He proclaimed the words in the old way, a deep baritone chant, his voice carrying far across the fields.
‘You wrote those words,’ Dennis said with a grin. ‘I remember it well, you pox-eaten offspring of a pus-licking dog.’
There was no response until finally the gate cracked open and a wizened old man, leaning on a ornately carved and twisted staff slowly shuffled out.
It took more than a minute for him to cross the few dozen yards to where Dennis stood. He was so hunched over that the crown of his bald, liver-spotted head came barely to Dennis’s shoulder. Like an ageing buzzard he craned his neck, twisting sideways so he could look up into Dennis’s eyes.
‘Oh, horse shit,’ Wolfgar sighed. ‘It is you.’
Dennis respectfully lowered his head in a formal bow. ‘You were the greatest of bards ever to visit the Hartraft Keep.’
‘Bountiful was the table of your grandsire,’ Wolfgar said, his voice weak but suddenly revealing the richness of the training in his craft, ‘for there is still fat at the root of my heart from the feasts he gave in my honour.’ Bones creaking, he turned slightly to look at Asayaga. ‘What in the name of all the devils is that? Is that little man typical of them, these Tsurani I hear of?’
‘He is the captain of the band that joined my unit.’
Dennis could see Asayaga stiffen slightly and Wolfgar cackled.
‘Proud as a peacock with a new feather sticking out of his ass, this Tsurani.’
‘I did not join him,’ Asayaga snapped. ‘We have an alliance.’
‘Oh, an alliance is it?’ and Wolfgar’s features clouded. ‘Then you spoke the truth. The Dark Brothers are chasing you.’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh damn you,’ Wolfgar sighed wearily. ‘They suspected some of us were hiding hereabouts, but never bothered to look too hard, being troubled by other things. Now they’ll be on us.’
‘My men,’ Dennis said and then he caught Asayaga’s baleful gaze. ‘Our men. We’ve been on the run for days. We need shelter, food, a place for our wounded to heal. I can offer you nothing in return but my bond one day to repay you. I ask this in memory of my father and grandfather who were honoured to call you their friend.’
‘And if I refuse?’
Dennis drew closer, leaning over. ‘I’ll have to storm this place, Wolfgar and take it,’ he whispered sadly. ‘It’s either that or my men will die. And you know the Hartrafts well enough to know we honour the pledge to our troops to see to their needs first. Don’t make me fight you and your friends inside.’
Wolfgar sighed in the way only an old man could, the raspy whistle of his breath revealing an infinite weariness with the ways of the world. He craned his neck further around, his squinting gaze focused on the western sky. ‘Storm coming again. Maybe it will block the passes for a while.’
Dennis followed his gaze and saw the wisps of high clouds beginning to darken the early evening sky. The old man was right, by morning it would be snowing again. ‘I need shelter now,’ he said and this time there was a cold insistence to his voice. ‘I’ll ask only one more time as a friend.’ He paused and then shook his head. ‘I’d prefer it if we clasped hands in memory of my sires who were your friends and patrons long ago. Once the storm is passed and my men rested we’ll clear out and try to throw the Dark Brothers off from you.’
‘No, it’s too late for that now,’ Wolfgar replied. ‘The damage is done.’
He squinted, looking at Asayaga again.
‘Someone as short as you most likely won’t eat much anyhow. Come on, you bastards, bring your men inside.’
THE MORNING WAS COLD.
Dennis Hartraft leaned against the wall of Wolfgar’s stockade, cloak pulled tight around his shoulders, hood up to block out the cold wind sweeping down from the west.
He wondered if he’d ever really be warm again. The world was forever cold it seemed, seeping into his bones, and his heart. He knew it was a cold of the mind, not the body, for even though it was now winter in this valley, the cold he felt on the wind was nothing compared to the bitter freezing they had endured the last three days of their chase. Then Dennis reconsidered: not a cold of the mind, but a cold in his soul.
Perhaps it was Wolfgar who triggered it, memories better left dead …
A long-ago winter morning standing on the battlement wall, watching the first snow of winter drifting down, the wonder of it all for a child of seven, heavy flakes swirling, a bard kneeling by his side, laughing as he caught the flakes on his tongue or held out his mittens to catch one, then hold it up close to look at its intricate design until it melted away.
He remembered so clearly the sound of laughter, looking down into the courtyard below, a little girl running in circles, arms wide, shouting that she was a snowflake riding on the wind, the bard chuckling softly, telling him he knew a secret, that the little girl liked him.
Years later, again a snowfall and the little girl had grown, and they were to be married, standing arm in arm on the battlement, both of them sharing the memory of the bard, laughing, wondering if there was a way he could be found and invited to perform for their wedding.
And yet another snowfall, the flicker of fire, the screams …
He lowered his head, pushing that thought away. Never let that back in, never.
‘Remind you of something?’
Dennis took a deep breath, blinking hard, his features falling back into the mask he presented to life. He turned.
Wolfgar was ever so slowly climbing the steps to the battlement, staff wobbling, the old man hanging on to it with both hands, taking one step at a time. Dennis almost reached out to help him, but knew better: old men had their pride, especially this one.
At last Wolfgar was at his side, hood drawn up over his head, frail body wrapped in heavy layers of furs. He looked up and smiled crookedly. His lips were blue and Dennis knew that wasn’t from the cold, for his breath came in a raspy gurgle and his pale eyes were watery.
‘You shouldn’t be out in the cold like this,’ Dennis offered.
‘Damn you, it’s a life covered in offal when I have to start taking advice from a lad who I once pushed off my lap because his swaddling clothes were leaking on me’. Wolfgar laughed and shook his head. ‘I asked if standing up there reminded you of something, you seemed lost in thought.’
‘Just waiting for Gregory and Tinuva to return.’
‘There are some things that never change with a man – the boy still locked inside. Even when you were seven you use to stand like that, shoulders hunched, hands clasped in front of you, always watching. Reminded me of a snowy day, the two of us watching the first storm of the season, and I told you that Gwenynth liked you. How your eyes sparkled even though you were a proud lad of seven and would not admit that girls were of any interest yet.’
Dennis looked away.
‘I heard what happened to her, to your father and grandfather.’ Dennis felt a hand on his shoulder. He wanted to shrug it off but couldn’t.
‘My heart was with you, lad. I wept for you. Your old grandfather always wanted to die in a damn good fight, and your father, well, he never had a chance to rule in his own right but I heard he died sword in hand. But for you, I wept.’