One of Ifan’s housecarls shouted a reprimand, threatening to bludgeon the offender if he did not fall to his knees.Did these people not know that Ifan had just fought to defend their homes?That he rode out now to end the tyranny of the House of Abal?
‘Enough,’ Ifan snapped, and goaded his horse to greater speed.‘What does any of that matter to him?His house is ashes, man.’
The housecarl grumbled as they rode on, though Fola noted that no one else spat and a few more heads were bowed.
Despite Ifan’s insistence on haste, it had taken some time to ready fresh horses and for his men to change from their battle armour into harness they could manage on their own.Steel plates were exchanged for mail and leathers.Colm had cast off his absurd, clattering motley and now wore his usual woodsman’s vest and trousers.He kept his bow fastened to his left upper arm while his lower arms managed the reins.As they rode out from the ruin of Glascoed and into the wood, he kept careful watch on the treeline—for sign of the templars, who had been wounded and might not be able to maintain their pace, and for any ambush laid by the retreating Parwysh forces.
They passed a number of men in Parwysh and Cilbrain colours—a good sign.Forgard’s and Afondir’s forces must have largely fled to the south.Hunched figures walked in the road, or just beside it.Most panicked at the sound of hooves and dived into the underbrush.A few only stepped aside to watch them pass.None put up any attempt to fight.Fola saw few weapons between them.Dropped, most likely, in the panic and haste of their retreat.
‘I’ll not sleep well with so many of them about,’ one of the housecarls said while they paused to water their horses at a stream.The thin light through the heavy clouds had begun to fade towards evening.‘Any of these deserters might cut our throats and trade Count Ifan’s head for a ransom.’
‘Then I have good news,’ Fola said.‘I’m not planning to sleep until we reach Parwys, and since you lot insisted on coming with me, you won’t be sleeping either.’
Silence held for a moment.
‘Do you mean to catch Owyn on the road?’Ifan asked.
‘I’m not after the prince.’
‘Then what?’Ifan demanded.‘I know my purpose in this errand, Fola.I thought yours was aligned.’
‘I mean to be there and back as soon as I possibly can,’ Fola said.‘The haunting is held in check, for now.But may not be for long.’
She told them of her agreement with the Grey Lady.The housecarls shifted their feet or stroked their horses, pretending this conversation was not happening.It was one thing to ride out with their liege-lord against a mortal enemy, however poor the odds of success.Another thing to pit mortal arms and wills against the ancient powers of fae and fiend.
‘A bargain with the fae invites tragedy,’ Ifan observed.‘I would think this kingdom has seen enough.’
‘It was this or the girl’s life,’ Fola said, remounting.Exhaustion had left her with little patience for his half-informed disagreement.Sensing her need, Frog fluttered down from a tree where he had perched above the stream.She took a bottle from her satchel and put it to the bird’s mouth.When the bottle was full of thick green tonic, Fola took a sip.Bitter, with that ever-present aftertaste of mint.She shivered as energy coursed through her.A sharp, tingling, unpleasant sensation, but it burned away the dregs of her sleepless night and would keep her alert until this was done.
The housecarls’ fear of the fae was soon forgotten, replaced by a disgusted fascination.She tossed the bottle to Colm, who grimaced and took his own swig.He shook himself, spluttered, winced and offered the bottle to the housecarls, who pointedly refused it.Ifan eyed it sceptically.
‘We go there and back in three days, Ifan,’ Fola said as Colm handed back the bottle.
‘You’ll run the horses to death,’ he pointed out.
Fola stroked her mount’s mane—a nameless horse, taken from Ifan’s stables.Her third since leaving Ulun.She hadn’t found the will to name it.‘It works as well for horses as for men.’
She said nothing of the cost the tonic would exact—for not even the magic of the City and the birds of its Great Tree could overcome mortal frailty.The tonic would give her strength by borrowing it from the future.A few days from now, they would pay the cost.
No matter.She would have freed the Huntress, saved Siwan, and be ready to embark for the City by then.
Hardened Hearts
YC 1189
To wager one’s life in war is to insist that death is preferable to living in the world as it is.But there is much beauty in the world, if one could see it through the fog of ambition and greed.
Odd the Bard,Odd’s Almanac of the World Beyond the Walls,YC296
As they passed through Miggenbrot, the folk in the village were skittish and close-mouthed.War destabilises the future, raises questions which fill every act with dread and uncertainty.Would Ifan, the Count of Glascoed, prevail, or would Prince Owyn?And how would those who had lent aid to the defeated party fare, when all was done?
Still, by a simple spell to aid her senses, Fola overheard murmurs that the prince and what remained of his army had passed this way, along with the Count of Cilbran.They had not stopped, it seemed; only resupplied and pressed on, like deer with hounds to heel.
‘It is the stag that hunts the bear now,’ one of the housecarls noted wryly as they remounted.Ifan responded with a silent glare that cowed the man to silence.
Frog’s tonic—which Ifan and his men drank in the end, pinching their noses shut—kept their minds alert and bodies thrumming with energy through the night.Fola conjured a globe of moonlight to hover just behind them, illuminating the road ahead for their horses.The First Folk Road could be trusted, even in darkness, but there was the possibility that the prince’s forces had laid traps to foul any pursuers.
Ifan paused for a moment at the apex of the road as it soared over the hills and Abal’s Scar.A frigid gust whipped at his cloak, the mane of his horse, and the curls of hair that fell from the brim of his helm, as though threatening to pull him from the white causeway and hurl him into the unnatural lake below.He stared down at the dark water, anger and grief warring in his expression, already hardened by the deep bags beneath his eyes.Frog’s tonic could give them energy, but not chase away all of exhaustion’s effects.At last he continued on, riding at the back of their company, his gaze distant beneath the shadow of his brow.
