by James Wilde
Amarina looked into the piercing eyes above her. Something about them seemed familiar, though she couldn’t place what it was.
He leaned down and asked, ‘Who are you?’
‘Amarina.’
He sniffed the air above her. ‘You smell like Hecate.’
She glared, even through the pain. ‘Am. A. Rin. A.’
The Lord of the Greenwood shrugged.
Her head cleared, if only for a moment, and she remembered. ‘The boy … Marcus …’
‘The dwarf has taken him.’
‘You know where he has gone?’
‘I have seen the trail. He is being watched.’
‘We must save him.’ She felt her guilt rise again.
‘We must. But your part in this is done. For now, at least.’
Amarina felt weak and pathetic, but she had no strength to do anything but hang in the arms of the Lord of the Greenwood.
Lucanus, Mato and Catia stood like sentinels on a track in the sun, weapons drawn. At that moment she didn’t care how they would judge her. She deserved all their harsh words, and more, and she wouldn’t shrink from any of them.
‘Marcus is alive,’ she croaked before anyone could speak. ‘And I throw myself on your mercy. I was a fool to take him. I thought it would be for the best … for all of you. I was wrong.’
Catia’s face was like stone. ‘If he is not returned to me, you will pay.’
Amarina nodded.
She saw Lucanus frown. ‘I saw you,’ he said to the man who was carrying her. ‘In the north, when I was close to death. I thought you were a dream.’
‘Many think that,’ the Lord growled.
‘Did you bring the three women to save me?’
The green warrior said nothing. Amarina watched them hold each other’s gaze for a moment. Lucanus’ frown deepened, but before any more words could pass between them the Lord of the Greenwood laid her down in the long grass.
‘She has lost much blood. She needs rest,’ he said.
Mato ran forward and knelt beside her. ‘Did he harm you?’
‘No. He saved me. He’s an ally.’
When they all looked up, the green warrior had gone.
‘If you follow the trail in the woods, he and his friends will guide you to Marcus and the dwarf,’ she continued. ‘You must trust me on that.’ Catia would not meet her eyes. ‘The fool has him. He is not what we thought.’
‘Bellicus has gone to fetch the others,’ Lucanus said as he stood over her. ‘Comitinus and Solinus wait with another victim of this war who’s not long for this world. Mato, take her back to the wagons and wait there. His mother and I will go after Marcus.’
Amarina saw Mato look from his leader to Catia, unsure. ‘Just the two of you?’
‘You think between us we can’t handle a dwarf?’ Lucanus grinned, but Amarina saw no humour there.
‘Go,’ she urged. ‘Let your feet fly and show that fool no mercy. I will pray to the goddess for you.’
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
In the Marshlands
THE PIERCING WHISTLE rang out. Lucanus searched the trees for a long moment before he saw the figure stepping out from the shade of a holly bush. Seemingly more beast than man, his face was as filthy as his mane of brown hair and beard, and his clothes were rags. Though he’d been standing in plain sight, the Wolf hadn’t noticed him.
The forest man waved a hand towards the south-east. Lucanus loped in that direction and Catia ran at his side. When he glanced back, the man was already lost to view.
‘I wish these days had never come,’ Catia said, her voice laced with bitterness. ‘I thought times might be better, but now I’ve exchanged one life of misery for another.’
‘We’ll bring Marcus home. I vowed that when I set off into the north, and I vow it now.’
‘What then? Endless days of running and hiding and fighting off enemies who see my son as the key to open their door to power?’
‘Everything changes, by the day, by the hour. It may not always be this way. If Myrrdin’s messengers can bring together an army, we can fight. If he can find us a sanctuary, we can build a new life.’
Together, he wanted to add, but he knew that was a faint hope. Catia was an honourable woman. She loved him, but she would never leave Amatius. But he would fight any battle to help her, and Marcus, for the rest of his days, as he’d always fought for her. He couldn’t do other.
‘It seems to me,’ she said, ‘that good people cannot prosper in this world. Only those whose hearts are as hard as ice thrive.’
‘I don’t believe that to be true.’
‘Nevertheless, that’s my view. And if I have to become one of them to see the people I love survive, so be it.’
Lucanus winced at her words.
Through the forest they ran, following the whistles of the forest folk. Soon Lucanus could see the trail himself: pairs of footprints in the soft ground, each as small as the other. Not long after that the high ground was at their backs and the forest gave way to gentle slopes leading to a green countryside of lush grassland and dark copses dotted with hamlets.
They slumped down beside a brook to cup handfuls of cool water to slake their thirst. As he rested, he watched Catia wash her face, perhaps trying to hide the tears of anger and frustration that had continually brimmed.
When she’d dried her cheeks on her cloak, she turned to him and forced a smile. ‘I haven’t thanked you enough for all that you’ve done for me. Since I was a girl, you’ve been a true friend and companion. Whatever is to come, know that I have much love in my heart for you.’
Her words should have given him some warmth, perhaps even hope, but at that moment he thought they sounded more like an epitaph.
Black clouds gathered on the western horizon. Lightning flickered and the air itself seemed to crackle around them.
Lucanus crouched and examined the ground. The trail had led to a vast area of marshland that reeked of rot. He looked out across stagnant pools reflecting the darkening sky, dotted by clumps of sedge. Flies droned above them. Islands of sickly trees floated everywhere, dense enough to hide anyone who did not wish to be seen.
‘The fool is clever. If he’s light on his feet, he’ll be able to move through here quickly. He must know we’ll be on his heels. This bog will slow us.’
‘And if he’s not light on his feet, he’ll drag my son down to his death.’ Catia pulled an arrow from her quiver and held it loosely against her bow.
‘Any path through here will be treacherous,’ Lucanus cautioned. Much as he did not want to see her in danger, he knew better than to suggest she stay behind.
‘Then I put my life in your hands. You must guide me. And if I get clear sight of the dwarf, I’ll put this shaft through his heart.’
Lucanus sniffed the air. The fool had been clever indeed; he wouldn’t be able to smell any sweat on the breeze. Steeling himself, he began to move out, testing for solid ground, leaping from one mound of sedge to the next, trusting Catia to follow him.
Bubbles surfaced on the still waters and popped. A toad leapt from his feet into a pool with a splash, and jewelled dragonflies whisked by his head. They were close now, he knew. His old senses, muffled since he’d left the Wilds behind, had returned.
‘If I were the fool I would move through those copses,’ he said, pointing. ‘They’ll keep him hidden from anyone watching from where the trail met the marsh.’
As if in answer to his words, a murder of crows took flight from the branches, shrieking as they soared up to the lowering clouds. Lucanus stiffened, instinctively dropping low.
‘I don’t care about any prophecy,’ Catia muttered. ‘I don’t care about games of power and gods old or new.’ She paused and then added, ‘Swear to me that you will watch over Marcus if I die.’
‘You won’t die.’
‘Swear it.’ There was a crack in her voice.
‘I swear.’
‘I can’t leave that to Amatius. He would put his own inte
rest before that of his son.’
‘Wolf-sister, you will be around to be a good wolf-mother long after I’m in the earth.’
Lucanus tugged down the snout of his wolf pelt and searched the nearest trees until he thought he caught a glimpse of movement. Instantly he was bounding across the clumps of sedge, hearing Catia’s ragged breathing at his back.
The island neared.
He felt his foot skid on the vegetation and flailed to keep his balance. He’d heard too many stories of places like this, haunted sites that claimed lives to feed the daemons who lurked here, sucking them down into another world just beneath the surface.
He wanted to mutter a prayer, but he could no longer tell if he should be calling to Cernunnos or Lugh or Mithras or one of the Roman gods.
With a leap, he landed on the edge of the island and fell into a crouch. He could hear the crunch of feet on dry rushes. A muffled voice, insistent, harsh.
Catia landed behind him and he reached out a hand to steady her before she slipped back into the bog. He pressed a finger to his lips.
The fool was stumbling along the water’s edge on the other side of the narrow strip of dry land. Lucanus eyed a path among the trees and threw himself along it, clawing his way among elder and willow, trying to be as silent as he could.
When he crashed out on the opposite side he saw the fool edging past an overhanging blackthorn, dragging Marcus behind him.
Lucanus drew his sword and crept forward in the shadow of the trees. He’d hoped to get close enough to grab the dwarf, but Bucco chose that moment to look up from his precarious footing.
The Wolf saw the murderous flash in those eyes. In an instant, the fool’s left arm had curled around Marcus’ neck and his knife had jumped into his other hand. The blade swept up to the terrified boy’s throat.
‘Stay back or I will bleed him,’ Bucco snarled.
Lucanus looked into Marcus’ imploring eyes and he felt a cold anger rise in him. ‘Harm the boy and I will gut you and throw you into the bog.’
Rage flared in the fool’s face. ‘Stay away, I say. I will not lose him now, not when I’m so close.’
The Wolf stopped. He could see the dwarf was not going to back down. The knife in his hand trembled with his anger.
‘Give up,’ Lucanus said harshly. ‘There’s nowhere for you to go now.’
An arrow thumped into the trunk of a silver birch not far from the dwarf. Behind the Wolf, Catia was already nocking another shaft.
Shocked, Bucco recoiled, and Marcus seized the moment to wriggle free. Half dropping to his knees, he scrambled through the long grass and nettles to throw his arms around Lucanus’ waist.
The fool’s arms windmilled as he was thrown off balance by Marcus’ sudden lunge. He shrieked, a keening sound that sent more crows crashing up from the branches, and wheeled backwards into the sucking bog. His flailing only made it worse and within an instant he had sunk to his chest.
‘Help me,’ he screamed. ‘I beg you.’
Lucanus watched the fool’s struggles for a moment, heard his shrieks become even shriller. A part of him thought Bucco deserved his fate for all the misery he had inflicted on Catia and Marcus and Amarina. But in the end he couldn’t stand by and watch the fool die.
Easing Marcus aside, he sheathed his sword and strode along the edge of the bog.
‘Lucanus!’
He whirled at Catia’s scream.
‘Take Marcus! Take him and run!’
Figures were emerging from the trees behind her. He glimpsed the crusted white skin of the Attacotti in the shadows, and at the front were Motius and the rest of the Carrion Crows. They had been stalking Marcus too. Of course they had. He’d been a fool to think they would ever turn their backs upon such a prize.
Snatching Marcus up, he ran, Bucco’s screams ringing out at his back. The boy was heavy, slowing him down, and he knew how fleet of foot the Crows were.
He crashed through the undergrowth on the edge of the narrow island and leapt to the nearest mound of sedge. He threw himself on to the second one, just, his heart pounding as his skid almost carried him into the bog.
Behind him he could hear the whoops and shrieks of the hunters bearing down on them.
‘Be still,’ he whispered in the boy’s ear. ‘We will be away from this soon.’
At the third mound, his foot slipped into the brown stew. He looked back and saw Catia bounding behind him.
For a moment their eyes locked, a silent communication bonding them for all time.
‘Save him,’ she shouted.
Spinning round, Lucanus dredged up the last of his reserves and hurled himself from clump to clump, ignoring the rising war-cries at his back, all his thoughts drawn down upon the boy in his arms and the need to reach dry land.
Only when he crashed down on to the grassy edge of the marsh did he look back and see why Motius and his band hadn’t caught him.
Catia was resting on one knee, loosing arrows that kept their pursuers at bay. One of the Attacotti was slowly sinking into the bog, a shaft protruding from his eye socket.
‘Come now,’ the Wolf bellowed. ‘We’re safe.’
Catia ignored him.
He understood then what he’d seen in her eyes. She had no intention of joining them; even when they were away from the treacherous bog, they would never be able to outrun the Crows.
‘Catia,’ he yelled again. ‘Don’t do this.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Marcus said, trying to see round him.
‘Nothing,’ Lucanus replied. ‘Run and hide in the long grass. I’ll follow.’
He dropped Marcus and the boy scrambled away, throwing himself down as if he were diving into a green sea.
If he could reach Catia, he could at least hope to hold back the enemy with his sword. A thin hope, but it was all he had.
Yet even as he prepared to hurl himself on to the first clump of sedge, he saw Catia loose her last arrow. Beyond her, a grin leapt to Motius’ face.
The Attacotti began leaping across the clumps of sedge, approaching from two flanks. Between them, the Crows advanced in a direct line towards Catia.
Lucanus willed her to turn and run, his chest tightening until he thought it would burst when he realized she was not going to make any such attempt. She stood, lifting her chin, proud to the last.
A desperate panic swelled within him. This was her sacrifice, for Marcus.
For him.
He reached for his sword, and then let his hand fall. Even if he dared to venture into the marsh again, it would be a futile gesture. Nothing he could do would save either of them.
With his nails biting into his palms, he watched Catia, defiant, almost beatific, arms outstretched as she looked up to the roiling clouds. The wind tore at her hair. Fat drops of rain lashed her.
And she waited.
The Attacotti and the Crows fell upon her.
Lucanus finally whirled away, unable to bear any more. Devastated, not even able to speak, he darted into the long grass and caught up with Marcus. Together they ran back the way he and Catia had come.
The flames roared in the howling wind and sparks spiralled in a wild dance towards the black clouds hanging overhead. Catia looked up at the men standing around the campfire. She felt only contempt for these warriors, a pack of beasts who would hunt down a boy. There were upwards of forty of them, the ranks reaching out into the gloom beyond the wavering circle of light, all of them wild-haired and bearded, swathed in leather and fur and stinking of sweat and piss. Hard men, forged in battle, with stares that hung on too long. She peered past them, trying to see the Attacotti. Those apparitions unnerved her. They were like the daemons that Lucanus spoke of, preferring the gloom, with ways that she could not begin to understand. But they had melted away the moment they had dragged her into the camp.
‘I’m not afraid to die,’ she said in a wintry voice.
‘That is good.’ Erca stepped in front of her.
Though she was sprawled at his f
eet she pushed up her chin so he wouldn’t think her submissive.
‘I saw you loose your arrows,’ he continued. ‘You’re good with a bow. Better than most men.’
‘I’m better than most men at all things.’
Laughter rumbled around the gathering, but Erca was untouched by it. Yes, his eyes brightened, but not from mockery. Catia knew that look – he was intrigued by her. She felt sickened by his attention.
‘You would do well to kill me now. I’m no use to you. My band is on the move – I don’t know where they are travelling.’
‘The boy?’
‘Lucanus will keep him safe.’
‘Ah. The Wolf.’ Erca pursed his lips. Thunder rumbled and he looked up at the darkening sky. ‘They are calling him the Pendragon now. That’s an ancient title, one that demands respect. The war leader. It has to be earned, but I’ve not seen much that shows he deserves it.’
‘You will.’
‘He is your man?’
Catia hesitated, surprised by the question, and surprised too that an answer did not come easily. ‘No. I’m married to another.’
‘He must be a fine man indeed to carry off a prize such as you.’
‘I am no prize to be won. I make my own choices.’
More laughter.
‘Be that as it may. But you did not choose to be here. I brought you to this camp. My will. My power.’
‘And I say again, you have wasted it on someone who has no value.’
‘Do you take me for a fool? The mother of the royal blood has no value?’ He prowled around her. Catia stared into the orange heart of the fire, not deigning to give him her attention.
‘You believe those old stories? Then you are a fool,’ she said.
‘I believe the wood-priests. The Romans may have driven them deep into the forests, but they still have knowledge and power. They hear the gods. I was first told this story of a king who will not die when I was a boy. From a man who had begged the druids to save the life of his dying child. They refused, for reasons no one knew, and when he returned to our village he looked as old as his father. White hair, eyes that had seen too much. He had learned other things, some that haunted him, which he would never speak of. But this tale of the king, he recounted it all, as it had been told to him.’