Caim gazed ahead through the tree tops. “Back to the castle.”
“And then?”
“And then I go on alone. You’ve done your part.”
Keegan dragged Caim to a halt by his arm. “Hold on. Caedman chose you-”
“I never agreed to anything.”
“No, but you didn’t turn it down either. You owe us.”
Against his better judgment, Caim glanced behind them. The company had slowed to a standstill, the rear elements coming up behind them. His eyes couldn’t help finding the four men who dragged Liana’s travois.
“I don’t owe you,” he told them. “I don’t owe any of you. This isn’t my-”
“My sister believed in you.” Keegan’s voice was no louder than a whisper, but it hit Caim like a club between the eyes, doing more damage than he wanted to admit. “So did Oak, and all the rest who died. You owe it to them to see this through. To the end.”
Caim turned away. He wanted to be alone, responsible for no one.
My sister believed in you.
The words dared him to refute them. He couldn’t. He was prepared to leave them all, except her. He wanted to growl, to lash out, but a shout cut through the chill air.
“Scouts returning!”
Two figures in brown cloaks approached through the maze of evergreens with long, loping strides. The elder of the two, Taun, was a man on the downward slope of his middle years but looking quite hale nonetheless. He leaned on the staff of his unstrung longbow as he caught his breath.
“No sign of our sentries up ahead, sir,” the younger said.
“Maybe they were hiding,” Keegan said.
Taun gave a wolfish grin. “Doubt it. Me and my boy know all the best spots.”
Caim started walking past the men. There were some movements behind him, and then the scouts caught up with him. Taun strode beside him, his son a step behind.
“I can show you where they usually hole up when standing their duty,” the old scout offered.
Caim drew his knife. The sword whispered at his shoulder, but he ignored it. A faint smell lingered in the air. A smell he knew well.
Kit materialized above him. “Caim.”
“I see it,” he whispered.
The mouth of the defile leading to the hidden valley appeared at the apex of the rise before them. Above it, a column of black smoke twisted in the wind.
Caim ran, through the trees, over the wet snow that slid under his feet and kicked up behind him. Heedless of the danger, he charged into the defile and up its stony path. The smell of burning grew and acquired a gut-churning tinge that quickened his pulse. Hard footfalls echoed at his back as he emerged at the summit of the pass. He stopped and gazed down into a scene of desolation. Gasps rose behind him as the others caught up. A choked sob floated out into the smoke-filled air, growing as it echoed down the valley. Knife in hand, Caim plunged down the trail.
Caim kicked over a charred plank of timber. The features of the body underneath were burnt beyond recognition. It had probably been a woman, but even that wasn’t for certain. A tiny mitten lay in the muddy snow beside an overturned pot.
They were too late by more than a day. The settlement had been attacked by men on foot. There had been no defense. No warning. Caim frowned as he strode down the bailey yard. The outlaws kept a continuous watch over this valley, doubly so when he and his company left to raid. How had they been taken unaware?
He found his answer stuck in the matted roof of a longhouse. He pulled it out. A spear, not as long as an infantry lance. Dark whorls marked the steel head, which was affixed to the shaft with tarred gut string. Crude materials, but expertly made. The weapon of a Northman.
“You all right?” Kit asked.
He dropped the spear and looked around. The air was thick with smoke and cinders. “These were the people who couldn’t fight. The old and the young. The injured. They didn’t have a chance.”
“You didn’t start this war, Caim.”
“No. But they were counting on me to end it.”
Caim started walking across the bailey. Kit was only trying to help, but he didn’t want to be soothed. He wanted to be angry. He would feed off of his rage, forge it into a weapon to use against this enemy. Part of him whispered that was the sword talking, but he was past caring.
He found Keegan kneeling outside the ashes of his hut. Two bodies were laid out on the ground; one was Liana’s body, wrapped in linen. Caim sighed as he guessed the identity of the other corpse, covered by the youth’s cloak. He started to reach out to Keegan’s shoulder, but drew back his hand. He knew how the boy felt, to have no one left, but there were no words.
Keegan coughed and rubbed his eyes. “You’re going after them. To Liovard.”
It wasn’t a question, and Caim didn’t have the strength to lie. Blood to answer for blood. What else did he know?
Keegan climbed to his feet. “I’m going with you.”
Kit appeared over their heads. Caim didn’t look at her. Instead, he forced himself to look at the bodies. They made their choices. And now I make mine.
“This has gone far enough,” he said. “I’ll finish the rest alone.”
Keegan turned around. His eyes were red, but no tears marred his face. “You’ll have to kill me to keep me from going, Caim. Otherwise, I’ll be in your shadow the whole way, because I have more issue with Eviskine and his witch than you’ll ever have. This isn’t your land. These aren’t your family. You don’t have any idea-”
The cry of a nightfisher echoed through the keep. Caim held onto the boy’s gaze, not sure what to do.
Kit descended to hover by his side. “They’ve found Caedman.”
Hearing her so subdued, he knew it wasn’t good news.
They had to push through a small crowd of onlookers to reach the tower. They found Caedman inside, tied to his bed frame. His killers had taken their time. His eyes had been gouged out, his tongue sliced off and pinned to his bare chest with a bone-handled dirk in a sign as old as warfare. The mark of a traitor. Killian was laid out at the foot of the bed, his severed head resting upon his chest, eyes staring at the doorway.
The outlaws muttered among themselves. To Caim it made too much sense. Caedman had been a different man after his imprisonment. Everyone said so, but the strangeness they’d all attributed to torture had been, in fact, something more devious. The witch had used him to find them.
Keegan pointed to the man who had started this uprising. “Now what say you? This needs to be answered.”
Caim gritted his teeth until his jaws ached. “I know.”
“Then take me with you. We’ll kill the duke together. We’ll kill every last Eviskine!”
“Aye!” another called out. “I’ll go!”
Caim lowered his head as the voices grew into a chorus. Kit watched him from a corner of the room, not saying anything. She didn’t have to.
“All right.”
The crowd grew quiet.
“Come with me if you want.” Caim looked to Keegan. “But no more playing soldier.”
Keegan made a small, mean smile. “Aye. Just as you say.”
The others echoed him until Caim lifted up a hand.
“Listen to me. This will be no battle of honor. There aren’t enough of us for that. No one will sing songs of valor about us, and the blood you spill will follow you all the days of your lives. You understand?”
They didn’t need to say it; he saw it in their eyes. The eyes of men eager to lay down their lives. It was like looking into a mirror.
“Bury your dead. We leave at dawn.”
After a last look at the ruin they’d made of the outlaw leader, Caim left with Keegan, back to help the boy with his family. Then he would try to get some rest, knowing sleep wouldn’t find him for a long time to come.
