‘Wait,’ she said, and came closer the fence. ‘What’s your name?’
Corlas’s tongue stuck in his mouth. Not wishing anyone to mark his passage, he didn’t want to give his real name. The first thing that came to mind was the name of the blade whose bones lay rotting back in the wood.
‘Dakur.’
‘Well, Dakur,’ she said, ‘my husband told me this very morning he’d chop the wood himself.’
‘I see.’
‘In fact he tells me that every morning. The man thinks he can be a keeper and still play farmer too.’
She studied his face as she made this remark, presumably because she wanted to see that he’d registered her husband’s profession. A criminal wouldn’t deliberately enter a peacekeeper’s home.
‘In his compulsory years of keeping, or by choice?’ asked Corlas.
‘By choice.’
‘Ah. That is well. No risk of being sent away from his family then.’
At that she smiled, and he nodded thankfully as she opened the gate.
An hour later the wood was chopped and Corlas felt almost cleansed of dirt for all the sweat that had rolled off him. The woman, Frera, appeared from the house with little Essie at her side. Corlas was touched to be invited in, and sat at the table trying to contain his hunger as bread, cheese and fruit were placed before him. He forced himself to take proper bites instead of cramming full his mouth.
‘Where are you headed, Dakur?’ asked Frera.
‘Towards Kadass,’ said Corlas. ‘I hope to find work there.’
‘Ooooooh,’ said Essie. ‘Kadass! I never been to Kadass!’
‘Have you not?’ said Corlas, amused by her bright eyes. ‘It is a busy place. There are folk from all over Kainordas.’
‘Are there Saurians?’ asked Essie.
Corlas chuckled. ‘Some. Mostly they prefer their deserts, but some do venture south.’
‘I never seen a Saurian! What are they like?’
‘Well, they ssssspeak funny,’ said Corlas, and Essie giggled.
The door opened and in walked a muscular young man dressed in the leather uniform of a peacekeeper. He stopped immediately when he saw Corlas.
‘Who’s this?’ he demanded.
‘Don’t be rude, Chavus,’ said Frera, rising. ‘This is Dakur. He chopped the wood for us, and now we’re having a meal.’
‘I was going to chop that wood,’ said Chavus, not taking angry eyes from Corlas. ‘You should know better than to bring strangers into our home, Frera.’
‘Chavus!’ said Frera, shooting Corlas an apologetic look.
Corlas rose with stormy eyes. The softening effect of little Essie on his spirits had been instantly expelled. It seemed that soldiers in uniform brought him nothing but trouble these days.
‘I am no longer welcome,’ he said. ‘I shall see myself out. Thank you for the meal, Frera.’
Against Frera’s protests, he went to the door and let himself out. Behind him he heard the sound of heated words. As he headed for his axe, left leaning against a log, the farmhouse door banged again.
‘Not so brief, stranger,’ came Chavus’s voice. ‘I’d have your purpose here.’
Heat rose in Corlas. ‘My purpose is none of your concern.’
Chavus faltered under his glower, but the expression was quickly replaced by the pride of a man with something to prove. Corlas recognised it well, and found it entirely misplaced.
‘It is indeed my concern,’ said Chavus, hand going to his sword hilt. ‘I’ve been ordered to keep an eye out for suspicious fellows such as you, for there have been strange happenings in the south. You will answer my questions, man. It’s the law.’
‘Not my law,’ said Corlas.
Chavus’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Then you admit to being aligned with the shadow?’
‘No,’ said Corlas, ‘I do not.’
‘You will come with me to my headquarters,’ said Chavus, levelling his sword at Corlas’s chest.
‘Keeper, I mean neither you nor your family harm. You would do best to put away your sword and allow me on my way.’
‘I’m giving the orders here!’ snapped Chavus.
Corlas stooped to pick up his axe.
‘Stop!’ shouted Chavus. ‘Stand still!’
‘Out of my way,’ said Corlas. ‘I am going to leave.’
‘I think not!’ said Chavus, and lunged.
Corlas sidestepped and Chavus overextended. Corlas swung the axe, blunt end first, into Chavus’s stomach. The man doubled up on the ground with eyes watering. From the farmhouse window came Frera’s cry.
‘It is all right, Frera!’ called Corlas. ‘He’s only winded. I will leave you now.’
Quickly he made his way to the gate. A shout sounded from behind and he spun, surprised to see Chavus back on his feet and charging him down. Instinctively he brought up his axe, batting the sword away. Chavus came onwards, swinging wildly, and Corlas was forced back under a rain of blows. The look in Chavus’s eyes was determined, righteous – he truly intended to do Corlas harm. Each shuddering jolt on his axe jarred Corlas’s teeth in his clenched jaw. His blood began to sing its old song, forgotten for many years – the song of battle. Fire exploded in his heart and bubbled up his arms, calling them to action. It was like his old soldiering days, when he would lose himself in the fight. Others called it going berserk, but to Corlas it was like entering a vivid dream where a single, simple truth held sway – kill, or be killed. Time seemed to slow and every sense heightened. The heft of the axe in his hands, rough wood against his skin. The sweat running down his face, salty in his mouth. The light flashing off the axe head as it turned in the air, the hairs on his arms rustling as he swung. The roar of his own voice above the sound of blood rushing in his ears. A pinprick of white-hot rage burning in his centre …or was it fierce joy? He hadn’t felt so alive since Mirrow had died.
Then for a time everything went blank, until another sound trickled into his consciousness. He blinked, coming back to himself. Only moments had passed, but for Corlas it seemed like waking from a long sleep. Crying sounded at his feet, and slowly he looked down. Frera was sprawled by her husband’s side, sobbing as she tried to stem the blood flow from his ruined chest, turning her hands to gloves of scarlet.
‘Stupid boy,’ muttered Corlas, dazed.
Frera turned her eyes upwards; they blazed through her tears. ‘Curse you!’ she screamed. ‘May the Dark Gods take you!’
‘Frera …’ choked Chavus, his eyes beginning to mist. ‘For goodness sake …get back in the house!’
A child was crying too, and Corlas saw Essie at the farmhouse door, clutching her dress to herself in fear and anguish. He backed away.
‘Forgive me,’ he mumbled, and ran.
Corlas awoke, and couldn’t remember feeling more drained. Sitting up, he became aware of all the aches and pains his body had developed from nights spent on hard ground. Dread filled him as he heard Frera’s shrieking once more. It’s not my fault, he thought. Did he believe that? Maybe he could have disarmed Chavus, or fled, if the blood frenzy hadn’t taken him. No, Chavus had brought it upon himself by backing Corlas into a corner.
There was a rustle as Iassia alighted on a branch nearby. ‘They turned east,’ he said, of the soldiers who’d been looking for them since yesterday. The bird had been scouting a wide circle, giving Corlas ample time to move if trouble came his way. ‘We should press on.’
‘Why?’ growled Corlas. ‘Now I am no better than those who destroyed my family.’
The weaver chirped sympathetically. ‘You must stay the course. The events at the farmhouse were not of your making. You must still right the wrongs committed against you.’
‘But I have no plan,’ said Corlas. ‘I have steamed ahead with no idea of what to do once I reach the Halls. I cannot take on every soldier in Kainordas once I get there.’