by Jon Sprunk
Caim stood up as Aemon helped his brother out of a pile of people and furniture. Malig sported a big bruise over his right eye. By his scowl, he was ready to wreak some destruction of his own. The girls picked themselves up and scurried away.
“Mal!” Caim shouted. “Go get the horses.”
Aemon steadied his brother, who was looking around with wide, glassy eyes. Caim looked out over the crowd. The fire was spreading, and the people trapped in the market were becoming more violent in their attempts to escape. Egil emerged from the river of people, with two heavy sacks slung over his shoulder.
“Let's go!” Caim shouted, but then a flash of red from the crowd caught his eye.
Thirty paces behind Egil, a figure in a russet cloak was striding away through the mob. The Northmen didn't seem to notice him, for the figure flowed through their press as easily as a fish through still water. Caim pushed through a knot of leather-clad warriors after the cloaked individual. I must be crazy. I don't even know what I'm chasing.
“Caim!”
He turned his head at Aemon's call. A scuffle had broken out at the outdoor tavern. Four big Northmen were grappling with the brothers. Aemon bled from his nose while Dray was being choked. Shit!
Caim glanced into the crowd, but the figure in the red cloak was gone. With a growl, he shoved his way back to the tables. He drew his knives as he came up behind one assailant and punched him in the kidney with a pommel butt while simultaneously stomping on the back of his ankle, toppling him over with a bellow. Caim hoped to extricate the brothers without bloodshed, but two of the Northmen drew daggers from their belts and came at him. Caim feinted left and slashed high to the right, distracting the foe long enough to get in close and bury his seax in the Northman's armpit. The second Northman stabbed, but Caim deflected the weak underhand thrust and spun away, slicing his suete along the ribs of the Northman choking Dray. The strangler released Dray and reached for the short-handled axe at his belt, but Caim rushed in before the man could draw. His knives plunged through hide and up to their guards in soft belly flesh. The Northman yelled and tried to shove him away, but Caim twisted around behind him and cut his throat.
Caim stepped back, knives dripping. The last Northman standing took off through the crowd. Aemon helped Dray to his feet. “You want we should go after him?”
“No. We're getting out.”
With his knives in hand, Caim made a path through the crowd. They found Malig two streets up from the market. Everyone mounted up, except for Egil. Before Caim could offer him a ride, the guide strode ahead of them, making a path. Caim kneed his steed into the breach, and they rode as fast as the press of angry Northmen would allow.
As they approached the town's outer limits, Caim looked back, wondering what had happened. They had escaped unharmed, but although he tried to convince himself he was being paranoid, he couldn't help feeling the mayhem had been aimed at him. The feeling followed him onto the wastes.
Caim peered through the freezing rain that had inundated them since they left the northern town. They traveled on what could only graciously be called a hunting trail. The rain had left a thick crust of ice, like a glass cocoon, over everything. It crackled under the hooves of their horses and made footing treacherous. Egil walked a hundred paces or so ahead of them, as was his habit. Perhaps he preferred solitude. Caim could understand that. These lonely plains were made for silence. The horizon was a faint divider between black earth and blacker heavens.
Caim buried his face in the shirt he was using for a scarf, feeling the wool snag on his whiskers. For the better part of two days he had been pondering the explosion that had almost killed them. Yet, even as his thoughts chased themselves around and around, he couldn't make up his mind. Had they been attacked, and had it all been an unfortunate accident? Caim had heard of granaries catching fire like that, but not homes exploding without warning. More than anything it reminded him of the fire that had burned down his apartment building in Othir. Coincidence?
“For fuck sakes!” Dray yelled. “I can't feel my toes.”
Caim swallowed a sharp retort. Dray and Malig had complained nonstop since leaving the town, about the cold, the rain, the darkness, and the food, but mainly about how they had been forced to leave town before they got to “know” their lady friends. On the other hand, Aemon hadn't said more than a dozen words since they'd left. Caim looked back at the blond Eregoth riding at the rear of the party by himself. Probably brooding over that slave girl at the market. The boy's too sensitive for his own good.
But when Caim closed his eyes, he saw her, too. Defenseless and alone before the ravenous crowd. She'd looked nothing like Josey except the hair, but he couldn't put her out of his head. Now who's the sensitive one?
“We should have stayed back there,” Dray said. “What was the harm in a couple more days? Those girls! Oh gods! We should have stayed.”
“Damn right, we should have,” Malig said. “The fire wasn't even that bad. Those girls were ready to go, and I ain't had a piece of tail in weeks.”
Dray laughed. “Hell, Mal. The way you were drooling, I didn't think you'd ever had a piece.”
“Fuck you, Dray. I've had half the girls in Joliet. You remember Marsa?”
Caim steered his horse around a crater in the trail. There were a few tall boulders ahead, lying on the plains like huge snowballs. Maybe they could find a place out of the wind to bed down for a couple hours.
“Hamer's sister?” Dray asked.
“That's right. Say, didn't that girl back there look a little like Marsa?”
“Which girl?”
“The one those guys were trying to buy. You know, in the square.”
“At the market?”
“Yeah—”
“Gods!” Aemon's voice called from the back of the line. “Don't you talk about anything else?”
Caim turned around. The others had pulled up behind him.
“What's the problem?” Malig laughed. “You don't like girls?”
Aemon's face was stark white in the cold. “I never said that, but you don't need to be saying those kinds of—”
“Saying what?” Malig spurred his mount closer to Aemon. “I'll say what I fucking want.”
“Mal,” Dray said. “Let it be.”
Malig spat on the ground. “To hell with that! I want to know what your little brother thinks I shouldn't be saying. Maybe he thinks he's the one to shut me—”
Aemon's right fist connected with the side of Malig's jaw with a hard thud. Malig kicked free of his stirrups and lunged, dragging Aemon off his horse. Caim glanced at Dray, who stayed where he was even though Malig was stronger and meaner than his brother by a fair margin, not to mention Aemon had a bad leg. When Malig rolled on top, Caim wondered if he should intervene, but a sharp smack sent the big man toppling over to the ground. Aemon pushed himself to his feet.
“I told you,” Dray said.
Malig sat up, shaking his head. “Shut up.”
Aemon got back on his horse and waited, saying nothing. Caim swung his steed back around. Maybe now they'll be quiet for a while.
Egil had paused down the trail. When the scuffle was over, he headed off again. Probably thinks we're all crazy. And I'm starting to think we are, too.
The stars came out in crystalline points of ruby as the sky deepened from twilight's coal to inky jet. At another time, in another place, they would have been beautiful.
“Hey, lover.” Kit planted a feathery kiss on his forehead as she appeared above him.
“You catch the fireworks?” he asked under his breath.
“Yes!” She giggled. “Malig should have known better than to mess with Aemon.”
“No. Back at town. The explosion?”
Kit came around in front of him. As he told her what had happened, her dress, or shirt—it barely came down to the tops of her thighs—changed from turquoise to a somber magenta. “I should have been there,” she said when he was finished.
“That would have
been helpful.”
“I'm sorry. I, er…I thought you didn't want me around.”
Caim sighed. This was his fault. He had been acting different lately, more distant. “Don't worry about it. I'm glad you're back.”
She leaned closer. “You are? Then say it.”
He mouthed the words Kit wanted to hear, and then she threw herself across his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. “That's better. Now there's something up ahead—”
A sharp whistle cut the air, and Egil ran back toward the party. His lantern was extinguished. “Put out the light!” the guide hissed.
Dray turned down his lantern and shut the hood. “What is it?”
“Torches ahead,” Egil said, his breath puffing in the frosty air. “A score or more.”
Caim considered the land around them. It was as flat as a griddle except for a few ripples on the snowy plain and some scattered stones. “Coming this way?”
“Hard to say, but it looks like they'll cross our path. We should be fine if we're quiet.”
Caim glanced at Kit, but asked Egil, “Are these Bear tribesmen?”
“Most likely. We're pretty deep into their territory now.”
“That's what I was going to tell you,” Kit said. “They're White Bears heading west to their spring homes. But they don't know you're here.”
“Yet,” Caim whispered under his breath.
The others rode up. Malig had his broadaxe out as he craned his neck around. “Trouble?”
“Not sure.” Caim wrapped his reins around the horn of his saddle and climbed down. “But I'm going to take a look.”
Dray loosened his sword. “I'll go with you.”
When Malig and Aemon got down from their steeds, too, Caim didn't argue. He pointed to a stand of ice-sheathed rocks just off the trail. “Take the animals over there out of the wind and cover them up, but keep the saddles on.”
“You've got the eyes of a cat,” Egil said with a shake of his head.
As the guide led the horses off, Caim checked his knives. “Keep up,” he said. “If we get split up, meet back here.”
Without waiting for a reply, Caim took off. His boots crunched through the snow's light crust, but the sound was swallowed by the wind.
Kit floated along beside him. “Caim, this isn't funny. What are you doing?”
“Just a peek,” he whispered back, not sure himself. Since leaving the last town he'd been uneasy. Recent events had him feeling like he was searching for a diamond in a heap of glass shards. The explosion had capped it. There were outside forces at work in his life, and it was time he faced them head-on.
“Just a moment.” Kit darted closer and threw her arms around his shoulders. Her feathery touch made him shiver. “There. Feel anything…different?”
Caim clenched his fists while he walked to keep from trying to push her away in front of the others. She was being more irritating than usual. Except he did feel something, a lingering pressure where their skin met. More than the normal tickle, but he didn't have time for her games. “No. Now cut it out.”
She pulled back, her lips pulled down in a frown. “Okay. Sorry.”
Caim ducked through her with a shake of his head. As he led the Eregoths away, a familiar feeling of ease settled over him. For a moment, it was just like old times. Then Dray cursed and Malig snickered, and he wanted to kill them both.
“I see something.” Aemon pointed. “Over there.”
Caim had seen them, too. Several points of light bobbed on the plains north of their position. Hurrying across the uneven ground, Caim found a short esker and crouched behind it. The others joined him, their boots gouging footholds in the snow. The lights grew into torches, illuminating bearded faces under bestial helms. Two dozen Northmen on massive, hairy steeds. They rode double-file as they headed—thankfully—west. Caim was content to stay and watch until they were out of sight, the better to be sure they were gone, before he returned to the horses. He decided they would ride all night. If this territory was patrolled, he wanted to be through it as soon as possible.
A shout caught Caim's attention. The lead Northmen riders had pulled up. Their torches waved back and forth as if they were searching for something. Then a horse screamed, and one of the torches fell to the ground and went out. Caim squinted as more horsemen appeared from the west, plunging into the Bear tribesmen. By the dim light he could make out the rise and fall of gleaming steel, hear the angry clash of arms and men.
“What's going on?” Malig asked, rising up for a better view.
Caim yanked him back down. “Quiet! And keep your head down. There's two groups fighting. I can't tell who they are except they're both Northmen.”
Dray snorted. “That's good for us. They keep themselves busy while we slip in there and clean the pick—”
“You three aren't going anywhere,” Caim said. “Stay put while I go for a closer look.”
“Why?” Malig asked. “What's it got to do with us?”
Caim tamped down the urge to strangle him. “We don't know yet. The rest of you—”
“I want to go with you,” Aemon interjected.
“—stay here,” Caim finished. “If you see trouble, get back to get the horses.”
“What about you?”
“I'll be fine. You just keep heading north and I'll find you.”
“This is bullshit,” Dray muttered.
Caim ignored the comment as he made his way over the esker and down the other side. What was he doing? This was an unnecessary risk. Or was it? For better or worse, he was following his instincts. He looked around, but Kit was gone.
The original column of Northmen had broken up into small knots of fighters, but they still had the advantage of numbers. As those numbers began to tell, the attackers suddenly broke off. The defenders gave chase, cutting down those who were too slow in retreat, and it looked as though they had turned the tables on their assailants. Then clods of snow erupted from the ground, and men emerged—warriors wielding great axes and hammers. They hit the Bear tribe column from both sides.
Caim slipped behind a clump of thorny brush and got down on his belly. The Bear tribesmen were all down. Howls and groans carried on the breeze. Caim saw more headpieces, and for a moment he envisioned them as wolves with fangs agleam, but then they resolved into feline heads perched on iron caps.
A Northman pulled up near Caim's position. He was brawny, with a thick, black beard down to his chest. Blood dripped from the blade of his long-hafted axe; a round shield of wood was strapped to his other arm. His helm was topped by a tall headpiece made from the head of a great, white cat. It swiveled back and forth as if searching for more prey. Caim gritted his teeth as tiny voices chittered to him from the darkness. Shadows oozed from underneath the brush and touched him, crawled up his arms. Their icy caresses drew deep shivers from his muscles. Their hunger infected him, making him want to join the violence and feel the power of death in his hands.
Blood on my knives, dripping in the snow.
Caim shunted the longing away as he gathered his legs under him. The fighting was over. The cat-men were gathering the loose horses and picking through the remains. Corpses made bloody heaps in the trampled snow. Caim was trying to decide what he wanted to do when something crunched behind him. He spun around, both knives drawn, to see Dray crouched a dozen paces away with Aemon and Malig following him. Before Caim could motion for the clansmen to get back, torchlight washed over them, and a hoarse voice bellowed. Caim almost bit off the tip of his tongue. The axe-man rode up, his horse snorting steam in the cold night air. Caim considered the distance between him to the Northman. If he could drop this one fast enough, they might still make a clean escape.
Thoughts of a quick kill-and-dash ended when more hoofbeats and crackling ice sounded from behind. Caim didn't have to look to know that more barbarians had ridden up, cutting off their escape.
“What do we do, Caim?” Dray asked. He and the others had drawn their weapons and stood with their bac
ks together.
Caim calculated the outcome if he attacked. He could escape, he had no doubt, but the others would be run down and slaughtered. With a sigh, he slid his knives back into their sheaths and held up his hands. “Put up your weapons,” he said.
“The hell I will!” Malig shouted.
Caim shrugged. “Then you'll die.”
More Northmen arrived. Their voices shot back and forth in the bitter cold air. He didn't know what they said, but he assumed the worst. Then a deep voice spoke in Nimean.
“You are not of the Tribes.”
Caim located the axe-man. It was difficult to make out much of his features under the heavy helm, except for a pitch-black beard and a long puckered scar down the left side of his face. He wore a chainmail hauberk that came down to his knees, rusted in a few places, and over it a cloak of white fur that reminded Caim of the mantles worn by the clan chiefs in Eregoth.
“No, we're not,” Caim replied.
The speaker nudged his steed to approach to within a couple steps. “Who are you?”
Caim said his name, and those of his crew. Behind him, he heard someone muttering. Probably Malig. He's going to get us killed if he isn't careful. One look at the Northmen had been enough to tell Caim that they were the worst kind of deadly. They enjoyed the slaughter. In fact, they reminded him of Soloroth's Northmen.
“We saw the light of the fires,” Caim said. “And came to see what it was.”
The speaker laughed, but his men remained silent. “I am Wulfgrim, son of Grimhild, chief of what is left of the Snow Lions. Our camp is not far. You will come and share our fire.”
There was no question in his invitation, and Caim hadn't expected any. They had two choices: go with them, or try to fight their way out. And not being able to rely on the shadows made that a losing proposition. “We have horses nearby.”
Wulfgrim signaled, and his men prepared to depart.
Caim kept his face neutral as he turned and led the way back to the rocks. Aemon and the others looked to him, but he didn't have anything to tell them. They'd have to play this one as it came.
