Dismounting, they moved as far back as they could, leaving the horses to gaze mournfully out on the dreary scene.
‘Travers has sent us his welcome, then,’ remarked Talan.
‘Yes, I feel sure Hirad will find it in his heart to blame him for this as well,’ said Ilkar.
‘Too right I will.’
The rain fell yet harder, bouncing off exposed rock, gouging at close-packed earth and battering down vegetation which sprang back in mute defiance.
Talan poked his head out of the overhang and looked northwards. ‘It’s well set - it’s got that feel to it,’ he said, coming back inside and wiping a film of water from his hair.
He was right, thought Hirad. It was indefinable, but something about the smell of the air, the pace and weight of the rain and the feel of the wind told of a long soaking. Hours, probably.
‘Well, we can’t just stand here and watch it,’ said Denser.
‘Quite right,’ agreed Richmond, shrugging off his backpack. ‘We’ll get cold. I’ll get a fire going.’ He pulled a tinder box from an outside pocket of his pack and unhitched a large roll of waxed leather from behind his saddle. He unravelled it and took wood from its centre.
‘Tip for you, Denser,’ he said. ‘When the clouds come down, pick up dry sticks.’ He waved the Dark Mage away from a space in the centre of the overhang amd started building the fire.
‘So we’re just going to sit it out, is that it?’ asked Denser.
‘That’s about the size of it, yes,’ replied Richmond.
‘But the castle . . .’
Richmond shrugged. Finishing the pyramidal stick-structure, he pushed some tinder into a hole at its base. ‘We’re about half a day’s ride away at a guess. Talan?’ Talan nodded. Richmond continued.
‘Yeah. So assuming the rain eases off towards dusk, we can rest up here, ride the rest of the way this evening and attack at night, which was, I presume, the original plan.’ No one said otherwise.
Denser narrowed his eyes but made no further comment. Instead, he untied his bedroll, took the saddle from his horse and dumped both against the rock face at the southern end of the overhang.
‘It’ll be cramped,’ he said.
‘I wasn’t suggesting we all laid down to sleep.’ Richmond struck sparks with his flint and steel, blowing gently as a thin column of smoke rose from the tinder. ‘Hey, Hirad. Make yourself useful and go and get some stream water and more wood we can dry out. Just in case.’
‘Yes, Mother,’ said the barbarian. ‘Mind if I take this?’ He pointed at Richmond’s waxed leather. The warrior shook his head.
Hirad picked two waterskins from the nearest horse and put the leather over his head and shoulders, gathering it under his chin with one hand. He turned to Ilkar, who burst out laughing. Taking his lead, the others joined in.
‘If I gave you a walking stick, you’d look just like my grand-mother, ’ said the elf eventually, wiping his eyes.
‘She must be spectacularly ugly, then,’ said Talan.
Hirad tried to think of a witty reply, then a suitably obscene one, and failed. Instead he shrugged, smiled and left the shelter of the overhang.
He headed upstream for no other reason than to check out the route immediately ahead of them, though it fast became obvious that he’d gain little useful information from his walk.
Though the rain was easing a little, it was replaced by a cloying mist - the clouds sweeping off the hilltops to further obscure the valley and his visibility with every step. Still, at least the trail itself was solid, containing enough stone and gravel to limit the rain-driven erosion.
He trawled either side of him for likely looking sticks, eventually finding a coarse, thick bush whose central branches were ideal. A few quick slashes and some shaving with a dagger and he had all the firewood he was prepared to carry.
Ambling back in the direction of the overhang, he diverted to his right to fill the skins from the stream, which was already running quickly as the rainwater poured off the hills to swell the flow. Squatting on a flat rock, he held the neck of the first skin under the water, listening to the complementary sounds of the water clattering by in the stream and the rain pattering off Richmond’s leather.
But that was all he could hear, and when he turned to switch skins, the hilt of a sword thudded into his skull just below his left ear.
He sprawled over the rock, trying to gather his senses as the mist, the river, the rain and the roaring in his head took him towards unconsciousness. A shape loomed above him. A man in full helmet and chainmail. He leant in close.
‘Go home, Coldheart, The Raven is finished. Go home.’
The pommel of the man’s sword swung again. Sparks flew across Hirad’s eyes then everything went quiet.
There was a look of thunder in Alun’s eyes. And betrayal.
‘You told me we were going in tonight.’
‘The situation has changed,’ said Thraun. ‘Something’s going on in the castle. You saw the riders who came past here earlier. There’s too much activity. We have to wait.’
Will had returned to the castle, tracking after the riders, and had returned in the late afternoon, reporting an air of excitement around the castle. Someone had been taken there, presumably as a prisoner and presumably important. Thraun had decided to hold a watching brief for the night and make a decision the following morning. Alun, as he anticipated, had other ideas.
‘Every second we wait brings my family closer to death, and yet we’re going to sit around the stove and sing a few songs, is that it?’
Thraun massaged his nose with thumb and forefinger.
‘This isn’t a deliberate ploy to delay us,’ he said, keeping his temper in check, his voice a low growl. ‘I too am anxious to see your family safe but we cannot risk all our lives, because that will help no one.’
‘We have to do something!’ Alun’s voice was desperate.
Will huffed, Thraun waved him silent.
‘We are.’ He gestured around him. ‘We are out here, waiting for the right time to make our move. You must understand that that time isn’t now. We have to keep watching and let the situation settle. I know it’s hard but please try to be calm.’
Alun threw off the hand that Thraun placed on his shoulder but he nodded all the same, getting up and moving further away from the path.
‘He’ll be all right,’ said Thraun to Will’s scowl. ‘Just leave him be.’
‘He’ll be the death of us,’ warned the little man. There was a low whistle from the direction of the path and Jandyr trotted into the campsite.
‘Someone’s coming,’ he said.
Thraun got to his feet. ‘I’ve had enough of this. It’s like a busy day in Dordover market. What do you say we stop them?’
‘What do we really have to lose?’ asked Will.
‘Not a lot,’ said Thraun, checking Alun was out of earshot. ‘If we don’t go in soon, we’ll find nothing but corpses.’
Water. Lapping and bubbling, splashing off a stone. Wind, rain, water and cold. And pain. Thumping in his temple and howling in his ear.
Hirad moved, sending a wave of nausea through his body. His stomach lurched.
‘Oh!’ He opened his eyes. The mist was deep and disorienting. A light rain still fell.
He sat up gingerly, probing a swelling at the back of his jaw just under his left ear. He opened his mouth slowly and wide, feeling the dull ache in the bone but knowing at least that it wasn’t broken.
There was a strange taste on his tongue. A taste that reminded him of a smell that he couldn’t quite . . .
‘Damn.’ He’d been drugged. He slithered to his feet, firewood and water skins forgotten, swaying as his brain and stomach protested the sudden action. He put a hand to his temple. Another bruise, a big one, was forming. He felt groggy. Like a hangover but with none of the good memories. All he could remember was that helmet looming out of the mist and the force of the blows. And the voice. Familiar. Definitely familiar.