‘Why me?’
‘You are light enough that the horse will not mind as much taking the extra load.’
‘Mongoose is lighter.’
‘You are skinnier.’
‘Sophaya is skinnier.’
‘You want to suggest to Gerens that another man rides with Sophaya?’
A short pause ended with a flash of white teeth. ‘Philippe, you may ride with me.’
Hakon guffawed. ‘You might want to watch how you put that!’
Breta slapped the back of his head. ‘Restrain your ribald comments in the presence of ladies, pig man.’ She hawked and spat as hoof-kicked dust swirled and caught at her throat. ‘Men!’
Hakon looked at her, but thought better of responding.
They rode as quickly as rows of vines would allow, until they reached a road.
Brann wheeled his horse. ‘Konall? Hakon? East.’
Without hesitation, both pointed to where the road led to their left. He saw Philippe’s quizzical look.
‘Born as seafarers. Under the sun or the stars, they always know.’
The clouds had cleared and the moon lit the road to allow a gallop to be risked until they had crested three successive rises, after which Brann slowed them to a loping canter, being more concerned with ensuring the horses could last the pace as long as possible. He moved alongside Marlo’s horse, looking at Philippe.
‘You know the town,’ he called above the noise of the hooves. ‘Will he be mourned?’ Thoughts of the Duke clearly brought back the reality of his sister’s death and, as Philippe crumpled into himself, regret at having to seek information clenched his gut. Brann was on the verge of leaving him to his grief when the young man pulled himself tall in the saddle once more, drawing strength into himself with a long slow breath. Brann’s remorse turned to a surge of emotion as he watched courage gather in Philippe’s eyes.
‘They will rejoice.’ His voice was flat, controlled. ‘They will rejoice, but they will do so behind the walls of their houses, for no one under the Duke’s rule was safe from betrayal, and it takes time for trust to grow and feelings to be expressed openly.’
‘And the loyalty of the soldiers?’
Philippe shrugged, having to grab at Marlo’s waist to regain his hold as his hands moved with his shoulders. ‘They are loyal to the job. Like every other job, some are in it for the money, some like to feel important; some are good men, others are bastards. And like everyone in that town, all were in fear of even the appearance of disobedience.’
‘So what I’m wondering is, how much will they be inclined to follow us?’ He paused as he thought of Philippe’s background. ‘I’m sorry, how could I expect you to know? You were not one of them.’
The level gaze never left him. ‘But I do know people. And I know that when he,’ his head nodded at Gerens, ‘let loose his grip, he not only rid the town and these lands of a madman, but in one heartbeat he also created uncertainty. No one stood ready to step into his place, because he trusted no one to repress the ambition he would have held in their place. And the Captain of the Guard was also killed. They will not follow after they know the truth, and dawn is more than time enough for that.’
Brann bit on his lip as he considered it. Once the officers realised fully what had caused the alarm and that their leader was no more, and once those holding positions of power in the town – and those who would wish to do so – discovered that the Duke was dead, all concern would focus on the question of who would assume control, and any interest in the small group of unknown people would disappear along with the shapes into the dark of the surrounding countryside. Philippe was right. ‘Thank you.’
The young man turned his face forward once more. Brann saw the glisten of tears start to shine in the moonlight, and was struck by a memory of a voice of feigned coarseness in a dark alley. Remember me like this, my lover. He fished in his coin pouch, fingers finding the button Eloise had handed him immediately before walking into the danger of the Duke’s keep. Leaning across, he pressed it into Philippe’s hand.
The young man stared at the button in silence, the tip of his thumb rubbing gently across it as if to confirm it was real. An object of such simplicity, but holding an enormity of sentiment. His chest constricted sharply as a violent intake of breath was prevented from becoming a sob only by a jaw clenched with fierce determination. His fingers closed tight over the button, and eyes drenched in conflicting emotions turned to meet Brann’s. He nodded, once.
Brann steered his horse away, allowing him his sorrow.
They continued at a canter until light started to creep from above the horizon ahead. Brann slowed them to a trot, and then a walk and, when the sun was fully in sight, Mongoose spotted a brook not far from the road.
As the horses drank, they broke out dried meat and bread, noticing their hunger now that they had stopped. Brann untied the bag of documents and pulled out the map, spreading it on the ground before him. He called Cannick over.
‘What have you there?’ the old warrior said.
‘A present from the Duke.’ Brann grinned. ‘I suppose it’s now a bequest.’
Cannick smiled back. ‘Very good of him. Is it any help?’
‘That’s what I want to know. You know this area – what do you think?’
The older man groaned slightly as he knelt beside Brann. ‘I don’t know these lands intimately, but enough to understand this easily enough. There is Belleville, and we are here.’ He indicated a spot. ‘See where the river runs in close to the road, just after the road bends sharply?’
Brann traced a finger across eastwards to a symbol marked onto the map in fresher ink than the main design. ‘So this must be the camp the Duke said Loku headed for.’ He frowned. ‘There are three more of those symbols in the area around the town. I don’t like the look of that.’
‘There is much of this whole affair I don’t like the look of,’ Cannick growled. ‘The sooner we have a chat with that bastard Loku, like we did with the Duke, the better.’
‘You are right.’ He called to the others and wrapped the map up once more with care. ‘At least we know it is a single road to reach it, with just a fork near the camp.’
Cannick nodded. ‘If I am picturing the distances right, we should reach it shortly after noon.’
As it transpired, they reached the fork late morning, though it proved to be less of a fork in the road than it had appeared when drawn on the map, and more a narrow offshoot of a track, overgrown with the bushes, thick and thorny of branch, that grew abundantly on both sides of the road.
Konall rode close, his hunter’s eye drawing his curiosity. ‘Someone has worked hard to make this look unused and unwelcoming. Look.’ He leant to the side and cautiously grabbed the end of one branch, taking care to avoid the large curved thorns. As he nudged his horse to walk it away, the entire bush moved with him, opening the start of the track to allow easy passage.
‘Very good, young lord,’ said Grakk, and dismounted to lead his horse with care between the narrow path between reaching branches.
They followed him up a short but steep slope, eyeing the wicked barbs of the thorns and imagining easily the damage just one could cause if ripping the skin of a passer-by, whether human or animal.
On cresting the rise, they saw a dramatic transformation. Where the track was unable to be seen from the road, it had been cleared to allow easy movement, and was clearly well used.
Despite the caution that potential proximity brings, they moved with as much