‘I had an agreement with your gaffer. Thirty gold spires for accompanying you safely to the Rift. That, or the weapon there.’
Sasha sighed. ‘Look, I’ll get your gold. Give me Magebane and I promise that I’ll have it delivered to you. You have my word.’
The old Highlander scratched his beard. It didn’t seem right, pawning something as precious as that dagger. He reckoned he could trust the girl, but to say Jerek might take a different view would be like wondering if a Highland cat wouldn’t mind a poke in the eye.
‘Where is the Wolf?’ he asked.
‘Hunting. I’ve barely seen him for days, which suits me just fine.’
‘He ain’t the man you think he is, lass.’
Sasha’s lip curled. ‘You might have tried convincing me of that before he almost took my head off and then repeatedly threatened to kill me. Three times in the last week, in fact — and as I said, I’ve barely seen him.’
‘In fairness,’ the Highlander ventured, ‘he was provoked. You did stick a quarrel in his arm. The Wolf’s got a temper on him and I’ll be the first to admit it.’
‘A temper? He’s a black-hearted bastard! I know all about men like him.’ She paused for a moment. ‘You’re different to him. I don’t know what kind of bond you two have, but the best thing you can do is to cut him loose. He’ll bring you down eventually.’
Kayne rubbed at his forehead. He didn’t want to have this conversation. ‘Like I said, he ain’t the man you think he is.’
‘Fine,’ Sasha huffed. ‘Be stubborn, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m going to find Isaac. It’s time we made plans to leave this damned village.’
He watched her storm out. The girl seemed awfully tense, like a bowstring about ready to snap. She’d been that way ever since Vicard’s death. Must have been closer to the alchemist than I thought.
With a satisfied groan he reached down and touched his toes. Then he rolled his shoulders and flexed his back, forcing his muscles into their old routine of familiarity. Age could rob a warrior of many things, but as long as the body and the mind remembered, everything else was trivial. You just had to fight through the pain.
There was another knock on the door, this one more hesitant. ‘Come in,’ he said. It was Gaius. The old physician was a wrinkled prune of a man, as thin as a rake, with a balding crown covered in a few strands of grey hair.
‘Ah, you’re up,’ said the physician. ‘I see you’re feeling much better. I have to say, you heal remarkably quickly. Is this a trait common to all you Highland folk?’
Kayne shrugged. ‘I guess so.’
‘A highly convenient attribute, I should imagine, with all the fighting and adventuring and such you people do.’
‘Probably.’
Gaius walked over to a cabinet and rummaged around inside a drawer. ‘I see you found the moon dust. You know, consuming so much of the drug in so short a time is unhealthy.’
‘What?’ He had no idea what the physician was talking about.
‘The silvery powder that was inside this small pouch here. An anaesthetic with considerable mood-stimulant properties. I quite understand why you would want to dull the pain. Still, you are aware moon dust can be highly addictive? The side effects are rather unpleasant.’
Kayne frowned. ‘What side effects are those?’
‘Oh, they can vary depending upon the individual. Dilation of the pupils. Intense periods of depression following the initial emotional response. In prolonged cases of abuse, the membrane of the nose itself can become weak, leading to permanent scarring.’ Gaius looked at him with a concerned expression. ‘Are you experiencing any of these? Here, let me check…’
‘Er, I think I’m all right,’ the barbarian protested as the physician poked around at his face and stared up into his nose.
‘You don’t seem to have any lasting damage,’ Gaius said. His voice took on a slightly disapproving tone. ‘However, I am going to have to insist you do not consume any more of the substance once the merchant returns here with fresh supplies. There are many others in the village that would benefit from a small measure, and you appear to be in rude health.’
‘Right you are,’ Kayne replied. ‘Sorry about that. In any case, I’ll be leaving soon.’
‘I’m sad to hear it. Farrowgate could use a warrior like you for protection. Who will defend us with Augmentor Rorshan gone and Dorminia at war? These are troubling times.’
‘Aye,’ the Highlander responded. ‘They are that. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get some air.’
He found Sasha and Isaac by the ancient well in the centre of the village. They were sitting on a bench overgrown with moss, enjoying the last of the sun. The manservant was instructing a small group of children on the best way to handle a sword, using a stick to demonstrate. The youngsters watched him with expressions of delight, excitement and determination. No doubt many of them had lost loved ones to the magical abomination that had ravaged the community.
Poor things, he thought. The world was a cruel place, and as far as he could see it wasn’t getting any kinder as the years rolled by.
Sasha looked up as he approached. Wide eyes. Dilated pupils. Aye, lass, I’m onto you. It wasn’t just concern for my well-being that kept you here, was it?
Isaac spotted him. A delighted grin split the manservant’s face. ‘Kayne!’ he exclaimed. ‘You’re looking well! Here, come and help me out. Show these children how a true master handles a blade.’
The old Highlander tried to hide his embarrassment as the children turned and stared up at him with grubby faces full of wonder. A freckle-faced girl gave him a gap-toothed smile. The boy next to her wiped snot from his chin with the back of his hand and gave it a good hard examination.
‘I reckon I’ll need a sword first,’ he said, nodding at the stick in Isaac’s hands. The manservant tossed it to him. He stood there uncertainly. ‘Right,’ he said. His audience watched him expectantly.
The girl with the freckles piped up. ‘How did you get that scar? Did a bear do it?’
‘This one?’ he said, pointing at the side of his face. ‘It wasn’t a bear that did that. It was outlaws, exiles from their Reaching. Bad people.’
‘Did they rape you?’ asked the girl.
‘What? No. No, they didn’t.’
‘What happened?’ asked one of the younger boys.
‘I was out hunting with my son. They ambushed us from a stand of trees. Four of them.’
‘You have a son? What’s his name? What happened to him?’ The girl leaned forwards, her face full of curiosity.
He glanced at Sasha and Isaac. They were watching him closely. ‘His name… Magnar. His name was Magnar.’
‘Where is he?’ The girl again.
Kayne closed his eyes. ‘Gone,’ he said.
‘What do you mean? Did he die?’
Might be less painful if he had. He sat there and watched his mother burn in the Shaman’s fire. I never raised him to be a coward, but he sat there and said nothing as his mother’s screams pounded in my skull.
‘It’s getting late,’ he said, deciding to change the subject entirely. ‘Why don’t you younglings grab yourselves a stick each? We’ll see if we can make warriors out of you all before the sun goes down.’
The assembled children all jumped to their feet and ran off to find make-believe swords, with the exception of the freckle-faced girl who gave him a sulky look. ‘You didn’t tell me what happened to your son!’ She pointed an accusing finger at him.
He sighed. ‘I-’
‘Kayne. Grab your sword. We’re fucked.’ Jerek burst into the clearing, sending children scattering away in panic. His burned face was dripping with perspiration. Heedless of his surroundings, he wiped sweat from his brow and spat out a goblet of phlegm.
Kayne grimaced. His interrogator stared down at the spittle covering the bottom of her dress and, with a horrified wail, turned and ran off. Kayne gave the Wolf a disapproving frown that wasn’t the least bit genuine. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.