Coran frowned. That was true, it should be colder than it was. He had never been this far north himself but he had heard enough from others not to doubt what they knew of the weather. Right now it was still about as cold as a late Tyelin winter. “Maybe it is just a mild year, or maybe it will get colder further north. What does it matter anyway? You should be happy it is not any colder than it is.”
“I know. It could be a mild year, like that one year when we never even saw snow. I think I was eleven.”
“I remember,” Coran said. That was when he had been at Summerhall. Actually, they both were there at that time.
“Something still does not feel right,” Devon grumbled.
Coran was inclined to agree, about the weather anyway. “Well, you can think about it while you take first watch,” he stated, then stepped around the fire. He removed his sword belt and placed it next to his blankets before crawling into the many layers. A mild winter could be a blessing or a curse. For the Karands Elthzidor led it would be a good thing, since they were not used to the cold. That was not good for the West though. On the other hand it could prove a salvation. Even Northmen would find it easier and faster to travel using unfrozen rivers. If he could convince them to help. That worried him a great deal as he tried to sleep. Katelyn was counting on him to bring the North into it. Well, maybe not. She was not fool enough to put her hopes on something that probably would not happen. How could anyone expect him to convince the people of the North to do anything?
Leaving their sheltered spot behind they mounted up and rode on. The rolling hills became steeper, and the valleys between more pronounced as the land changed the closer they got to the durges. They passed another village tightly packed in a steep sided valley. It would be the last they would see until leaving the durges again.
Lakes appeared, large and small, and the winter brown grass rose out of cold water and in some places ice. Irne led them, instinctively following some mysterious path that always went over dry land, avoiding the lakes and frozen marshes. They reached a point in the center of the wetlands where the land rose above the surrounding area so it was somewhat dryer. The higher terrain was a forest of pine and a few hardwoods mixed in.
It was still no colder than when they had crossed the border.
Irne suggested they stop and camp for the night. He said it would be another half day across the plateau to where Gorod was most likely camped. They could stop again tomorrow and sneak up on the murderer after dark.
Camp was readied, and the horses unsaddled and hobbled for the night. A fire was out of the question even though Irne said they would be perfectly safe. Devon agreed that a fire was too great a risk. For some reason none of them could sleep so they all sat up as night swallowed the trees around them. The moon wasn’t able to penetrate the thick forest, so the darkness was ominous. Even more so with no wind to rustle the leaves. There was no sound at all. “Why don’t you tell us how you know so much about Gorod,” Devon asked to break the eerie silence. He was a barely distinguishable shadow sitting a few feet away.
“I know a lot of people, so I get a lot of information. Other people want that information. So they pay me for it.” “Disreputable people,” Devon snorted.
“You could look at it that way,” Irne continued. “I tell them when a merchant is moving valuable goods or when gold might be shipped.”
“Or where someone can find some people to do a dirty job for him,” Coran broke in to see if he was correct.
“If it is what someone wants.” Irne’s voice was less sure.
“Say a certain someone with white hair? Like Naras?”
“So that is how you found out about me. I told Gorod that he was not to be trusted. He had too many secrets of his own that he would not share.”
“He came to you didn’t he? And you took him to Gorod?” Coran continued to press the man.
“Yes.”
“I still don’t understand why Gorod would trust anyone with the location of his secret camp, especially a weasel like you,” Devon insulted the bald man.
Irne was not amused. “They trust me because I have never betrayed them. Never.”
Coran heard the contempt in the voice and realized what Irne was saying. He took a cloth and stuffed it into the weasel’s mouth as he tried to scream. He was still loud enough to here at a distance. Devon used the hilt of his knife to hit Irne on the head. The tavern keeper/criminal kicked his heels and his eyes threatened to roll up in his head, but he was not yet unconscious. Devon struck again and Irne went still.
After checking the motionless form Devon looked up and whispered. “Oops. Hit him a little too hard that second time.”
Coran was already scanning the forest for anything moving. “Do you think he led us into them already or are they expecting us further on?” It was a trap either way, but with the second way they still might have the element of surprise.
“How could he have told anyone? We were with him the whole time.”
That was true. He was never out of their sight, except... “The gate guard. Bloody shife,” he swore at his blindness. “Irne said he knew a lot of people. How better to get the kind of information he needed that was useful then from a member of the guards.”
“Particularly from one who is stationed at the gates,” Devon added. “Shife? What does that mean.”
“That is what sailors call the excretions from birds,” Coran replied. It was a good thing it was dark so his smile was hidden.
“Oh. I did not know that.”
“Later. Right now we have to assume they are coming for us.”
“And that there will be more than ten,” Devon added.
“Come on. We have to get away from this spot in case he told them where we would camp.” Coran led the way into the trees as quietly as he could. It was difficult when they could hardly see where they were putting their feet.
“So what is the plan,” he heard Devon say from behind him. “Tell me you have one.”
“Well, Irne must have been expecting them at any time or he wouldn’t have said so much. They are probably closing in on our camp from more than one side.” He pushed a pine covered branch out of the way slowly to reduce the rustling as he passed. He held it bent, out of the way for Devon until he passed too, then slowly let it straighten.
“You’re making sense so far,” whispered Devon. “If we can get outside of them and circle around we might be able to come up behind them and get the surprise back on our side.”
“Sounds good to me.”
They worked their way until he thought they were far enough out then stopped. Peering hard through the trees he spotted movement about twenty yards to the right. He tapped Devon and pointed. Keeping low they stalked their prey. It would have helped to know how many they faced. The shadow they followed went in and out of vision as it passed between the pines. They moved forward to a spot that would intercept the shape and waited.
They didn’t have to wait long. Two shadowy figures moved with stealth only a few feet away. When they were in reach Coran jumped up with his knife in hand, put a hand over where the mouth should be and struck. Devon did the same with the other one. Coran could feel the course, heavy clothing under his hand as he removed his knife blade and wiped it on the body.
Coran silently thanked Hormil for his instruction in some of the more personal techniques in killing men without being discovered. He also thanked a man called Hunter who he knew from Tyelin. Hunter had taught him how to stalk his prey and it worked better on men than it did animals.
As the night grew older they found and eliminated another pair of faceless forms. Eventually, they found themselves overlooking the place where their horses and blankets had been left. Three men were standing in the middle of their camp, no four. One stood up from where he had been leaning over something on the ground.
“Dead all right. Skull is bashed in,” the rough voice informed the others.
“I didn’t mean too,” Devon whispered his complaint.
/> “Shh,” Coran admonished. He was trying to hear what they were saying.
“Where are they?” another one asked.
“Where are the others?” a deep voice commented. It seemed to come from the tallest of the four who was turning about him.
“They were coming from the north and east sides.”
“He said they were Southern Lords. Might be dangerous.” Something struck the speaker who shouted an oath.
“Not as dangerous as me,” the deep voiced threatened.
“Of course not. I didn’t mean to say that Gorod.”
“Spread out and find them,” the deep voiced Gorod ordered. They walked away from the fallen Irne in different directions. One was headed right for them and another would pass not far to their left.
Devon pointed to the one on the left and slipped away on silent feet. Coran crouched down and waited. The moments dragged by, his breathing loud to his ears. The rustle of someone passing through vegetation sounded in front of him and then the figure was there. Coran looked up into the man’s eyes which went white at the sight of him. Coran’s dagger struck upward into the man’s middle. The figure gasped, trying to call out, but little escaped his mouth as he fell to the forest floor. Only two left.
He walked forward keeping an eye on the two heading away from him. A slight noise came from his left, a glance revealed Devon approaching. They met each other in the camp.
“What now?” the blonde man from Anders asked with a grin.
Coran almost rolled his eyes. How could his friend be having fun? “I suppose we either sneak up on them or call them out.”
“I am tired of sneaking,” Devon decided. “I have all these scratches on my hands from the branches, and there is a tear in my cloak.” With a sigh for his ruined cloak he stood up and Coran copied him. “Hey Gorod! Get your ugly goat face over here!” His smile went even wider.
“Do you think it is a good idea to enrage a Northman? Have you ever heard of a berserker?”
“Maybe I should have left the last part out.”
“Don’t forget everyone keeps saying he is mad.”
“Okay. Next time I will remember that.”
Coran looked at him like he was crazy. “Next time?”
There was no chance for a response. Two figures emerged from the woods into the camp. One was taller than the other and from the outline he had a bristling beard. Coran could see his eyes which were opened wide and very wild. “Which one of you said that!” Gorod demanded.
“That would be me.” Devon raised a hand and waved it to be sure the man would know who was talking.
“That one is mine,” Gorod stated to his companion and stepped forward. The other one came at Coran with a long handled ax in his hands.
Coran drew his sword and waited. From the other two he heard insults shouted between them and the clash of their weapons as they fought. Coran’s opponent came forward, his ax spinning. It was different than facing a sword, with the gracefulness of the swinging arcs, but not enough. As their blades met his opponent tried to hook the ax head around his sword and pull it from his grip. Instead Coran twisted his wrist and slipped the sword free. His thrust went through the Northman’s chest. Pulling his sword out slowly, he went to the aid of his friend who was being hard pressed by the larger man’s heavy bladed sword. It was not Gorod’s skill that had Devon retreating, but rather the way he savagely threw himself into the attack with no thought for his own safety. They entered an open area in the trees as they fought, and the moonlight flooded over them. Gorod was a very big man, with wavy hair and a bristling beard as he had thought. A cut on his face proved that Devon was not yet completely overwhelmed. As it was, his friend’s face was determined and becoming strained. Coran knew that face well. He had sparred against the man for too long not to know it meant he was getting desperate. Coran stepped next to Devon with his sword out, challenging the mad man.
Gorod was more than ready for the challenge and Coran now knew how his friend felt. It took an intense moment of adjustment before he started to turn aside the attacks with some confidence. As it was, the towering Gorod continued to push his way forward, never taking a retreating step. The large Northern blade sent jolts up Coran’s arms with every blow he managed to deflect. Worse, Gorod didn’t seem to be tiring at all. Coran had to admit that the Northman was almost more than he could handle. He was left with no choice. He let himself go as he had in Crecy. He gave himself over to his instincts. After that Gorod’s attempts to reach him were futile.
“Give up, Gorod,” he said to give him a chance at least now that he was sure of the result. The Northman refused of course. He was frothing at the mouth as he charged. The sword sliding through him came as a complete surprise. With mouth open and eyes wide he fell backward onto the layer of snow. The clean white substance was quickly stained with red.
Devon stumbled up to his side breathing heavily and with his sword hanging from his hand. “I guess you were right.”
“About what?”
“I should not have insulted him.”
They glanced at each other and for some reason it seemed very funny at the moment. They both laughed in the silence of the night.
After their laughter died they cleaned and sheathed their blades. Then they stood around seeing the bodies on the ground.
“We need to find the girl,” Coran stated.
“Do you want to look for her now or wait until light?”
They wouldn’t be able to see much in the dark. It would be almost impossible to find their camp without light enough to follow any tracks. “I guess we will have to wait until daybreak.” He sighed. He didn’t like the idea of leaving her out in the dark alone. If she was alone.
“It will be all right,” Devon told him. “Sunrise is not far off. It is later then you think.”
Coran looked to the sky in the east, but forgot that he couldn’t see through the trees. “Let’s get the horses ready.” That way they would be ready to leave as soon as there was enough light.
“Right.”
The sky brightened enough for the light to reach them even under the trees. As soon as he could see the ground, Coran was scanning it for tracks that would lead them to Gorod’s camp. He couldn’t shake off the feeling of urgency that came to him. He had to find her.
Devon brought up the saddled horses to where he had stopped a good distance from their camp. Coran took the reins of his horse and led the animal so he could be closer to the ground. Footprints were all he needed to back track their attacker’s trail. They followed it for most of the morning when they finally came across a break in the trees. A stream meandered its way down a gentle slope between tan colored tents. There were six of them set up in the clearing.
Coran stopped to listen for any sign of someone being present. He heard nothing. “Check the tents.” He suited his own words by dashing into the closest one. There was a pallet of unrolled blankets on one side and some sacks in the other. Containing ill-gotten loot no doubt. He checked a second and found nothing again.
“Over here!” Devon called from across the camp.
Coran ran to the tent and peered inside. Devon was holding a hand out to a girl about fourteen with long blonde hair that was disheveled. Her red and yellow dress that must have been quite pretty at one time was torn in several places. Her face and hands were smeared with dirt. She took Devon’s hand and allowed him to pull her from the tent. Coran backed out of the way.
“It is all right,” Devon told her kindly. “We are here to take you home.”
She looked at them blankly, as if in shock. It took her a few moments to understand. When she finally seemed to comprehend she started to cry. Devon held her for a long time until she could talk.
“I was so scared. I thought he was going to...” She could not finish the sentence. She didn’t have to.
“You are safe now.” Devon’s tone was as gentle as Coran has ever heard it.
They checked her over for injuries and she seemed fine except
for the rope marks on her ankles and wrists. “I am all right,” she assured them. “That big one was going to.. do things to me.” She shuddered. “The others convinced him that I would be worth more for ransom if I was untouched and taken care of. He still talked about it though. He talked about it all the time. And he said if anyone came to rescue me he would kill me before letting me go.” Her emotional look took them both in. “Thank you.”
“Forget it,” Devon told her.
“Did you kill him?” she asked suddenly, fiercely.
“Yes.”
Then she cried again. Devon stood and the two of them left the girl alone for the moment so she could weep without them watching. “We have to take her home. She needs her family.”
“You have to,” Coran corrected.
Devon stared at him for a minute until a frown blossomed on his face. “That was your intention all along,” he accused. “You planned to have me take her back without you. You never intended for me to go to Herrinhall.”
“I am sorry, but it is for the best. As you said, she needs to go home and I don’t have the time to take her there.” Coran glanced at the girl sitting in the snow, then back at his friend. “You must take her back yourself. My path leads me to Herrinhall. Yours does not.” He had no intention of risking his friend's life in Herrinhall. Since learning of the potential conflict here his resolve was doubled. It was reasonable to assume that tensions would be running just as high with the Northmen as with the Midians of Northwatch. If they found a Midian in their midst the results would be predictable. Coran, having the blood of the North in his veins at least had a chance to avoid that fate. Devon would have no such protection.
“If I return without you Katelyn will string me up and hang me from the walls,” Devon stated with a smile.
“I need you to look after her for me. Remember, there is a spy close to her. Naras admitted that much. You have to protect her for me. Okay?”
Fire And Ice (Book 1) Page 51