pulling up Tarfel while Lemon bellowed encouragement from below. Spider and the Fly were already in the next chamber, from the sound of things enjoying more of their seed pods. He had no idea where Whisper was.
‘Trapper’s hut, probably,’ Loveless said, stacking their supplies against the bare stone of the mountain that composed one wall. ‘This is a popular route. Good lookout spot, but not much for defence.’ She peered through a gap in the logs laid on the plateau side. ‘Keep the weather off, give you a good view for hunting downslope in the summer, but that’s about it.’
A shrieking mass of Tarfel was slung in from the cliff-side.
‘Bit big for a hut,’ Chel said, conscious of his proximity to Loveless. He tried not to look at her too much. He found himself all too readily mesmerized by her looks.
‘Maybe the local lord liked to bring a party up here, stick some bolts in passing wildlife from relative safety. Maybe the trapper had a good buyer for his pelts and a bit of coin to spend on his hide. I’m not here to explain the world to you, cub.’
‘But how did you know it was here?’
‘Easy to spot from below, but hard to get to; easy to get to from above, but hard to spot. Occasionally there’s an upside to having Rennic’s friend Spider along after all, it seems.’
Lemon, Rennic and Foss stomped in from outside, kicking snow from their boots. ‘Aye, right,’ said Lemon, rubbing her hands together, ‘let’s get a fucken fire on and warm this place up, eh?’
‘No fire.’ Rennic’s voice was hard, but his tone softened when Lemon threw up her hands in outrage. ‘You know what could be out there. We can’t take the chance. Let’s be grateful for shelter for a night, and the fact this place is stuffed with pelts. I’m sure they can spare a few for a band of needy travellers.’
Thick furs, grey and brown, were dug out and distributed. Watches were set, dressings changed. Chel and the prince were sent to the second room and buried under warm animal skin, where they slept like the dead.
***
Loveless leaned back against the barge’s rail, eyes closed, her face golden in the warm sun. He stepped closer, chest curdling with anticipation.
‘Who are you talking to?’
She smiled, eyes still closed. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’
He took another step, and he could see beyond her, over the battlements. Beneath them, the lowport burned orange, great plumes of black smoke choking the sky.
She was next to him, close, too close.
‘I’m sorry, my boy,’ she said, and he felt his feet slipping on the rough stone. ‘It’s a shame, truly.’
‘Why?’ he said, as Heali towered over him, a long knife gleaming in his hand.
‘Who needs a one-armed Andriz?’
He couldn’t move, both arms strapped against his body. He was tipping backward, feet stuck, but Heali’s outstretched hand closed toward his face. Bright yellow flames rolled over the arm, and Heali’s body fluttered with glowing, smokeless fire.
‘You were supposed to be lucky.’
The hand covered his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his face. Everything was black, and the flames burned cold, so cold. He tried to struggle, but he was bound tight, and crushed, he fell.
***
A freezing hand was clamped over his mouth, another pressed against his bandaged shoulder. Chel’s eyes snapped open to find the Fly’s wide black eyes looking back, her face bathed in the slats of silvery moonlight that penetrated the hut’s timber. Still sluggish and addled from his dream, he simply stared at her, immobile. She raised one finger to her lips and nodded to her right. There in the darkness, Spider crouched, his breath fogging in little clouds. He was not smiling.
Chel felt suddenly very cold.
The Fly clambered over with a light touch, to where Tarfel lay snoring beside him in a relative mountain of furs. Through bleary eyes he watched her wake the prince the same way she’d woken him, straddled with her cold, cold fingers over his mouth. Spider watched from the corner, silent and still.
Once both were awake and wrapped in covering furs against the frigid night, the Fly led them to the far corner of the hut, where the open doorway led to the crisp expanse of snowy plateau, gleaming silver and bright in moonlight, dotted with dark boulders. Spider followed behind them, his very presence an unspoken threat. Tarfel didn’t even try to speak.
‘Time to get you out of here, your highness,’ the Fly said to the prince, her voice low and rasping. Chel wasn’t sure he’d ever heard her speak before.
Tarfel looked baffled, bordering on panicked. ‘What? Now?’
‘You’re off to be ransomed.’
‘Oh. Jolly good, then. Ah, the others?’
‘We’re the advance party. They’ll catch up.’
Chel looked past them to the snow-draped plateau. It looked wide, open and freezing. ‘But—’
Spider put a hand on his arm, the grip too tight to be friendly. ‘Cram it, rat-bear. You’re not here to talk or think. Just do as you’re told like a good little servant.’
Three packs were already waiting by the door. This had been planned. Chel wondered if Spider and the Fly were supposed to be on watch, and whether the rest of Rennic’s band lay sleeping, oblivious, in the first chamber. He wondered what would happen when the hawk-faced man discovered them gone.
Spider and the Fly shouldered two of the packs, then levered the third onto the prince’s back. Chel looked around for his sack, but the Fly shook her head. ‘We’ll be moving fast. Now, outside.’
A moment later they stood a few paces beyond the door, in the shadow of a large boulder, shivering beneath their furs, their breath almost frozen in the air. The trapper’s hut was a rising bump in the snowscape behind them, nestled under several feet of snow; their exit was a dark rectangle in the pure white. The escarpment dropped away a few strides beyond them, a hard line in the silver moonlight.
‘Your pack is twisted. Here, let me give you a hand, highness,’ Spider said as he moved behind Tarfel, steering the muddled, compliant prince around so he faced the boulder and Spider could access the pack in question. Chel watched them from a few paces away, his good arm rubbing his body over the furs in a futile attempt to warm himself. The dream lingered like the cold in his bones.
He turned at the creak and crump of the snow crust beside him. The Fly was at his shoulder, her eyes on the glittering plateau and the creased upright terrain beyond it.
‘Where are we going?’ he said.
She didn’t respond. Instead, she turned to face him, stepping in close as she did so.
Close, too close.
Who needs a one-armed Andriz?
Without thinking, he shoved her away with his good hand. She stumbled backward, feet catching in the deep snow, the trapper’s skinning knife in her hand flashing bright in the moonlight and her pack flapping from her shoulder. She hit the snow with a whump and a muffled curse, a few paces out from the shadow of the boulder, a blot on the gleaming snow. Chel heard Spider grunt in surprise behind him, and he realized he was trapped between them, one-handed and unarmed. The Fly began to climb back to her feet.
Something whistled through the air, swishing through the night’s stillness. The Fly staggered and dropped back to her knees with a gasp. Another whistle followed, and something connected with the Fly’s hunched form with a fleshy thud. This time she cried out, a screech of shock and pain. The s
now beside her splattered dark.
It’s Whisper, Chel thought, transfixed, his tongue electric in his mouth. She’s rescuing me, just like on the barge. Another arrow flashed past, out from the plateau’s far side. It glanced off the boulder beside him and slapped into the snow at his feet. Its shaft was pale, its fletching bright. These were not the same arrows as he’d seen on the barge. These were not Whisper’s arrows.
‘Inside!’ Spider grabbed his shoulder and dragged Chel and the prince back toward the hut. Spider hurled them inside then ducked under the door, slinging his pack into a corner and crouching beside them. ‘Not a word,’ he hissed. ‘Not a fucking word, or you’re cut in your sleep, fuck the ransom.’
Tarfel nodded, mute, while Chel lay flat on his back, staring out at the plateau. The Fly was a dark mound against the pure whiteness, a shadow flooding the snow around her, its white crust staining black.
Spider bounded for the first chamber, bellowing of ambush and attack, without a backward look. His erstwhile partner lay curled out on the plateau, her low, haunting moans the only thing Chel could hear. She sounded like a dying animal, keening and growling and gurgling. He watched, horrified, wondering all the while if he was responsible, if he should have done something different. But then, she had been about to stab him …
Another arrow flashed through the night, slamming into the Fly’s twitching form. She cried again, less in rage and more in pleading. The next arrow quivered as it drove into her side.
‘Stop! Leave her alone!’ He was at the door, screaming into the night. Only the biting chill at his cheeks told him he was crying. An answering arrow skimmed the boulder in a flash of sparks, then disappeared into the deep snow on the hut’s roof.
‘The fuck are you doing?’ Lemon was behind him, her arms around his shaking form, hauling him back from the doorway. ‘Don’t give them anything else to aim at, you bellend!’
She pulled him back into the hut and toward the first chamber. He couldn’t take his eyes off the Fly. She was crawling, arms outstretched, dragging herself back toward her pack and the boulder, the snow around her now a black mass. Another arrow hit her just before he was dragged out of sight, and he heard her cry.