‘You are in a good mood,’ said Kinyon, from his seat in the back of the wagon. The big man was recovering well, but was still too weak to walk the gruelling high road.
‘Indeed I am. Try not to move around too much. There are some breakables back there.’
The party stopped several times on the road to rest. Many of the villagers were carrying their most prized possessions in sacks upon their shoulders. Others were hauling hand carts. The horses were also weary. The wagon had been over laden with food supplies for the ten-day journey. At one point Kinyon had been forced to climb down, and Stavut had unloaded some of the heavier crates, sacks and barrels.
Even then Longshanks and Brightstar had struggled to make the last rise. Stavut and the villagers reloaded the wagon, and, after another halt to rest, continued on their way.
By dusk on the first day they had reached the highest point of the mountain road, and begun the descent into a wooded valley. Stavut had camped here several times in the past. There was water and good grass, and a rocky hollow in which a campfire could be lit, without being seen from any distance.
Three cook fires were set and the villagers gratefully settled down to rest for the night. As the moon rose the air was rich with the smell of frying bacon, and cook pans sizzled with eggs and toasting bread.
Young Arin approached Stavut. He was a tall, handsome young man, sporting a swollen black eye and a cut to his lip. Crouching down where Stavut sat he asked: ‘How much longer do we travel?’
‘I’d say another ten days, perhaps a little more. There are many high mountain roads. It will be tiring.’
‘Will it be safe?’
Stavut shrugged. ‘Safer than it was back in the settlement. But there are said to be roving bands of runaway Jiamads. I met a few on the way in. However, once we drop down onto the coast road we should come across Legend Riders. With luck they will escort us into Siccus.’
‘We have never been Outside,’ said Arin, a worried look on his face.
‘It is not so different. People still grow crops, and trade. Siccus is the city of the Legend people, so there are no Jiamads there, and no war, thank the Source.’
‘And they will allow us to stay?’
‘I’m sure they will,’ said Stavut. Even as he spoke a doubt loomed in his mind. Alahir’s people did not like strangers.
Kinyon approached and, with a grunt, sat down by Stavut. ‘The wound is sore,’ he said. ‘Healing, though.’
‘Good,’ said Stavut, still concerned about his promise to Arin.
‘What are your plans for gathering food?’ asked Kinyon.
‘My plans?’
‘Well, you are leading us,’ the big man pointed out.
‘No, no, no,’ said Stavut swiftly. ‘I am merely showing you the way to Siccus. I am not leading anyone.’
Kinyon leaned in close. ‘Listen to me, lad. These people have been terrified. Some are injured, others have lost loved ones. Now they are leaving their homes to travel Outside — to a place of war and fear.
They need to be able to put their trust in something solid. They know you, Stavut. They like you. And, right now, they need a source of some comfort. The only person here who knows the ways of Outside is you. They believe you will lead them somewhere safe.’
‘I don’t know anywhere safe,’ responded Stavut, keeping his voice down as he gazed at the faces of the villagers round the campfires.
‘Even so, they have put their faith in you. I have put my faith in you.’
Stavut thought about it. He had always avoided responsibility for others. As a sailor he had twice turned down promotion, and, as a Watch Officer in Siccus, he had avoided applying for more senior posts. But this was different, he reasoned. This was merely a ten-day journey to the city. Once there he could prevail upon Alahir’s friendship to see the villagers settled. Then he would be free. What could be so hard about accepting a nominal role as leader?
Even as he thought it a tiny worm of doubt entered his mind. If there was one fact that life had taught Stavut it was that Fate had a twisted sense of humour. He saw Kinyon looking at him expectantly. Stavut sighed. ‘Very well, Kinyon. I shall be leader.’
‘Good lad,’ said the wounded man, wincing as he pushed himself to his feet. ‘You won’t regret it.’
The words hovered over Stavut like an invisible rain cloud. ‘I do already,’ he thought to himself.
There were many times in Stavut’s young life when decisions had turned bad, but never before had the consequences been quite as swift. After Kinyon had wandered back to reassure the villagers that Stavut was in charge, the new leader walked across the campsite to tend to his horses. As he approached them he saw they were nervous. Longshanks’s ears were flat against his skull, and he was pawing at the ground, wide-eyed. The grey Brightstar was also jittery. They were still in their traces, the wagon brake locked in place.
‘Hey, hey,’ said Stavut, keeping his voice calm. ‘Do not fret, lads. I have some grain for you.’
At that moment one of the village women screamed. Longshanks tried to rear. The wagon lurched.
Stavut swung round. Three Jiamads entered the campsite from the north. Others advanced from the south. The villagers gathered together. No-one was armed.
In the moonlight Stavut thought he recognized the lead Jiamad, a hulking brute, obviously part bear.
He was the one Skilgannon had spoken to back in the cave. What in the Seven Hells was his name?
The beast lumbered into the campsite and stood towering above the brightest of the campfires.
‘Leader!’ he growled. ‘Where?’
For a moment there was no movement. Then several villagers pointed at Stavut. The young man glanced at the night sky. ‘You really don’t like me, do you?’ he said. Then, with a deep breath, he walked towards the huge Jiamad.
All his life Stavut had enjoyed a gift for mimicry. He had only to hear a voice to be able to duplicate the tone and the rhythms of speech. It had caused much amusement to his shipmates when he mimicked certain officers. Now he decided to emulate Skilgannon, and — despite his growing fear — his voice rang with authority. ‘What are you doing here, Shakul?’ he asked.
‘Food,’ answered the great beast, his golden eyes fixing Stavut with a hard stare.
‘Why do you not hunt? There are many deer in the forest.’
‘Too fast. They run. Eat horses.’
‘Not good,’ said Stavut.
‘Not good?’ echoed the beast, confused. ‘I smell meat. Meat good.’
‘What then? When the horses are eaten? How will you feed?’
‘Hungry NOW!’ roared Shakul, his bestial face pushing close to Stavut’s own.
Stavut did not back away. ‘You will wait,’ he said. ‘I will give you food for tonight. Tomorrow I will show you how to hunt deer. Then there will be food whenever you need it.’
Shakul’s great head began to sway back and forth. His taloned hands clenched and unclenched. He stared at the cowering villagers. Then his head swung back to loom over Stavut. ‘Hunt deer?’
‘Yes. Good meat. Plentiful.’
‘No deer, eat horses?’
‘There will be deer,’ said Stavut, with an assurance he did not feel. ‘Tell your. . troop to move away to the far side of the camp. I will bring food.’ Shakul stood for a moment, then turned away, gesturing to the other six Jiamads. They lumbered off to squat down to the east of the clearing. On trembling legs Stavut walked to the wagon.