The rain eased but did not desist, maintaining an even thrum as Chel edged around the stable buildings, his eyes on Hesso and his sorry fire. The rain provided excellent cover, masking the sounds of his movement and obscuring visibility. Chel made sterling progress, but Hesso was a lousy watchman. He seemed to be incapable of keeping his fire dry, his tea a long way from ready.
Chel reached Hesso’s barn, diverting down the narrow mud alley to its side. There was the small door that Rennic had indicated, unlocked. He crept inside, into dry darkness, dripping on straw-covered floor. Even with only the light from Hesso’s feeble fire through the barn’s open main door, it didn’t take long to locate their confiscated gear, stacked next to animal feed and barrels of salted goods: Chel’s armour, Rennic’s coat. Chel felt inside the coat, finding a small, wrapped bundle.
He crept back toward the open doorway where Hesso sat. He’d been blowing on the fire and finally had a decent flame heating his kettle. The tea wouldn’t be long now. Chel looked around, then picked up a loose clod of grey earth, dislodged from some hoof. He snaked his way to the doorway, watching Hesso carefully, then as the young man bent forward to give the fire one more blow, he flung the clod.
It sailed through the drizzle and thumped against the wall of the shack opposite, exploding into dirty mist. Hesso reared in shock, eyes searching.
‘Who’s there?’ he called. ‘You’d better not be trying to escape, sell-sword!’
He snatched up a thin spear from the ground beside him, threw up his hood and strode into the rain to investigate, his shoulders hunched tense as if expecting a blow. Chel darted forward in his absence, lifted the kettle lid and, peeling off one, two, three leaves, dropped them in. He paused, considering, then dropped in the rest of the bundle. Rennic had said it probably wasn’t fresh. It was best to be sure.
He ducked back inside and hunkered down. Hesso returned a moment later, muttering to himself, apparently satisfied that he had quelled whatever rebellion Rennic was plotting. He settled back down on his rickety stool, shaking drops from his cloak, then poured himself a mug of steaming, well-earned tea.
Chel sat anxious in the barn’s darkness, listening to the drumming of the rain on the roof and to Hesso’s stretches and grumbles. He poured himself another mug in short order, and his grumbles began to shift, becoming erratic, then interspersed with giggles. Chel smiled. The tea was working.
The giggles became more frequent, Hesso’s monologue now loud and gabbling, then he stood in a rush, pacing around the fire, gesticulating, ranting, screeching with laughter. Chel had a sudden cold, sick feeling, the growing sense that he might well have overdone it. He peeked around the door, seeing Hesso pause mid-chatter to pour himself another tea, then down it in a single swallow. He resumed his pacing, now apparently having a full-on conversation with himself, muttering and gesticulating with pointed looks toward the top of the hill.
Hesso tugged at his cloak, throwing it from his shoulders, pulling at his collar. Still not satisfied, he strode out into the rain, walking in small circles in the yard, gabbling and steaming. He marched up to the shack, shouted something at the window, then doubled over, retched and vomited. He stood, swaying, tried to say something else, then bent again, losing another tranche of his dinner. He looked around, dazed, then slowly collapsed into the thickening mud.
Chel counted to ten, but Hesso didn’t move. His unease became panic, and he scampered across the yard, finding the young man lying on his side, a fresh puddle of vomit beside his mouth, diluting in the persistent rain.
‘Fuck, oh fuck, I’m sorry, Hesso, I’m so sorry,’ he whispered, reaching out a hand to the boy’s neck, checking for a pulse.
‘Get over yourself, little man. He’s fine.’
Rennic’s face filled the window, cut into slices by the bars, an incomplete apparition.
‘He’s going to have one skull-fucker of a headache tomorrow, but he’ll live. Puking his guts out was the best thing for him.’
Runnels of rainwater ran down Chel’s brow, dripping from his nose. ‘I can’t leave him here. Not like this.’
‘And you won’t. But he can sit there for a moment longer.’
The shack key was on Hesso’s belt, and a moment later the door was open. Rennic was still sitting by the window, perched on an upturned bucket. Chel wasn’t sure if that was the only bucket in the room.
‘Come on, let’s go.’
The big man nodded, but he was still staring out of the window, pale snatches of moonlight washing over his skin. He looked thin, unkempt, but somehow different. Chel realized that there was a stillness to him, an absence of edge, the eternal restlessness that seemed to animate him through each day. Chel wondered if he’d ever have noticed it, had he not witnessed it gone.
‘You came back, then.’
‘Of course I did. Did you think I wouldn’t?’
Still Rennic hadn’t moved. ‘Got to admit, I wondered. Can’t be a bad life here. Long way from anywhere.’
‘Are you all right? We should leave.’
‘You know,’ Rennic said, his gaze still somewhere in the drizzling night sky, ‘I rode once with a terrible old bastard, a man called Gamarveb Klesien. Ever hear of him? Fought in half a dozen wars, back when it was a ransomer’s game. His lot dropped a bollock in one of those battles, I forget which, Lemon could tell you, and he was captured. Spent nine months in a cell somewhere over the Shenakar border, hoping his lot back home would raise the coin to free him. Eventually, the front shifted, and loyalists overran wherever the hells he was stuck, and he was free.’
‘And? So?’
‘You know what he said to me? When he saw the pennants flying through the bars, heard the clank of his cell door opening?’
‘What?’
‘Said he felt disappointed. Lost. Regretful. Said those nine months were the most peaceful of his life, and he knew in that moment that he’d never know peace again.’
‘Why are you telling me this now? You want to stay here, is that it?’ Already Chel’s mind was racing away, imagining a course of events where they stayed. Where Rennic was contented in his shack, where Hesso’s episode was explained as illness, where he and Rasha finally took their evening walk together … Where he found peace …
‘No, fuck no, imbecile. I’m merely commenting that I can finally see where he was coming from. It’s a simpler existence, and no mistake.’
‘And you didn’t have this epiphany during our time in Black Rock?’
‘We were about to be murdered by twats. It was not much of a time for peaceful reflection.’
‘Well good, then.’ Chel felt hot around his throat, an urge to snipe. ‘I’m delighted. You must be sure to tell Gamarbollocks that you can finally sympathize with him.’
‘I’d love to, but he took a bolt to the eye the week after he told me that story. Stupid old bastard, never did learn to keep his helmet on. Shall we get a move on?’
They propped Hesso back beside his fire and retrieved their gear, Chel stripping back down to his silk undershirt, glad to be out of the damp clothes Laralim had given him. He stared at them a moment, crumpled and soggy, feeling a sharp pang for what could have been.
‘Nice move with the leaf, by the way,’ Rennic said, belting his jacket. ‘Course, I’d just have cut the poor fucker’s throat, but you love a bit of righteousness, eh? How many did you slip in there, three, four?’
Chel coughed. ‘Dropped the whole bundle in.’
‘Nine hells, no wonder he puked. That could have killed him three times over.’ He laughed, a sneering chuckle, his old edge reasserting itself. ‘And there I was thinking it was the revolting sight of a couple of mooning teenagers that had brought on all that heaving.’
‘You saw that?’ Chel’s cheeks were burning. ‘What did you see?’
‘Enough to know you’ve done well, little man. Now let’s get the fuck out of this place.’ He hefted a staff he’d found in the barn and nodded toward the door. Somewhere a lone bell tolled, sad and final. ‘What’s the plan for getting through the gate?’
Chel paused. ‘I was going to save some of the leaf, but I wasn’t sure—’
‘Shepherd’s piss-pipe, seriously? Is this the curse of your family? An inability to get past stage one of any plan?’
‘We can salvage the tea, maybe if I take it down to them—’
‘I might as well walk back in there and bolt the door myself, save some time. Fucking hells!’ Rennic went to put down the staff, then froze, his eyes locked on the barn’s open doorway.
‘Company,’ he said, very quietly.
Chel gripped his retrieved mace, fingers tight, wrist loose, and turned with deliberate slowness, coiled to strike.
A figure stood before them, cowled and dripping, flinching as if expecting a blow. One shaking hand reached up, pulling back the shawl that covered her head.
‘Rasha?’
‘I wondered …’ she said, voice unsteady, her fear obvious. Chel slid his mace hand behind his back. ‘I wondered what you’d do. If I should trust you.’
From the corner of his eye, Chel saw Rennic rest his staff against a barrel and slip one hand to his belt. He raised his empty hand, calming, placatory.
‘I know this looks—’
‘What did you do to Hesso? Is he dead?’
She might have been crying, he couldn’t tell. She was soaked through.
Chel shook his head, emphatic, sheer willpower keeping his movements sure, his tone even. ‘He’s fine. He’ll have—’ he shot Rennic a look, ‘—a bad headache tomorrow, but he’ll be fine.’
‘And you. You and your dangerous friend. You’re leaving?’
He took a long breath, closing his eyes. He could hear Rennic shifting behind him, hear the subtle slip of a knife from its sheath, clean over the pounding of blood in his ears.
‘There is a war coming, and we need to stop it. Or, if we can’t stop it, at least fight it well. Because otherwise it’s a massacre. Every day that Laralim holds us here, that war comes a day closer.’
She frowned, upset, uncertain. ‘Truly?’
‘Truly. I’m first sworn to Prince Tarfel of Vistirlar. He’s the only one who can stop his brother.’
‘This war, would it come here?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘So …’ She tilted her head back, working over the thoughts. ‘So if you were to prevent it, you’d be saving people here from harm?’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘And if I helped you, I’d really be helping my own people?’
Chel felt a grin pulling at his mouth, a warm tingle of relief spreading outwards from his core. He tried to keep his face serious. ‘Absolutely. You’d be a hero. Secretly.’
She was smiling now, a sad, nervous smile, bedraggled but proud. ‘I always wanted to do something heroic.’ She pulled the shawl back over her head. ‘You’d better follow me.’
They followed. As they walked, Rennic leaned in to whisper, ‘Who the fuck is this girl?’
Chel only smiled. Somewhere, another bell tolled.
***
‘I’ll sound the alarm over poor Hesso, then say I saw someone running off the other way. You must have ditched me in the gardens, lost in the rain, poor me.’ Chel smiled, but something sharp and regretful needled his innards. ‘Wait behind there until the gate guards come running past, then run for it. There are three of them. Don’t get seen, whatever you do – if it looks like you made it to the river, they won’t bother pulling the dogs from the kennels. Get it?’
They nodded.
‘Good luck, then, sell-swords.’
Rennic ducked his head in acknowledgement, then scrambled through the rain and down beside the muddy track that led down to the gate. Chel was left before her, fumbling for suitable words.
‘Rasha, I don’t—’
She took his elbow and pulled him to one side, behind a chicken coop and out of sight of the track’s far side.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
She stood before him in the drizzle, dampslick, her eyes shining up in the dim glimmer of distant lamps. ‘Take care of yourself, outlaw,’ she said, her arm still on his. ‘When this is over, once you’ve stopped your war, come this way again, and we’ll take our walk.’
She kissed him then, before he could speak, pulling him down to her, her lips cold and soft, their faces slippery with rain. She pressed against him, the cool of her hands on his cheeks at first startling, then soothing, their warmth growing. He felt dizzy, breathless, enraptured by the sudden inexplicability of it all. And then she broke away, her hands leaving his cheeks, her breath steaming before them. Chel’s lips were numb, bereft, her warmth on him already fading.
‘Stay safe,’ she said, then turned and hurried away into the soggy night. Chel stood, rolling his lips against each other, marvelling at the lingering tingles that shivered over him. He thought about calling after her. Wait. Come back. I want to do that again.
A fat slug of rain slopped from the edge of the coop and down the back of his neck. The spell broken, he made for the ditch where Rennic lay, just as her first cries of counterfeit alarm drifted over the rain.
***
They stomped down terraced fields in the darkness, Rennic hissing and cursing at every slurping mud pocket, damning the hill and those who built upon it. Chel concentrated on keeping his footing, the dark near absolute despite the rain’s abatement. He strained his ears at the shouts and bells from above them, softened by mist and distance, the tell-tale barking of hounds so far little more than excited accompaniment to the buzz of activity. But in his head, her voice spoke again and again. When this is over …
‘What’s the plan …’ Rennic muttered, his breath coming hard as he crested another of the rugged humps of earth, ‘… for the outer wall?’
The outer wall. Chel had forgotten about the outer wall. He could see it now, through the misting gloom, a black stockade stretching along the extremes of their vision, the dark mass of the city rising beyond it. Not hugely tall or thick, but a serious obstacle for two bedraggled mercenaries lugging a box of contraband in the dark.
‘Where’s the outer gate from here? It won’t be manned overnight, will it?’
He could feel the force of Rennic’s glare, even without seeing it.
‘That a chance you want to take, little man? Piss this magnificent escape away on a hunch?’
They made for the wall’s nearest section. The tolling of the bell up on the hill had ceased, but still occasional shouts drifted over. Chel wondered how Laralim was taking the news of his escape. His betrayal.
‘I can probably shin it, if I climb on your back?’
‘What?’ Chel started, already lost in a spiral of worries of Rasha, punished for her collaboration. His hand was at his mouth again, without him even being aware, his finger running over his lip, reliving the feel of her.
‘Wake up, little man! The fuck’s got into you? I said, I can shin it, you’re my mounting block. And fuck knows if I can pull you up after me, especially after slogging through all this shit.’
The thick carpet of cloud cracked overhead, thin streams of moonlight slipping through as if through water. A silver sliver washed over them, hazy and meandering, bathing the stout logs of the stockade in a heartbeat’s pale radiance before vanishing.
Something caught Chel’s eye. A flutter at the crest of the wall, a little further down by a cluster of thin trees. ‘What’s that? It looks like …’ He squinted in the moonlight. ‘A ribbon?’
Rennic was by his side immediately, one hand heavy on his shoulder, peering past. ‘It’s not …’ he began, then, ‘it can’t be!’ At once he barked a sudden laugh that seemed to echo from the hillside, and clamped a grimy hand over his mouth.
Chel was whirling between hope and terror like a wind-driver in a gale. ‘What, what is it?’
Rennic only waved to follow. ‘Come on.’ He loped toward the fluttering object with long, sure strides, his mud-dogged slouch forgotten. Chel was a few steps behind him, arriving in time to see Rennic reach up with his staff and poke at the fluttering object above them, jabbing and teasing.
Something flashed between them, squirming and half-formed, then slapped against the wooden palisade, rebounding once before hanging still. Chel shied back, heart thudding, before his eyes processed what had fallen: a rope.
He looked up to the wall’s summit as another glimmer of moonlight rode over them. There, jammed into the wood, stood a black-shafted arrow, its fletching stripped. Instead, a set of long, fabric tassels of various colours flowed from it, dancing on the wind.
‘What in hells is that?’
Rennic was already hauling on the rope, one foot against the palisade, testing its strength. To Chel’s relief, it was evidently not anchored on the slim arrow.
‘A wind marker,’ Rennic replied, unable to keep the glee from his voice. ‘Here, hold my staff.’
Chel did as he was told as Rennic began to heave himself up the wall, his breath sharp and heavy in the night’s sudden stillness.
‘It marks the wind? What’s it doing here? Why is there a rope with it?’ He paused. ‘Not that I’m complaining.’
Rennic reached the wall’s summit and threw one leg over, straddling it. He reached out a hand. ‘The staff, gormless.’ He was grinning in the silvery moonlight. He took the staff and Chel began his own climb. It was much harder than he’d anticipated. ‘One of Whisper’s tricks, if she was setting a trap or ambush without trees or similar. Shows you when the wind’s blowing, from where and how strong.’
‘Are … we … going to be … ambushed?’
‘No, little man, nine hells no. It just means she was here.’ He let out a contented breath. ‘She left this for us.’ He grabbed Chel and dragged him up alongside him, and for a moment the two of them sat, legs dangling, catching their breath as the black clouds rolled overhead. For all the moment’s peace, it was extremely uncomfortable.
‘Stroke of luck, us stumbling over it,’ Chel said at length. Rennic stared at him, dark brows crashed together in withering disdain.
‘Use your brain, little man. How many of these do you think she set?’
‘Ah.’
‘Yeah, ah. Now let’s get moving. This fucking wall is giving me splinters.’
***
They found packs beneath the trees, artfully covered but, as Rennic declared, easy enough to find if you knew what you were looking for. He was of the opinion that Whisper, presumably with Tarfel alongside, had tracked their capture and been confident enough of their eventual escape to leave means and provisions. Chel had to admit that his theory bore weight.
‘Do you think they’re still around, waiting for us?’
Rennic shook his head. ‘Whisp knows the plan, and she’s more professional than any. She’ll have set this and made for the meeting point. She wasn’t going to waste days waiting for us.’
‘She and Tarfel went cross-country, alone?’
The big man held his gaze. ‘Safest hands there could be.’
‘What about us, what now?’
Rennic shouldered one of the packs. ‘We’re miles behind where we should have been. We abandon the other stops and make for the Bridge House directly – if we get our pace up, we can still meet the others and cross the river together.’ He tightened a strap. ‘Let’s hope they’ve accomplished more than us.’
‘You think we can make it in time?’
Rennic swung the other pack up into him.
‘How fast can you run?’