CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Into The Darkness

 

 

It was the cold that Stefan noticed first. The day had begun much the same as many that preceded it: close, and humid as the sun burned away the morning mists. But less than an hour into their morning journey they had passed across the western edge of the great forest that bounded the realms of the Empire and of Kislev. As they entered the Forest of Shadows the temperature had dropped, and kept on dropping. Eventually they had been forced to stop and put on extra layers of clothing, and still nothing seemed to keep out the cold. Even the tombs of Morr had not chilled like this.

Few travelled here. The stories told of the forest were not those of seasoned travelers passing through its midst, but of lost wayfarers or the survivors of foolhardy errands. It was a dark, secret place, where the powers of the old gods were said to dwarf those of mortal man, or even his enemies. Those who travelled its tangled paths and returned counted themselves lucky to have done so with their lives and sanity intact.

These were the stories Stefan had in mind as they began their voyage into the dark interior. For all that, the Forest of Shadows was not, at first, what Stefan had expected. For a start, although nothing that could be called a road ran beyond the very fringe of the trees, the way into the woods was surprisingly open. The horses were able to find a path with ease, and, at times, it was possible to ride two or even three abreast.

Stefan looked around as the forest closed in behind them. Up above, the sun still burned, a bright disc in a now cloudless sky. Beams of dust-flecked gold played amongst the shadows and the towering pines. He had no exact idea how broad the forest was, but, with three or four hours of good daylight left to them, they would at this rate be well into their journey before night fell. The only sounds were the muffled clutter of the hooves in the soft, loamy soil, and the occasional conversation that passed between them. Stefan began to feel the forest lulling him into a cold but not unpleasant reverie, as he nudged his mount forward at a gentle pace.

It was just after they had stopped to gather extra clothes that Tomas commented on something strange. “I must have lost account of time,” he said, puzzled. “Is it near nightfall already?”

Stefan looked around him. Over the course of time his eyes had adjusted to the diminishing light. But now that he looked he found that the surrounding forest was slowly melting into a dimming twilight, something he would not have expected for another two or three hours.

Bruno turned his gaze skywards. The sun was still clearly visible overhead, barely below the highest point in the sky. “By the mark of the sun I’d say it was close on four,” he said, “But certainly no more.”

Elena rode huddled in her winter cloak. “Yet down here it’s all but night,” she said. “This is not a welcoming place!”

“True,” Stefan acknowledged. “But we knew well enough that this wasn’t going to be easy.” He looked back up at the roof of the forest, struggling to reconcile the clear, sunlit sky with the gathering gloom around them. That the sun was penetrating into the forest was beyond dispute; the thick, oil-dark shadows that sprang from the trees and gave the forest its name bore testament to that. It was as though the forest was working some alchemy upon the sun’s rays, leeching away the light and warmth, turning day into night. At this rate of decay it would be effectively dark within the hour.

“We’ll keep on,” Stefan concluded. “At least while we can. We may have to go more slowly, and stop once the forest has drawn night down.”

Alexei Zucharov emerged through the screen of grey, pulling his horse close alongside Stefan’s. “If we light torches we can still ride on, dark or no dark,” he said. “This place is vast. We have a great distance to cover.”

“I know that,” Stefan replied. “But we could lame a horse or worse in this. It’s not worth the risk.”

He held Alexei’s stare and scrutinised it, looking for any hint of their recent quarrel. Somewhat to his surprise, Alexei simply shrugged and turned away. “Wouldn’t want to lose one of the horses,” was all he said.

The paths were narrowing now. Almost without their noticing, the forest had taken on a breathtaking intensity; the woods far darker and denser than anything they had experienced in the Drakwald. The trees crowded in around them, and the ground had become overgrown with a tangle of roots and fallen branches.

They rode one by one, a tense, single file. In the fast vanishing light their progress had slowed to less than walking pace. Still the sun burned mockingly up above, but, down in the forest, its force was spent. Soon Stefan would have to admit defeat. His instincts told him to treat the mighty forest with respect, and to learn to live within the boundaries it imposed. That way, they might all yet feel the sun on their backs once again.

With what remained of the poor light he found a clearing amongst the trees. It was tight, barely large enough to accommodate their camp. He drew his horse up, bringing the other riders to a halt.

“This is it,” he called back to them. “As far as we go this night, if night is what we can call it.”

Together they dismounted and set about pitching their camp with the quiet ease that comes with practice. When they had done, Bruno kindled a fire in the centre of the clearing, and Stefan and the others gathered round, trying to draw what warmth they could. By now the sun had vanished below the tree-line, and all above was dark as below, save for the feeble light from the twin moons like dull coins set in the early night sky.

The flames licked the night air as the fire caught quickly on the dry wood, but what heat or light escaped seemed to be drawn quickly into the forest’s sombre embrace.

For all that, they took heart from the fire. It was good to be resting after the day’s riding. Before long they were making lively conversation. Stefan joined with them, but kept a good part of his senses trained upon the alien world that had enveloped them.

They might be safe, for now, but this was not a safe place. Every so often the curtain of darkness encircling the camp was pierced by a momentary flicker of light, or low prowling eyes that glinted before disappearing as suddenly as they had come. Stefan supposed the forest was home to all manner of animal life, some harmless, some otherwise. For the moment, the curious amongst them were keeping their distance.

Alexei produced a flask and passed it round. Tomas took the flask at arm’s length and passed it deliberately to his left. Stefan accepted it gladly; it was too cold and too soon to think of sleep, and any way of warding off the cold was welcome. The talk around the fire became more animated as the liquor warmed bodies and minds alike.

Amongst the competing voices around him, Stefan now heard something else; distant, but distinct. He strained to listen more closely, over the babble of conversation.

“Hold up a moment!” he urged. He rose swiftly, and, with two fast sweeps of his feet, extinguished the remains of the fire.

“What are you doing?” Bruno demanded, slightly drunk and very annoyed. “I didn’t build that for fun, you know!” The others stared at Stefan, waiting for an explanation.

“Shut up a moment,” Stefan told them. “Stay quiet and just listen.”

The flames expired with a few last gasps and crackling of twigs. Now all they had for company was the eerie sound of the wind caressing the trees above. Almost, but not quite. As the fire died, another sound carried towards them from somewhere in the depths of the forest. All were silent now, barely able to make each other out in the darkness, each alone with the wind and the strange, distant sound. A sound like…

“Like shouting,” Elena said at last, a hushed voice across the clearing. Stefan assented, silently. It sounded like shouting to him too, but not from the throats of men.

“Can anyone make out what it is?” Tomas whispered.

“Could be animals of some sort,” Bruno suggested. He was known for his keen hearing, and his tone was chastened and sober now. “But I don’t like the sound of it.”

“Neither do I,” Stefan agreed. “We’ll assume it’s not friendly, until proved otherwise.”

“The question is,” Alexei said quietly, “what do we do about it?”

Stefan thought for a moment. He doubted whether they would be able to track the sounds through the wood in the pitch black. By the same token he hoped that whoever—or whatever—else was camped in the forest would be similarly unable to track them.

“We do nothing, for now,” he said at last. “But as soon as whatever passes here for dawn has broken, we’re going to find out.”

“Do you think they know we’re here?” Elena asked, struggling to keep the note of anxiety from her voice.

“I doubt it,” Stefan said. “They’d be keeping quiet if they had.”

This time the cold saw to it that no one fell asleep on watch. Stefan saw out the last duty, taking over from an exhausted Tomas, who immediately curled himself into a ball inside his cloak upon the forest floor. The night passed, slow but uninterrupted. Stefan was almost glad to abandon the pretense of sleep. It felt as though the cold had penetrated the very marrow of his bones, a deep chill that no amount of massaging of his tired limbs would relieve.

From time to time he heard again the sound of men or beasts, twisted upon the wind. But finally that, too, had ceased. Stefan kept his vigil with only the broken whistle of the wind, high in the trees, for company. Eventually the sky lifted to a dull metalled grey, and a new day struggled through the thick canopy of trees into the forest.

Stefan roused his comrades from their fitful rest, and the five of them ate a quick, cheerless breakfast of salted meat.

“Nothing further in the night?” Alexei asked, addressing the question to Stefan.

“Not a sound for two hours or more,” Stefan told him.

“What do you think they’re doing?” Tomas asked. Bruno spat a knot of gristle onto the hard frosted earth in front of him. “The same as us, I expect,” he said. “Sitting out the night under cover, trying to keep body and soul alive in this infernal cold.”

Elena gave up on the leathery wafer, tossing the remnant into the trees. “More to the point,” she said, “who or what do we think they might be?”

Stefan stood up and brushed himself down. “That,” he said, “I intend to find out.”

Tomas guided them deeper into the forest, the position of the sound etched clear in his scout’s memory. It soon became apparent the sounds they had heard had come from somewhere almost exactly upon the line they had plotted to take them through the forest. It seemed, one way or another, that the paths of the two parties were destined to cross.

After a short while the sun came up, a rose-pink orb shrouded in the fog that clung to the treetops. The feeble light gained a little strength until they were at last able to pick out a path through the woods ahead of them. If it got warmer at all, it was only relative to the dead chill of night.

“Make the most of it,” Stefan advised. “I have a feeling that this is as good as it gets.” They trekked further into the forest, the trees growing leaner and more tightly clustered, almost forcing each other aside in the struggle for what little air and light remained. Before long, Tomas had dismounted and was leading his mare by the bridle. One by one, the others followed his example.

They continued in this way for almost an hour, until, emerging through a tangle of briar standing almost head-high, they found the way ahead blocked.

“Taal’s breath!” Bruno exclaimed. “That was a mighty tree before it fell.” He made to lead his horse off the path, seeking a way round the obstacle.

“Wait a moment.” Stefan stepped past him and joined Alexei at the point where the huge creeper-covered object lay blocking the path. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I’m not so sure this was a tree at all.” He drew out his knife and hacked away at the outer layer of leafy vines clinging to the cylindrical shape in front of him. After a minute or so of cutting back, his blade struck against something hard, and sprang free with an almost metallic ring.

“If it is a tree,” he said, “it’s the first tree I’ve ever found that’s not made of wood!”

Tomas rushed forward now, his face flushed with a sudden eagerness. He helped Stefan cut away at the mass of tangled vegetation. “I know what it is,” he said. “You’re right, it’s not a tree. It’s the remains of a column, cut from stone.” He scraped back a last fibrous strand and stood back, triumphant. Where the creeper had been cut away, a length of moss-speckled stone was clearly exposed, its surface curved and undoubtedly the work of some craftsman.

“A column?” Elena said, incredulous.

“I think it’s part of a larger structure that’s long since disintegrated,” Stefan said, running one hand over the pitted surface of the stone. “A monument, perhaps. Or the base of a tower.”

Elena was far from satisfied. “A tower? And who would want to build such a thing, way out here?” she asked.

Stefan ran a hand thoughtfully along the mottled stone. “The same race who once built towers all over the Old World,” he said at last. Tomas nodded enthusiastically, encouraged that Stefan had picked up on his line of thought.

“Elves!” he said, excitedly. “It’s the remains of an elvish settlement!”

“Rubbish,” Alexei scoffed, “The elves never came this far.”

Stefan wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know,” he said. “Who knows what they may have achieved before the time of our reckoning.”

“Well, tower or tree, we have to get round it,” Alexei concluded. He climbed back into the saddle and nudged his horse forward, using his sword as a scythe to cut a fresh path around the obstacle. They pressed on, cautiously. Tomas continued to scan for any evidence of the ancient race, and before long he called them to a halt again.

“Look at this,” he insisted. All of them, even Alexei, gathered round. Tomas worked quickly with his knife, attacking the vegetation covering a low object to the side of the path. Eventually he stood back, clearly pleased with himself. “What do you make of that?” he asked, indicating with his hand.

Stefan squatted down to inspect what might have been the low wall of a building or house, the upper portion long since broken or rotted away. Underneath the carpet of moss the stone was smooth. For all that it was old and crumbling, the stonework was unusually fine, and in places it was sculpted with the faint imprint of runes, the likes of which he’d never seen before.

“Well?” Tomas demanded, totally absorbed now in this new mystery. “What do you think?”

Stefan was still considering his reply when they heard the noise. It came from the direction of the sounds from the night before, and sounded like a muffled explosion, followed by harsh voices raised in dispute. He got up, quickly.

“We don’t know who or what that might be up ahead of us,” he said, lowering his voice now to almost a whisper. “And until we do, we’re going to be careful. Come on,” he said. “And not a sound now.”

They moved on, slowing the pace of the horses to make as little sound as possible. As the clamour of voices grew louder, further evidence of a settlement right there in the forest began to emerge. Now that they knew what they were looking for, the foundations of houses, walls and even the remains of what might have been a small temple became visible through the gloom. The forest had long since reclaimed them as its own, muffling the shapes in layers of choking green, but the mark made by the ancient architects was clear.

Stefan found his imagination starting to run away with him. The shapes were unusual, beautiful in their way, but alien. What if it had been the elves? What if they had returned now to their ancient dwellings in the forest? What sort of encounter would lie ahead of them? He tried to visualise the tall, noble warriors of legend for a few moments, then reality and instinct pulled him back. Up ahead, jumbled sounds of many voices raised against each other in anger or confrontation. Elves? Almost certainly not. But they might not be men, either.

Smoke was visible now, a spiraling wisp of grey winding through the branches of trees no more than half a league ahead. Stefan reckoned it to be the remains of a breakfast fire, kindling wood set alight by their fellow explorers, oblivious or indifferent to the tell-tale marker left behind.

“Now I have them,” Tomas muttered. “Strike a path due north and we’ll be on them in a matter of minutes.”

“Steady,” Stefan cautioned. “It looks at the moment that we know about them but they don’t know about us. Let’s keep it that way until we know what we’re dealing with.”

They pushed on in silence, treading as softly as they could upon the brush-strewn floor of the forest. Soon they were close enough to smell the smoke and an acrid stench of burning meat. The voices were louder now. The words remained indistinct, but sounded foul-tempered and arrogant, and still engaged in the running feud that Tomas had been tracking them by for the past half hour.

Stefan raised his hand. “Wait,” he commanded. “Alexei and I are going in to take a closer look. Bruno, Tomas, stay back here with Elena.”

He nodded briefly to Alexei, and the two men advanced on foot into the undergrowth, using their swords to cut back the tall rushes and low-hanging branches. “Quietly, though,” Stefan urged. “Let’s keep the element of surprise while we can.”

The path through the woods led up a gentle slope until they found themselves atop of a wide, circular valley. The two men stood amongst the ring of trees around its edge, and looked down towards the base. There beneath them, seven or eight large figures, masked by the trees, sat or stood clustered around the still smoking fire. Stefan edged forward to listen to the argument that seemed still to be simmering between them.

“I can’t make out a word,” Alexei whispered.

“Nor I,” Stefan said. “It’s not Reikspiel, that’s for sure.”

Alexei leant forward as far as he dared over the lip of the crater. As he did so, one of the circle stood up and turned about so as to face Stefan and Alexei square on. The figure reached up to its full height and slowly turned its large, horned head before propelling a gobbet of phlegm onto the ground with a sullen grunt.

Stefan and Alexei exchanged glances and pulled back, simultaneously.

“That’s settled, then,” Stefan said quietly. “Let’s get back to the others.”

 

* * *

 

“Beastmen,” Tomas repeated, uneasily. “That’s bad news, isn’t it?”

“Very bad news,” Stefan confirmed. “The good news is they don’t know we’re here. Yet.”

“What would they be doing out here?” Elena asked.

“The depths of the forest is where they’ll often be found,” Tomas offered. “It may be no more than that. Just—”

“I know.” Alexei interjected. “Just bad luck?” He looked at Tomas, and raised one eyebrow.

“No,” Stefan replied. “Definitely not bad luck. I don’t think they’re here by chance. From what we saw, I’d say there was some kind of tribal gathering about to take place.”

“Something of the sort,” Tomas agreed. “Or a council of war.”

Elena shivered. “I don’t much like the sound of that,” she said.

“More to the point,” Bruno said. “What do we do now?”

“Well,” Stefan replied. “They’re right in our path. So we either go round them, or we go through them. If we go round them, there’s no guarantee they won’t start tracking us. So the alternative is, we take them straight on.”

“Which means we fight,” Alexei added, in case anyone had missed the point.

“Which means we fight,” Stefan concurred. “We only saw seven or eight of them. There’s probably more, but at least we’ll be fighting on our terms, and we have an element of surprise. It’s our best chance.”

Alexei guided them back towards the ridge cresting the crater. By now they were trying desperately to silence every footfall, but, as they closed on the beastman camp, it became clear that the sound coming from inside the hollow would easily block out any sound of their approach.

Stefan raised his head cautiously above the lip of the hollow. The scene below had changed. Most of the beastmen had pulled back into a circle at the base. Two that remained at the centre were squaring up to each other over the embers of the fire. Whatever their dispute was about, it looked to be reaching its critical point.

“Let’s take them now,” Alexei whispered beside Stefan. “They’re so caught up in their own quarrel, they won’t even know we’re here until we’re amongst them with our blades.”

Stefan shook his head, slowly. “Not just yet,” he breathed. “I want to find out what they’re doing here first.”

The bigger of the two beastmen was a figure some seven feet in height, a thick, muscled torso topped with a head grown in the likeness of a bull. The creature seemed to be haranguing the second, much smaller beastman, a half-man creature rearing up upon the hindquarters of a goat. The second beastman was shaking its head from side to side in apparent disagreement with the first. As it turned its head, the tall, curling horns growing from its skull darkened to a blood red, and a flush of rainbow colours ran the length of the creature’s body.

The second beastman began speaking in a coarse, guttural voice. The other replied with a snorted contempt, spraying knots of dark mucus over the forest floor. It goaded the goat-like creature, jabbing it in the chest with a crude staff fashioned from firewood.

“Not a friendly chat by the fire,” Stefan murmured.

“They’re using the dark tongue,” Tomas replied.

A momentary look of suspicion flickered over Stefan’s face.

“I learnt a few words, knowledge passed on from other woodsmen,” Tomas explained. “In the forest, it pays to understand your enemy as well as you can.”

Stefan nodded. “All right then,” he said. “Tell us what you understand of this.”

“I can make out a little of what they’re saying. They’re arguing—something about a battle plan.”

The second beastman regarded the first with pure loathing, but retreated a step or two back beyond the fire. The goat-man’s eyes flicked around the rest of the beastman group, weighing up what support he could count upon. More than half of the horned beasts roared their support, and a daemonic, bestial wail filled the forest.

Emboldened, the second beastman turned back to face the bull-creature and let loose what sounded like a string of insults.

“What’s happening?” Stefan demanded of Tomas. “What is he saying?”

Tomas’ brow furrowed as he struggled to make sense of the ancient tongue. “He’s invoking a name,” he whispered. “Sounds like Kyra, or something similar. Kysos, perhaps.” He paused. “There’s something else, too—I’m fairly sure they’re arguing about Erengrad.”

The bigger beastman jabbed again with his staff, but the caprigor’s speech seemed to have had a sobering effect on him. He took a few steps back, circling the smaller creature cautiously. The goat-creature looked round, taking confidence from the sullen nodding of the other beastmen, and snarled a further insult.

The bovigor let fly a bellow of rage and charged towards the smaller creature, ready to lock horns with his opponent. The surrounding circle of beastmen broke up in confusion, supporters of each camp squaring up against the other.

On top of the crater, Alexei turned calmly towards Stefan. “Now might be a good time,” he suggested.

“There won’t be better,” Stefan agreed. He drew his sword and turned to Elena. “Sorry, you’ve got to stay here.” He intercepted her protest with a hand across her mouth. “No arguments,” he said. “These are monsters, not men nor even animals. There’ll be plenty of other times for bravery.”

He nodded once towards Bruno and Tomas, then vaulted into the bowl of the crater.

He focused on the two leaders, locked in combat at the centre of the clearing. He was closing on them fast. The big, ox-headed creature was still oblivious to Stefan behind him; his focus was still upon exacting revenge from the smaller caprigor. At the last moment, the second beastman saw Stefan and the others piling down upon them. His warning to his comrades was cut short by the ox-head cracking open his skull with the heavy staff. One down, thought Stefan.

A moment later and he piled into the back of his target, with enough force to knock the heavy beastman forwards off his feet. The others knew they were there now. The moment of surprise had gone, but the advantage it had bought might yet prove precious.

The bovigor rolled on the ground, crushing his former opponent. The beastman was bellowing curses in the dark tongue, unable to fathom where the counter-attack had come from. Stefan soon let him know. As the massive creature clambered upright, Stefan drove his sword down, cleaving the beastman’s shoulder from the bone. The beastman gazed at him with a look of dull shock.

“Don’t worry about Erengrad,” Stefan told him. “We’ll save you the journey.” Clasping his sword two-handed, he swung the blade a second time and sliced deep into the bulbous neck of his opponent. The beastman staggered and fell, his thick cloven hands still groping for his weapon.

“Look out!” Stefan registered the voice in his ears and ducked instinctively, just in time to see a blade flash over his head. Stefan spun round, and was sprayed with a stinking gore as Alexei’s sword laid low his attacker.

Three down, Stefan reckoned. How many did that leave? The forest seemed to be alight with the rainbow-hued hides of their enemies. Bruno was under attack from two beastmen at once; his tattered shirt was already flecked with red where blades had found their mark.

Stefan battled his way in amongst them, drawing one of the attackers off. To his left, Tomas was in single combat, under pressure but managing to hold his own. And Alexei, he knew, was in his element. All of them could better the beastmen for speed; Alexei alone could match most for bulk and brawn as well.

Yes, my mutant friends, Stefan vowed, we’ll make you pay a heavy price for your adventures. He bellowed a battle-cry to match anything the beastmen could muster and set about his new opponent with a blaze of sword-strokes. Though almost a runt by beastman standards, the caprigor still stood shoulder to shoulder with Stefan, and probably weighed half as much again. That gave Stefan an edge in speed which the beastman couldn’t match; he danced around his opponent, dodging the flailing blows the beastman aimed at him with his axe.

Finally the goat-creature threw caution to the winds, and swung the axe wildly at Stefan’s head. It missed him by an inch, scything a lock from his hair as it passed, and buried itself in the trunk of a sapling. Before the beastman could wrest the blade free, Stefan had struck back, his sword slicing through the mutant creature’s forearm above its claw. For a moment the beastman stood staring at the severed claw, still fastened to the axe embedded in the tree. Then Stefan drove his sword deep into the creature’s gut, running the beastman through. A foul stench filled the air as the beast fell backwards, clutching at its ruptured belly.

Four down, or was it five? Stefan drew breath and tried to take stock of the scene. Bruno and Tomas had accounted for three beastmen between them, but both looked very, very tired, and Bruno in particular seemed to have borne a heavy brunt of battle.

In all, six beastmen now lay dead or dying upon the ground. On the far side of the crater, Alexei was trying to take on two that remained. He had lost hold of his sword somewhere along the way and was locked in a desperate struggle, wrestling empty-handed with a half-human apparition clad in a gore-spattered jerkin of leather. The last of the beastmen was circling round the combatants, waiting for the moment to stab Zucharov in the back.

“Alexei!” Stefan shouted, in alarm. In Taal’s name—the man wasn’t immortal. Alexei didn’t respond, but Tomas looked round and pulled himself upright, suddenly seeming to find new energy. Before Stefan could move he was charging towards the beastmen. The creature with the dagger drew back his arm to strike at Alexei. Before the blow could fall Tomas crashed against him, burying his sword in the beastman’s thick body until only the hilt was visible.

Too late, the last beastman realised he was outnumbered and tried to break free. Alexei pulled the creature back towards him and smashed a fist twice into its bovine face. “Dagger!” he yelled at Tomas. Tomas wrested the knife from the body at his feet and threw it to Alexei. With his opponent still stunned, Alexei whipped the knife sideways, ripping it across the leathery throat.

The beastman’s dying gasps gave way to a heavy silence that seemed to fill the forest. Stefan and his companions slumped to the ground, succumbing at last to exhaustion and their wounds.

A sudden scuffling at the edge of the crater. Stefan looked around, and was astonished to see the first caprigor back upon its feet, running fast up the slope out of the crater. Alexei saw him too, and hurled the dagger through the air at the escaping creature. The dagger missed, bouncing harmlessly away off a tree. Just as it seemed that the last of their enemies would escape them, Elena appeared at the top of the slope.

“Saved one for me after all?” she called down. The beastman reached for his weapon, but Elena was faster. She parried a blow, then jabbed her sword into the caprigor’s chest. “Keep your filthy mutant claws off my country,” she snarled. The caprigor grunted, then fell backwards, somersaulting back down the length of the slope. He did not rise again.

“Bravely fought,” Stefan said, once he had his breath again. He caught Elena’s eye. “Each and every one.”

“We should be thankful to Elena in particular,” Alexei emphasised. “I’ll warrant there’s more of these scum holed up not far away. If that one had got clear we could have had real trouble on our hands.”

“We still might,” Stefan cautioned. “I suggest we don’t hang around here too long.” His body called for rest, but they would all have to banish such thoughts for now. “Who knows,” he said. “We must get as far as we can before darkness calls another halt.” He sheathed his sword and had begun climbing the slope when he noticed Bruno standing off to one side, his head bowed as though he were studying something lying upon the ground. Bruno’s right hand was stuffed inside his shirt. The grey cotton was soaked through with the lurid red of fresh blood.

“Ulric’s toil!” Stefan exclaimed, running over. “Let me look at that.”

Bruno looked up, attempting a smile. “I’m supposed to say it’s just a scratch,” he said, his voice weak.

“Some scratch,” Stefan commented. He peeled back the tattered and bloodied shirt to reveal a deep wound running the length of Bruno’s forearm.

By now Elena had joined them. She turned Bruno’s arm gently between her hands, inspecting the jagged fissure in his flesh. “That will need to be properly bound,” she said emphatically, “But it will need cleansing, too. Otherwise you risk losing your arm.” She scanned the forest floor around her. “I’ve seen hempwort growing here. We must find some—it’ll purify the wound.”

“You said we needed to get on,” Bruno protested, gritting his teeth. “This is going to delay us. It can wait till we set camp.”

Stefan exchanged glances with Elena. “No, it can’t,” he said. “Some things are worth the delay.” He put an arm about Bruno’s shoulder, and drew him towards him. He felt his comrade’s exhausted body begin to sag against his own.

“Bravely fought, old friend,” he said, quietly. “Bravely fought.”