Wolfsbane Winter (6 page)

Deryn looked to the east, and there, behind the mountains, the sky was showing the first hint of paling. Dawn approached. Brise shifted beside her and pressed something soft into her hand. It needed a moment for Deryn to identify it as a bowstring. The time for waiting was nearly over, and abruptly, Deryn felt a sense of calm determination sweep over her. The shaking faded as anticipation tapped a well of heat, deep inside. She smiled as she slipped the dry cord over one tip of her bow and then braced the wooden shaft against her foot to complete the stringing.

The conversation between the sentries had been an indistinct mumble, with only the occasional clear word or phrase. Now one of the bandits, a woman, raised her voice, still no more than a whisper, but enough for Deryn to make out.

“Don’t get lost.”

“Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.”

The second voice was louder than the first and accompanied by footsteps, coming toward where Deryn and Brise lay. However, the outlaw was clearly unaware that they were there. He passed by without a sideways glance. The firelight showed him standing at the water’s edge with his back to them and his legs spaced wide apart. The sound of the waves on the shore was overridden by a sudden burst of splashing.

Deryn looked around, trying to judge the light and reassure herself that they had nothing to worry about. She and Brise were in the shadow of the bushes. When the outlaw finished pissing and turned around, the fire would be in his face. The paling sky was not yet casting light. Surely he would not be able to see them. Then she realized that Brise was not waiting to find out. The blade of the knife in Brise’s hand reflected the merest hint of firelight as she crept toward the outlaw.

Deryn remembered the words,
It’s too much to hope we’ll get the chance to take them out separately.
This was their chance, and Brise was taking it. She rose up behind the outlaw and wrapped her left hand around his mouth. Her other hand was also moving, a harder, quicker action across the line of his throat. The outlaw collapsed with a guttural choking and was still.

For a moment there was silence, and then a woman’s voice called softly. “You okay, Mel?”

Deryn’s heart leapt. Her hand tightened in reflex around the shaft of her bow, but before she could move, Brise broke out in a deep, racking cough, accompanied by much spitting, like someone trying to hack up phlegm.

The sound was loud enough to wake one of the sleepers. “Wassup?”

The outlaw by the fire laughed. “Mel’s swallowed a fly.”

“Tell him to keep his mouth shut.”

“Mel, you hear that?”

“Yah.” Brise croaked the word out, blending it with another cough. The sound was garbled enough to safely defy recognition.

Everything in the outlaw camp again went quiet, but the ploy could have gained them no more than a minute. Brise scuttled back and then Deryn felt the light tap of feathers stroke her cheek. The message was easy to decode. Deryn pulled an arrow from her quiver and nocked it on the string.

The outlaw in the firelight made a clear target, even when viewed through the straggly fringe of bushes. Deryn glanced at Brise. Shadows of leaves blotched patterns across her face, but for the first time since the moon had set, they were able to catch each others’ eye. Brise pointed first to the outlaw and then tapped her own throat. Deryn nodded. Together they drew their bows and took aim.

The outlaw had been warming her hands over the fire, but now she turned and stared in their direction. She was clearly searching for her absent comrade and was not attuned to anything else. Her eyes skimmed over the bushes where Deryn and Brise were. She placed her fists on her hips while a frown deepened on her face. Concern and doubt were growing. Deryn knew they had mere seconds before she raised the alarm.

“Now.” Brise whispered the word.

Deryn’s aim was true. Her arrow hit the outlaw’s throat at the same instant that Brise’s found the outlaw’s heart. The woman collapsed, making no more noise than her comrade. Deryn lowered her bow. Snores continued, unchecked.

Brise brought her mouth close to Deryn’s ear. “Get her cloak and weapons, then stand by the fire as if you’re her. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Deryn did not need persuading. In fact, she positioned herself so close to the fire that she could see steam rising from her wet clothes. The heat soaked into her skin. It felt so good that Deryn had to pinch the sides of her mouth to stop herself giggling.

Brise strolled up to the fire, dressed in clothes from the outlaw on the beach. “It’s all right. We can talk quietly. It’s what the sentries were doing.” She glanced at the sleepers and then prodded the dead woman with her foot. “We should get her out of the way, just in case one of the others wakes up and notices.”

Together, they rolled the body off into shadow on the beach.

Brise smiled. “Help yourself to any of her stuff that’s dry. Come back to the fire when you’re done.”

Deryn set to work. The woman’s dry pants were a huge improvement. Her shirt would have been as well, except it was badly bloodstained, and unfortunately, her boots were too small. Deryn rejoined Brise. A scant few yards away, the remaining outlaws slept, wrapped in their blankets. Most were huddled in the lee of low bushes or sand banks, taking what shelter they could from the chill wind.

“We could kill some of them now—an arrow through their brains, or slit their throats while they sleep.”

Brise shook her head. “We can’t be sure one won’t make enough noise to wake their friends. Wait until Faren and the rest get here, then if something goes wrong we’ll have backup.”

“Will they be ready to come over yet?”

“I don’t know. We’re earlier than I’d intended, but the guy taking a piss was too good a chance to miss.” Brise’s gaze turned in the direction of the forest. The fire cast a glow over the marsh, but it could not reach the trees lining the nearby shore, and as yet, the light in the sky was too faint to help. “I guess it’s worth seeing if they’re here.”

Brise stuck one end of a dry branch into the fire. Once it was alight, she waved it up and down three times before dropping the whole branch back in the fire.

As the seconds slipped by, Deryn was surprised to feel her pulse rise and ice fill her stomach. It was as if, only now the end was so close, she could allow herself to be fully aware that she was surrounded by foes, isolated and hopelessly outnumbered. She had just about given up when, faintly, on the predawn breeze came the distant chink of metal. Still, Deryn could see nothing, but the sound got closer, now mingled with the soft slurp of churned mud. Five figures materialized at the edge of the firelight.

At Deryn’s shoulder, Brise whispered, “Good old Faren. I should have known he wouldn’t be late to a battle.”

The armed warriors’ progress through the marsh was slow, but in another few minutes they would arrive at the fire. Deryn turned to the seven sleeping outlaws. Very soon, the odds would be even.

Her senses were on full alert. To the east, the sky was turning gray. The breeze carried the scent of rotting vegetation. The first uncertain trill of birdsong rippled from the trees and then Deryn heard the crunch of stone underfoot and the rasp of a sword being drawn. The first of her comrades had reached the island.

Deryn was about to glance over her shoulder when the tenor of one outlaw’s snores changed. The man gave a dry cough and then, “Hey! Wha…” His voice rose to a shout. “Wake up. We’re—”

Faren’s cry was louder. “Go. Go.”

With a roar, the Iron Wolves charged past the fire. The nearest two outlaws were dead before they had gotten clear of their blankets.

The scene was in chaos. Deryn slipped an arrow onto the string and half drew her bow, waiting eagerly for a clear target, but friend and foe were a frantic, heaving mass in the firelight. Then a movement caught her eye, a little way clear of the main battle. The leader, Martez, had backed off from the fighting. He raised his arm. Deryn saw the demon wand in his hand.

She had no time to take proper aim. Deryn loosed her shot from half set. The arrow struck Martez in the arm, making him yelp and drop the wand. Deryn plucked another arrow from her quiver, but a surge in the fighting moved between them and Martez was lost from sight.

Heavy footsteps sounded just behind Deryn, to her right. Someone was charging toward her. She spun round to face the threat and saw an outlaw, almost on top of her, his sword raised, ready to strike. This time, Deryn’s hasty shot missed its target completely and she did not have time for another. She leapt back as the outlaw swung his sword and the point missed her by an inch. The outlaw kept moving forward, again raising his sword. Deryn ripped her knife from the sheath on her belt, but the contest was hopelessly unbalanced. Suddenly, the outlaw’s eyes opened wide in an expression of amazement. He froze for a moment before crumpling forward. His limp body hit the ground, an arrow protruding from his back. At the other side of the bonfire, Brise lowered her bow.

Deryn was still recovering from her surprise when a new sound erupted, the pounding of hooves. A rider burst into the firelight, scattering the fighters. Deryn got only a glimpse of Martez’s face as she too dived aside, and then he was gone. Deryn scrambled to her feet, nocked another arrow on her bow, and raced to the edge of the island. The horse could not gallop through the thick mud, but already it was halfway to the shore. She loosed one arrow at the fleeing figure, and missed again. Before she could get another, Martez and his horse had vanished from sight.

“Always one who gets away,” Faren muttered, standing at her shoulder.

Deryn turned and looked around. The frenzied action had stopped. The battle was over and the Iron Wolves had won.

At one side, Brise bent down and picked up the dropped wand. “The king pays a reward for things like this.”

“Nothing like getting an unexpected bonus,” Faren agreed, laughing.

Deryn also felt laughter rise inside her. She let her head fall back and stared up, marveling at the beauty of the sky, the sweet fragrance of air in her lungs, the rapture expressed in birdsong. Deryn lowered her eyes. She had to talk to Shea, to swap stories and maybe a kiss or two.

The Iron Wolves were drifting across the campsite and forming a huddle at one side. Faren also joined the group, parting them to get through to whatever was at the center. He dropped to one knee. Deryn trotted over, wondering what they had found. Her mood of elation faltered when she saw the body lying on the ground. The Wolves would not be gathering for one of the outlaws. Clearly, one of their own was injured, maybe seriously. But who?

No sooner had the question formed in Deryn’s mind than a suspicion solidified as a hard lump in her chest. She angled her head for a better view, but it was not truly necessary. With a sickening sense of certainty, Deryn realized she knew who it was, even before she saw Shea’s lifeless face.

*

Deryn placed a final rock on the cairn over Shea’s grave. Tears smeared the scene before her eyes. She clenched her teeth, trying by force of will to stop her face from crumpling. She did not mind if tears spilled from her eyes, a mark of grief for a fallen comrade, but she did not want to look like an infant.

“She died as a true warrior. The Iron Wolves can be proud of her.” Faren patted Deryn’s shoulder and turned away.

The rest of the gathering followed, Iron Wolves and miners together, leaving Deryn alone at the graveside. She dashed a hand across her eyes before realizing that not everyone had gone.

A little way off, Brise watched with concern. “Do you want me to stay or go?”

“Why would you want to stay?”

“Because I care about you. You know that.”

“You didn’t like her.”

“Shea was too full of herself. There’s self-confidence and then there’s arrogance, and she fell on the wrong side of the line.” Brise sighed. “Maybe it was youth speaking. Maybe she’d have grown out of it. But either way, I’m sorry she’s dead. And I’m sorry for you.”

“It was so pointless.”

“Death is, but some good can come of it.”

Deryn scowled in disbelief. “What?”

“Remember what I told you. Being an Iron Wolf is dangerous. If I hadn’t gotten that outlaw who was after you, this could be your grave.” Brise’s voice caught. She took a couple of breaths before continuing. “I’d never forgive myself. I know I didn’t get through to you before. Please, now, think about it. For the sake of Shea’s memory. You can’t dismiss her death as quickly as you dismissed my words. Forget the Wolves. Become a fur trapper, like your parents.”

“My parents are in their grave. I buried them as well. And my brother, my sister, my grandparents, my aunts, even my dog. I’ve buried everyone I ever loved.” Tears flowed down Deryn’s face.

“It must seem like—”

Deryn no longer cared what she was saying. “I loved Shea. And I never told her it.”

“That’s youth speaking. You hardly knew her, and you slept with her once.” Brise put her arm around Deryn’s shoulders. “I know how you feel. I’ve been there myself, believe it or not. You’ll get over her, I promise. There’ll be others.”

Deryn shook the arm away. “And they’ll die too.”

“Oh, child, I know it hurts.”

“I won’t let it hurt me again.”

“I wish I could guarantee that for you.”