The Barrow (60 page)

Godewyn had fallen asleep in the back of one of the two wagons on a pile of boxes and chests, a cloak pulled over him and his head nestled against a folded tent. He slept fitfully, his dreams filled with odd visions of beautiful women walking amongst fields of white flowers and standing stones, laughing at him. He awoke suddenly, sensing a presence nearby, and his fingers closed over the hilt of his dagger as his eyes widened and darted about. He could see the dark, bundled shapes of Caider Ross and Giordus Roame still sleeping on the other side of the wagon, and then his eyes settled on Stjepan casually sitting next to him to his right, leaning against the wagon's sideboard and looking off into the distance. Godewyn blinked once or twice, the grip on his dagger hilt tightening, and then he forced himself to relax.

“Nineteen dead Woats out there in the flowers,” said Stjepan.

“You don't say,” said Godewyn groggily. He rubbed his eyes and sat up to prop himself against the sideboard, squinting a bit to look at Stjepan.

“Now I suppose one or two might have gotten away, but by all appearances Prince Fionne Thurias had led almost ninety of his household knights and sergeants out into the field, having spotted the Woats riding into the no-man's land of the Plain of Flowers and in the bright of day. They don't get many chances to kill Woats outright these days, normally the elders are far too clever about hiding their business. But I don't think Gelber had much choice, we were moving too fast and they didn't know where we were going, he had to act hastily and move in the open. Prince Fionne is a young man, sharp, and eager for more experience of war and battle, and a passel of Woats out on a raid would've got his blood going. So I think they bottled them up pretty tight. Leaving nineteen dead Woats,” said Stjepan. He studied the stars for a moment. “
Nineteen
. What does that number say to you?”

“I don't follow,” said Godewyn, flat and quiet.

“Nineteen Woats,” said Stjepan. “I mean, don't get me wrong, the Woats are a fearsome brood, murderers and rapists and cutthroats for a thousand years, with the blood of the Wyvern King running in their veins. But I don't believe for a second that Gelber Woat would have been stupid enough to send only nineteen of his kinsmen against a Tourney Champion, seven knights in full kit, two squires, an enchanter, Gilgwyr of the Sleight of Hand, myself, Erim, and Godewyn Red-Hand and his band of butchers. There's twenty-one of us. We actually outnumbered them.”

He leaned in closer, fixing his gaze on Godewyn's narrowed eyes. “Unless maybe Gelber Woat was expecting the odds to be different when his kinsmen actually caught up with us,” said Stjepan, almost in a whisper. “Unless he was thinking the odds would be more like twenty-six to fourteen in his favor, with the bonus of an inside job giving his lot the element of surprise and a lot of us dead before we knew what was happening.”

A slow grin spread over Godewyn's face. “I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Black-Heart,” he said.

“Keep it that way, Red-Hand,” said Stjepan. “Do your job. Get paid. Go home alive. Yeah?”

“Oh, Black-Heart, really, must we do this?” Godewyn said, and opened his mouth to say something else when he heard a whisper even closer, right in his left ear.

“
Do your job. Get paid. Go home alive
,” whispered Gilgwyr, pressed up behind him from the other side of the wagon sideboard and nestling his cheek against Godewyn's. Godewyn froze, his bowels suddenly clenching. He could feel the light touch of cold hard steel against his throat. He and Stjepan stared at each other for several heartbeats as he felt Gilgwyr breathe against his neck. He could see his death in Stjepan's eyes, feel it in the press of Gilgwyr's cheek and dagger.

“Yeah,” said Godewyn, calm and easy. “Yeah, of course. Do our job. Get paid. Go home alive. Nice and simple, yeah?”

He felt the pressure against his left cheek and ear lift and disappear, and then Stjepan was slipping over the side of the wagon and off into the darkness.

Godewyn didn't move for close to a minute, then he let out a long breath and slumped against the sideboard. “Fuck me,” he said with a groan.

“Everything all right, chief?” said Caider in the dark. Caider sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“Yeah, everything's fine,” said Godewyn. He coughed and leaned his head over the sideboard to spit the bad taste out of his mouth. “But it looks like we might have to go with the back-up plan.”

“What, actually do the job?” asked Caider, surprise in his voice.

“Yeah,” said Godewyn with a sigh. “The Bale Mole on a fool's errand, here we come.” He shook his head in the dark.

Fucking Woats
.

Sleep came fitfully for most of them during the night. Perhaps in part due to the tensions of the long, mysterious pursuit the day before, in part due to the hurried cold dinner and lack of a hearth fire, in part due to the nearby presence of the circle of ancient
menhirs
that loomed beside them and marked the close proximity of the Otherworld and things of ancient ken and power. They kindled fires for breakfast, and that seemed to warm their spirits a touch, but only Stjepan and Leigh took the time to wander in and around the circle of standing stones in the light of day. Everyone else eyed the rune-carved stones with suspicion and dread, and were eager to be on their way across the Plain.

By mid-day on the 25th of Emperium, they were able to come down out of the Plain of Flowers without attracting too much attention from the castles and keeps that dotted the north side of the Holbrae, a creek that ran down out of the Plain into the great Volbrae River. At the juncture of the Holbrae and the Volbrae stood the city of Hartford once An-Damagraile, the hold of the Earl of Hartford. They passed through the towns on the south side of the creek and entered the Tiria Road, and crossed the bridge over the Holbrae into Hartford.

As they paid out the entry tolls into the city, Stjepan turned casually to one of the guards at the gatehouse. “Say, any word on where I might find a fellow named Gause Three-Penny?” Stjepan asked. “He's from around here, I'm told.”

“He a friend of yours?” asked the guard. He looked at Stjepan a bit suspiciously.

“Acquaintance is more like it,” Stjepan said with an easy grin. “The man owes me money from an evening of dice down in Aprenna.” Which was, in fact, true.

“Good luck collecting, then,” said another guard. “That scoundrel hasn't been seen in many a day. We heard he'd gone off into the Devil's Tower, the dumb bastard. You're too late by a few weeks.”

“So much for that,” Stjepan said with a shrug and a shake of his head as the guards laughed very much at him, rather than with him.

Their caravan rolled into the streets of the city, before coming to a stop by some wells and water troughs on the north side of several large public squares and markets. The north side of the Holbrae was heavily settled, a sprawling patchwork of houses and town centers and farms so close in together that it was hard to tell where the city stopped and the next town started. The Tiria Road ran north toward Gyrdiff, and to their west they could see the road splitting toward the bridge over the Volbrae.

As the squires started leading the horses in teams to water, most of the rest of them gathered by the coach. “Today is the last day of Herefort's journey on the Path of the Dead,” said Arduin to Stjepan. “I assume there is a temple to the Divine King here in this city, and we would like very much to say our final prayers there and employ a priest and mourners.”

“Of course, my Lord Arduin,” said Stjepan. He pointed to the southwest across the shingled rooftops of the small city. “The temple should likely be down by the Volbrae, by the main castle. If I might suggest, my Lord, this is the last major market we're going to see from here on out. We should load up on as many supplies as we can, anything we didn't get at Woat's Inn. Could you perhaps detail a knight or two to accompany Malia to the market, so that she might acquire whatever she and the Lady might need? They have had no amenities or comforts on their journey, for the most part, and perhaps now that we have the additional wagon space we can be a bit more accommodating to making their lives more pleasant for the next leg of our journey.”

“I shall go with them to make payments as needed,” Gilgwyr said with a bow.

“I'll leave half my men to watch the wagons, and bring the other half to do the heavy lifting for the Lady's handmaiden,” said Godewyn.

“Agreed, then,” said Arduin. “We shall meet back here in, say, two hours?”

They all nodded their assent, and slowly the group sorted itself into its different missions. The Urwed brothers stayed with the coach, with Annwyn inside, as Malia went off with the Theos, Gilgwyr, Godewyn, and some muscle to go look at what was available in the markets. Arduin and the rest of his knights rode off to find the Divine King temple.

Erim found herself with Stjepan, standing by the wagons. He was looking off to the north. “It's only twelve miles from here to Gyrdiff and the Temple of the Hunt,” mused Stjepan. “No one's going to give a shit about Gause Three-Penny gone missing, except maybe the Lamb, and he told me once that he always stops at the Temple upon his return from the Highlands. I could move at speed and be catching up with you by Aberdelan up the Mizer Road.”

“I think that leaving Godewyn Red-Hand and his crew without clear adult supervision is a terrible idea,” Erim said matter-of-factly. “Gilgwyr's just as like to egg them on if they start up trouble, and you know for damn sure they won't be listening to me. Someone'll be dead faster than you can say
Islik's huge throbbing cock
.”

“Yeah, you're probably right,” said Stjepan, his eyes narrowed and brooding. His gaze swept the street. “Then I'll have to trust to the Fates and Fortune.” He looked up at the sky and whispered. “
Yhera, Queen of Heaven; Yhera Fortuna, lend me luck! Adjia, Great Huntress, who stalks the hills and woodland trails! I hunt a huntsman, bearing the badge of your temple, a swift messenger for one of your captains! An offering at your altar within the month, I swear it, if you favor me!
”

And with that he started down the busy streets, slipping in and out of the occasional taverns and watering holes that popped up, with Erim trailing close behind and watching him work. A nod here, a word there; she wondered if he'd have to resort to coin, but it seemed that Stjepan had an eye for choosing the right folks to approach. And the right folks seemed in this particular case to be weathered, rough-dressed men and women who looked like they spent a lot of time outdoors. “Check the King's Cup, there's some men down from Gyrdiff and they're as like to be there as anywhere else,” a grizzled man in dirty leathers but bearing clean knives told them in the Flying Duck. Down a winding stone-walled alley they found the King's Cup, and there an old barmaid with only two teeth in her head told them, “Aye, some Gyrdiff men were here, but they's gone to the market. Looking for some rutabaga.” At a rutabaga stall in the north market square, a stout farmer's wife directed them to the Wayfarer's Inn, saying, “Best hurry, they're not in town much longer.” And so they found themselves arriving at the Wayfarer's Inn on the north side of town, just in time to see several men in faded brown and black leathers and faces burned by sun and wind preparing to mount sturdy roans, packed with full saddle bags, hunting swords, and long bows.

“Oi, there!” Stjepan called out as they approached. “Are you men from Gyrdiff, by chance?”

“Aye, that we are,” said the eldest of them, a Danian with a wiry, grizzled salt-and-pepper beard and a head of close-cropped white hair. His creased and lined face was friendly but there was caution in his eyes, and Erim could see dagger and sword hilts in casual easy reach of all three of the men. She also saw that all three bore a brass sigil on the breasts of their leather coats, a crown of laurels circling a fox head. “Who wants to know?”

“My name is Stjepan, son of Byron, a yeoman to Earl Orphin of An-Athair,” Stjepan said. “I seek to send word to a friend who travels through Gyrdiff regularly, and makes offering at the Temple of the Hunt and is known to the priestesses there. I can offer recompense for this service.”

“Well, that might depend on who the friend is,” said the older man.

“Dürace Lambadras, knight-errant of the Court of the Silver Wood,” said Stjepan.

Erim's ears pricked up at Stjepan's phrasing, and the three woodsmen glanced at each other.
A knight sworn to one of the
Fae
Courts?
she wondered.

“Aye, might be we can take that message,” said the eldest. “What would you want us to tell him?”

“Tell him that Stjepan Black-Heart sends word that Gause Three-Penny has gone into the Devil's Tower for reasons not yet known and has not returned, and that should the Lamb wish a chance to do right by an old friend, I will try to pass back through Aberdelan in the next few weeks if I am able and shall seek word at the inn there of his coming and going,” Stjepan said.