The Barrow (45 page)

The Black Hunter was only loosed from the Underworld once a year, with certainty, on the Night of the Wild Hunt before the first day of winter, and that night every mortal would find themselves behind walls or campfires ringed with protections such as the one that Leigh had just set or risk becoming the hunted. But the Wild Hunt occasionally slipped from its chains in the Underworld on other nights of the year, and just in case the wise and the prudent and the paranoid protected themselves after dark when in the wilderness. And Leigh was perhaps all three.

When all was finally settled and they had settled to eating their evening meal, Gilgwyr stretched out his legs by the fire. “By the gods,” he groaned. “The next time I suggest that it's a good idea that I leave the comforts of city and home, just stab me in the fucking balls.”

“Not enjoying yourself?” asked Stjepan with what could only be described as a smirk.

“What's not to like?” Gilgwyr asked. “I'm in desperate need of a bath, as is everyone around me; my ass hurts from riding that coach as though I'd been beaten and flayed by the Inquisition's best; and that young fellow Brayden has to be one of the most boring sods I have had the misfortune to encounter. How a young man can have no interest in any of the finer things in life is beyond me. He doesn't laugh at any of my jokes, and he just says ‘Please, sir, mind your manners!' if I try to talk about anything remotely interesting, so I've had virtually no civilized conversation for the entire day. It's enough to drive a man mad.”

“A man mad? A madman? Are you talking about me?” asked Leigh, peering at Gilgwyr with suspicion.

“Um; no, Magister,” said Gilgwyr slowly, a bit puzzled. “I was just saying that I can't get the young squire driving the coach to listen to my stories.”

“Then stop telling him stories about your cock,” said Leigh with a snort. “Tell him stories about
his
cock. He'll probably find that much more interesting. Probably.”

“Well, we'll have to cross a bit of the Trubrae tomorrow,” said Stjepan. “We can all take a moment to bathe then. That'll solve one problem, at least. Perhaps you and Leigh can sit in the rumble seats of the coach together, and let the squires sit up top?”

“Aye, I think I make the other lad nervous,” said Leigh. “Can't figure out why for the life of me.”

None of them said anything, munching at their bread and dried figs in silence, until Leigh started to giggle under his breath. Then soon the four were laughing loud and hard into the night.

After their meal and a bit of wine, they settled into two small tents around the dying campfire as they prepared for sleep, Erim and Stjepan in one, and Leigh and Gilgwyr in the other. Gilgwyr had the flap of his tent open so that he could peer up at the night sky. The great constellation of
Shebetae
, the Star-Child, was ending the days of its rule and passing out of the First House of the Heavens and into the Second, and
Adaral
, the intertwined Serpent, was rising from the position of the Twelfth House to take its place in the First House, to rule the next cycle of the Heavens.

“Ack, I can't believe it!” he suddenly moaned as he stared up at the stars.

“What? What's the matter?” asked Leigh.

“Tonight's the Festival of the Serpent! And therefore also the wake at the Sleight of Hand for Guizo the Fat, that fucking bastard,” said Gilgwyr. “Back in Therapoli, my young Ariadesma is right about now getting the shit fucked out of her in front of the assembled Princes of the Guild. And
I'm fucking missing it!
”

“You shouldn't speak ill of the dead,” said Leigh sleepily. “Unless you are also pissing on their graves, that is, in which case you can say whatever you want, as that tends to confuse and distract them.”

“I told Sequintus and Siovan to think of something truly spectacular to put young Ariadesma through,” Gilgwyr said with wistful excitement. “I wonder what they came up with. I can't believe I'm fucking missing it!”

“Well, don't let it get to you,” said Leigh, his eyes already closed. “Just remember that if all goes well you will soon be able to command whatever entertainments you desire to your heart's content.”

“Aye,” said Gilgwyr, his voice practically a whisper as he stared up at the sky, the image of Ariadesma's delicious body spinning in the air above him. “Today is a great day, a blessed day, and soon, very soon, will come the best day of all. A great change is coming!”

“Careful now. How does that saying go? Don't count your chickens before they hatch,” mumbled Leigh. “Don't count your cocks before they crow.”

“
Don't count your cocks before they cum
,” whispered Gilgwyr, laughing to himself as he slowly and luxuriously masturbated, visions dancing in his head.

The next morning the new seating arrangements were taken with little objection, the two squires apparently having proposed a similar change to Sir Helgi during their evening meal. The weather seemed to be holding reasonably well for them, occasional clouds and brisk winds now that they were further up into the foothills, but the path also seemed to get a bit more difficult and the coach had to move a bit more slowly. They reached the Trubrae by late morning, and after getting the coach through the ford they stopped for their prayers for young Herefort, and then took the opportunity to refresh themselves in the waters there. This high up the tributary was not so much a river as perhaps a winding creek, perhaps forty or so feet at its widest and up to a man's thigh at its deepest. The shrubs here were larger than the ones they'd been seeing, some of them along the riverbank having grown almost into genuine brush. They tasted the water and refilled their canteens and jugs first. Then water was brought in a basin up to the coach so that Annwyn and Malia could have some element of privacy there; but the men just began stripping and wading into the waters in turns.

Erim wandered a bit upstream, where the creek wound sufficiently that she could find a bit of privacy out of view of the others around a bend. Still wary of one of them stumbling upon her, she didn't bother to take off her breeches or shirt, but waded into the water partially clothed. She washed her armpits under her shirt with soap, then squatted until her ass and haunches were under the water, and pulled her breeches down so she could soap and wash her loins and rear. It was a practiced move, having been in the country before, but she still thought about how odd it might look if someone were to see her.
Better they think me odd than see me naked
, she thought, and as she did so she looked up to see three horsemen watching her from a nearby hill.

She froze.

They were just sitting there: three horsemen in archaic, hodgepodge armor, partial plate over brigandines and bits of mail with hounskull bascinets upon their heads, visors raised. Two had long spears, one with a small grey and green pennant flying from it. They were several hundred yards away, with rocks and rough terrain and the creek between; as Erim didn't see any bows or crossbows, she realized that she was not in any immediate danger. If spurred to action, those horses could cross that distance quickly; but they didn't have a clear straight line to get to her. And they weren't necessarily presenting as hostile anyway.

They were just sitting there, watching her.

Her fear dimmed enough that she was able to move again. She slowly pulled her breeches up over her ass under the water, and then stood, being careful not to move too suddenly. Without turning her back to them, she walked backwards to the shore where her gear was, and as calmly as she could she dried herself a bit with a towel, and slipped her boots and doublet back on. She reached down and collected her brace of weapons, one eye on the three horsemen to gauge their reaction; but they didn't move.

Slowly she walked almost backwards down the creek bed back to the bend, keeping herself turned mostly to the riders, until she knew she stood in a place where the main group could see her. Without moving her gaze from the horsemen, she called out over her shoulder: “Black-Heart! Get over here! We've got company!”

She held her breath as she watched the three silent horsemen; behind her she could hear the shouts and commotion of her companions preparing themselves. She grew nervous, and the dampness on her brow was no longer just water from the creek; it was taking far longer than she would have liked. But eventually she heard splashing in the creek coming up behind her and then Stjepan was next to her on Cúlain-mal, with Cúlain-mer in tow, along with Sir Helgi and Sir Theodras, who were at least in their full three-quarter harness and mounted on their warhorses.

“Islik's balls, bandit knights!” swore Sir Helgi as Erim swung herself into the saddle of her horse with relief.

“There's only three of them,” said Sir Theodras. “A few more of us and we can take them, easy.”

“Be calm, don't do anything yet,” said Stjepan. “There's always more of them than what you see. Well, maybe not always, but often enough. Don't pull anyone else away from the coach; protecting the Lady is all that matters. Erim, with me; gentlemen, please wait here.”

Stjepan raised a hand in greeting, empty palm held to the sky. The knight without a spear raised his hand, palm open and up, in response. Stjepan whistled, and Cúlain-mal sprang forward, splashing up the creek bed and then onto the far bank and up toward the three horsemen. Erim followed, scanning the hills and rises around them and the brush along the creek, but she couldn't see anyone else. She followed Stjepan partway up the hill until they were maybe twenty yards from the horsemen, where he pulled reins and came to a stop.

On closer look Erim was uncertain she would agree with Theodras' bold claim. The three bandit knights had a wild and feral appearance, overall. Their armor was eclectically pieced together to be sure, dented from hard use and tarnished, but it also seemed to her to all be of fine make; many pieces of their harnesses bore etchwork or embossing or barbaric-looking spikes. Their brigandines were either rich brown leather or dark velvet, with stamping and gold embroidery and dark metal studs. Their horses, sturdy but non-descript light chargers, were caparisoned in patchworks of dark velvet cloth, checkerboarded with barbaric emblems and animal symbols. The men had dark, curly beards twisted into points jutting out from their chins, and they shared the same flat look in their eyes.
They have killed men before, and probably women as well
, she thought.
They are unafraid of death and what awaits them in the Underworld.

“Fates and Fortune be with you, strangers,” Stjepan called out. “
La benedicia della deas Yhera sura toi.
”

“And with you, stranger,” said the first knight. “Though if I heard your companion correct, you are not a stranger at all, but Black-Heart, who is known to us. Greetings in the name of the Queen.”

“
Saluda en nomas della deas Reina
,” the other two knights echoed behind him, nodding their heads.

“I am called Black-Heart by some; I am Stjepan of An-Athair, son of Argante of the lineage of Morfane, and therefore perhaps your ancient enemy,” said Stjepan. “And this is Erim of Berrina.” Erim nodded in greeting. “You are far from your lands.”

“Not too far, and perhaps not your enemy,” said the first knight. “I am Ulbraece, son of Dyfed of the lineage of Gawer, Hero-Knight of Mageva, and I serve the King of Therin More.”

“An honored line, Sir Ulbraece, and my ancestors are beholden to yours, a debt I happily carry,” said Stjepan with a slight bow. “I was amongst those that treated with King Ulwyn last summer, when the flag of parley was raised at Cael Maras. A fierce warlord and worthy adversary. But despite all that, this land is nonetheless claimed by the High King,” he said, indicating the Plain of Stones around them.

“An Athairi of your line of all should know better, that the Plain of Stones belongs to no one man,” said Ulbraece. “You have served the High King too long, to now guide the
árbotuerras
through the Plain. Your ancestors may find reason to complain.”

“I said he claimed it,” said Stjepan with a slight smile and narrowed eyes. “I did not say that it belonged to him.”

Ulbraece showed a fleeting smile, then, and nodded. Eyeing Stjepan, he seemed to make a decision. “The Manon Mole has been busy these last few weeks. Someone stirred a hornet's nest, and the cursed Nameless have thrown off their usual caution and emerged from their holes to travel about in both day and night,” the knight said. Erim's ears pricked up at that news. “We have been hunting one amongst them, lone survivor of a group wending its way west. The rest have gone to their places in the Six Hells, to fates deserved. Have you seen a man traveling alone, on foot?”

“No, Sir Ulbraece, we have seen no one, and we have been traveling from the east along the high paths for over a day,” Stjepan said, shaking his head. “We hate the Nameless as you do, and will render judgment upon him should he cross our path, in the name of the blood of Gable and Gawer.”