Brexan pulled herself to her feet. As she collected logs for the fire she looked about nervously for any sign of the almor, but the energetic mare was still cropping grass complacently nearby, so she assumed all was well for the moment. She began spreading out her own blankets for the night.
‘Sleep well,’ she called towards the grove. ‘If you still love me in the morning, I might even brew you some tecan.’ The Malakasian soldier lay still in the firelight, watching the stars and feeling the ominous presence of the Blackstone Mountains behind her in the dark, ponderous, black as pitch. Brexan was not looking forward to the next leg of her journey: the Blackstones were renowned for their treacherous cliffs, razor-thin trails and uncertain footholds. ‘I’m not sure I have any choice, though,’ she whispered to herself. ‘I certainly can’t turn around now.’
The breeze along the river had grown into a gusting wind. She shook her head, then sat up, pulled on her boots and walked back into the grove where Versen lay asleep. Finding the blanket she had cut free earlier that evening, she cast it over his still form and started walking back towards her own blankets.
She stopped and set her jaw in frustration. ‘Motherless, inbred, whoring…’ she muttered and turned back towards the trees. When she finally lay back down to sleep, Versen’s boots had been removed and now stood side-by-side on the ground next to him; a blanket Brexan took from Brynne’s abandoned saddle had been carefully tucked beneath his back, legs and shoulders to keep it from blowing away in the chilly evening breeze.
Brexan woke in the grey pre-dawn light to a gentle nudging at her ribs. She kicked the blanket aside as she sprang to her feet, hoping to confuse her attacker and grab a moment’s edge in the coming fight. She had a dagger in one hand and her short sword in the other before reaching her feet then, blinking several times to clear the sleepy fog from her mind, she recognised Versen standing beside her, his hands raised.
‘Whoa, hold on there,’ he cried. ‘I’m unarmed and I think you had something to do with that.’ He lowered his hands slowly to his sides and added, ‘Calm down, please.’
‘What are you doing, coming up on me like that while I’m sleeping, you ox?’ Brexan felt dizzy: the effect of leaping up so suddenly. ‘I could have killed you.’
‘True and you could have passed out.’ He motioned for her to sit down and reached for a wineskin. ‘Don’t you know the moment you wake is the most stressful of the day? Going from deep sleep to anything is a chore; you jumped up like a rutting chainball champion.’ He passed her the skin. ‘Here, have a drink.’
Sheathing the dagger, Brexan accepted the wineskin and took a long draw.
‘My name is Versen. I’m from Rona.’
‘Brexan, and I know.’
‘Did you cover me and take off my boots last night?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It was cold.’
‘Yes, it was and again, thank you.’ Versen ran one hand across his empty belt. ‘Did you happen to take my weapons?’
Brexan nodded towards the packs and saddlebags stacked near the fire. ‘They’re over there on the ground. I wasn’t disarming you. I just didn’t want-’ She paused. ‘I didn’t want you to roll over and slice yourself open.’
‘Well, again, I must say thank you, Brexan.’
‘You do a lot of that.’
‘You’re right; I do seem to.’ Versen took a seat near the remains of the campfire and proceeded to stir the flames gently until they crackled anew. ‘Do you know what happened to the others?’
‘The almor pursued them that way, into the canyon, but only the woman’s horse was killed.’
Rubbing the back of his head, Versen pulled several bits of dried blood from his hair. ‘I wasn’t much use, was I?’
‘Don’t blame yourself.’ Brexan finally sheathed her sword and sat down beside him. ‘The almor is a magical creature, ancient and powerful. The fact that you aren’t dead is good fortune enough.’
‘Well, when it’s fully light we have to go after them.’ Versen caught himself, looked across at her and corrected himself. ‘I should say, I have to go after them.’ He hesitated another moment, then asked, ‘Who are you, anyway? And what are you doing out here alone?’
Inexplicably, Brexan found herself telling Versen of her role in the battle at Riverend Palace, of Bronfio’s murder and of her decision to pursue Jacrys until she either understood his motives or brought him to justice. Halfway through her tale she wondered if it was wise to tell this stranger so much – after all, he was a partisan, a freedom fighter sworn to rid Rona of the Malakasian occupation forces. But there was something about him that helped her feel at ease; although she did not know why, she believed he could be trusted.
As she finished, the sun broke the horizon.
‘Did you not think they would kill you if they caught you?’ Versen was incredulous. ‘Why leave your unit, make yourself a fugitive from your own army in a land where travelling alone is almost certain to get you killed by partisans who hate you?’
‘I admit I didn’t put a great deal of thought into my decision at the time,’ she said as she took a couple of apples from a saddlebag and tossed him one. ‘I was furious. Killing innocent people is not why I became a soldier.’ She paused to chew and swallow a mouthful before adding, ‘I don’t know; I guess I didn’t think it through.’
‘Well, it looks like you’re on the run now.’
‘No,’ she answered matter-of-factly, ‘I’m going to discover what Jacrys is up to. He murdered a Malakasian officer. That makes him a traitor.’
‘Are all things really so black and white to you?’
‘Many, yes.’ Her directness surprised him. ‘Too many people make things too rutting confusing. Sure, it might be fun sometimes to consider all those other variables. Maybe Bronfio was a spy. Maybe Jacrys was acting under orders. Maybe the lieutenant was sleeping with his wife. Who knows? But eventually, so many things end up making sense just the way you expected from the start. So start there. Jacrys is bad news.’ She began rolling her blankets into a tight bedroll. ‘How is your head?’
‘Cracked clean through, I think.’ He kicked dirt onto the fire. ‘None of my hats will fit any more.’ The flames died a smoky death, billowing dark clouds into the morning air. ‘We ought to fetch me a new one at some point this morning.’
‘Hat? Are you kidding?’
‘Head, and yes I was.’ He moved to the pile of satchels and began consolidating their contents, repacking them into a pair of large saddlebags. ‘You are an intense woman, Brexan.’
‘Soldier,’ she corrected him.
‘You don’t look much like a soldier.’ He smiled and replaced the dagger and battle-axe in his belt.
‘Circumstances forced me to change out of my uniform. I might no longer be a member of the Malakasian occupation force, but I am a soldier and I am good at it.’ She drew herself to her full height and endeavoured to look Versen in the eye. Realising she only reached the upper part of his chest, she looked away quickly. ‘So,’ her voice dropped, ‘I would be grateful if you would try to remember that.’
Versen wanted to come up with something witty to somehow crack her angry exterior, but his head hurt and nothing came to mind. He changed the subject. ‘Where are you heading today?’
Brexan pointed towards the canyon. ‘In there.’ She turned to face him. ‘I lost his trail two days ago, but found yours instead. If the old man took the others up this hill-’ She paused to gaze towards the top of Seer’s Peak; Versen watched as the wind played with the strands of her hair that had come lose from the leather thong. Brexan grimaced and continued, ‘That’s where Jacrys will be going.’
She already knew Versen would follow his friends in the hope of finding them alive. ‘You must remember the almor can only travel through a fluid medium, plant roots, underground waterways and the like.’
‘I know.’
‘So if your horse senses it, or if you see evidence that it is nearby, you must get to somewhere it can’t reach you, someplace bone-dry – no plants – a rock outcropping, or up a dead tree,’ Brexan flushed, her face warm despite the cold morning. She did not want the big Ronan to believe she cared at all for his wellbeing.