He had been a good man and a better father, until the wasting disease hit him. It had been hard watching his strength melt from his bones, despite all his wife’s skills. As the end drew near Arian’s mother prepared him a goblet of wine mixed with foxglove. He had died peacefully and the two women had wept together beside his corpse.
Arian’s mind dwelt on that image as she ran — and she did not see the slender wire, taut across her path. Hitting it with her lead leg, she tumbled to the trail and instantly three men raced from the trees. Dropping her bow Arian reached for her hunting-knife, but a diving body struck the air from her lungs and coarse hands held her down.
‘Well, now,’ said the man sitting astride her and pressing a grimy hand to her breast. ‘What have we here?’ She felt hands tearing at her trews and kicked out. The man above her slapped her viciously across the cheek. ‘Watched you for days, we have,’ he said, casually hitting her with his other hand. ‘Watched you and wanted you. Beg, will you? Beg Grian to spare you?’
Arching her neck, she spat in Grian’s face. Another casual blow snapped her head back to the ground. He ripped open her shirt and gazed down at her body; his face was round and brutal, his mouth open, showing blackened teeth.
‘You pack of whoresons!’ came a voice and the man above Arian stiffened and turned.
Standing at the centre of the trail was a hooded man in a black cloak. The sun was behind him and his face was hidden. Two of the men pulled knives from their belts and Grian also drew a knife, but remained kneeling on the stunned girl.
The hooded man threw his cloak back over his shoulders. His right arm ended at the wrist, the stump covered by a black leather cap laced along his arm. And he carried no weapons. Grian smiled and stood.
‘You picked the wrong time and the wrong place, cripple,’ he said, advancing. ‘You are dead — food for maggots!’
Grian’s two companions eased out to the newcomer’s left and.right, but he did not move back. Instead he stepped forward. The attacker to his left leapt for him with knife arm extended. The cripple swayed back and the knife flashed by him. At the same moment his elbow hammered into the attacker’s throat and he staggered, his face turning blue. Then he slumped, dying, to his knees, his fingers scrabbling at his throat. As the second knifeman charged in the hooded man spun on his heel and leapt, his booted foot thundering into the man’s jaw. The knifeman’s neck cracked like a dry stick. The hooded man landed lightly and turned back to Grian.
‘You won’t take me with your fancy tricks,’ Grian snarled.
‘No, I won’t,’ said the man softly.
Grian stepped forward. Arian’s knife entered his lower back, driving up through his lungs and into his heart. A strangled cry escaped him as he fell face down in the earth.
Arian found her trews and pulled them on. The laces were cut, but she roughly fastened them. When she looked back the stranger was sitting on a tree-trunk with his face turned from her. Gathering her bow, she moved to him.
‘My thanks, for your gallantry.’
He pushed back his hood and she saw a square face and deep brown eyes. He was not handsome, but he radiated strength. He smiled and became handsome.
‘It was not gallant, it was merely necessary. Are you hurt?’
‘Only my pride. I should have seen their trap.’
‘It is only from such mistakes that we learn. How are you called?’
‘I am Arian.’
He nodded and rose. He was a head taller than Arian, which made him tall indeed. ‘Is your home close by?’ he asked.
‘About an hour to the west.’
‘May I escort you there?’
‘There is no need,’ she told him, reddening.
‘No offence was intended, Arian. It is just that I am hungry, and a meal would not be unpleasant.’
‘You have not told me your name.’
‘I am Elodan.’
She looked into his dark eyes and kept the pity from her own. ‘The King’s champion?’
‘Once upon a time. Shall we go?’
‘You really should not walk in the forest un… without weapons. It is not safe,’ she said.
‘No, I will be more careful,’ he told her with a wry smile. She looked back at the bodies and grinned.
‘There are some larger bands of wolfsheads — and despite your skill, you are no match for a bowman.’
‘Indeed I am not.’ Together they set off down the trail, Arian leading. After a while she looked back at him. ‘You are very quiet,’ she said.
‘I was thinking.’
‘What about?’
‘Are you married?’ he asked.
‘No. Why do you ask?’
‘Merely to make conversation. How old are you?’
‘Seventeen. And you?’
‘Older than time.’ He chuckled. ‘At least, it feels like it sometimes.’
‘You don’t look more than thirty.’
‘As I said, older than time — to a seventeen-year-old.’
Waking with a sore head and a stomach that seemed to be on wheels, Errin groaned and rolled to his side. The empty flagon of wine lay in pieces where he had hurled it at dawn. He opened his eyes slowly and groaned again as he remembered the events of the previous evening. Dianu was going away. He could not quite believe it, yet he knew her well enough to realize that she meant what she said. He decided to ride to her palace later in the afternoon.
His new manservant, Boran, entered silently. ‘Your bath is ready, my Lord,’ he said.
‘For pity’s sake, don’t shout,’ Errin told him.
‘I hear it was a good feast, sir.’
Errin looked up at the balding servant, taking in his tanned healthy face and his sickeningly clear eyes. ‘I feel that if I blink too quickly I will bleed to death,’ he said.
‘The bath will revive you, my Lord, and the Council meets in an hour.’
Errin flopped back on his pillows and pulled the blankets over his head. Boran sighed, cleared away the broken flagon, opened the velvet curtains and left the room. Alone once more, Errin sat up. The Council of Nobles was a deadly dull affair and usually no more than three or four of them turned up for the meeting. ‘ But today was different. Today the Red Knight, Cairbre, would be present, along with the Lord Seer, Okessa. Everyone would be there, vying to show their loyalty to the King.
‘A pox on it,’ said Errin, sliding from the bed and walking through to the outer room and his steaming bath. The water was rose-scented, which Errin had never liked, and Ubadai had never forgotten that. But Boran was new and had yet to learn his master’s tastes. Errin walked down the marble steps and splashed into the bath. After a few minutes Boran entered with his robe and the nobleman stepped into it. ‘How do my eyes look?’ he asked the servant. Boran peered at him.
‘Bloodshot, sir. In fact you do not look well.’
‘You should see them from this side. What shall I wear?’
‘After the meeting, the Duke has arranged a hunt, so I have laid out your riding outfit.’
‘The black leather with silver trim?’
‘No, sir, the red.’
‘Make it the black. I’ll leave the red to the Duke’s guest.’
‘Yes, sir. Might I suggest some breakfast, sir?’
‘No,’ said Errin, shuddering as his mobile stomach heaved.
‘You may be glad of it while bouncing up and down on a horse.’
‘Bouncing? One doesn’t bounce, Boran. One rides.’
‘Indeed, my Lord. Perhaps a little dry bread?’ Errin nodded and walked through to his bedroom, waiting while Boran fetched his clothes. The trews were fashionably cut from soft black leather, ending at the calf. Over these Errin pulled a pair of knee-length black boots. His tunic was of wool, black and unadorned, while his riding coat was of black leather, double-shouldered and trimmed with silver thread.