Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

WREN

Wren cursed to herself. She thought she'd given Pol the slip.

‘They won't come this far in. Not even on the road. They're scared of?—'

‘Not them.' Finn mounted fluidly, turning the horse around in a circle, and held out his hand to her. ‘There are mounted soldiers coming. Lots of them. We don't want to be out in the open. You know this place. Come on.'

Something in his urgency infected her, and suddenly their positions were reversed. He knew what he was talking about and she did not. Wren could hear it now, distantly, the sound of horses' hooves, a great many of them, and with it the pounding of metal, armour, weapons. An armed force, travelling south at speed. That couldn't be good.

Soldiers never came through here. Thirbridge wasn't worth their while.

She grabbed his hand and swung up behind him, clinging to his broad back to hold on. Beneath them, the horse moved restlessly. It could sense danger too.

Elodie would understand, wouldn't she? The tower was the safest place Wren knew.

Wren also knew she would never hear the end of it if she turned up with this stranger in tow, with his weapons and his warhorse. He wore travelling clothes, but he was made of muscle, and she'd seen the weapons he carried, secured about the horse and on his person. The way he moved, the way he fought… he had to be a knight of some kind. Or at least trained by them.

Elodie had always had choice words to say about knights. Along with quite a long list of others.

But right now… right now there was an armoured host bearing down on them and he was all Wren had. Even if they'd been following him.

There had to be somewhere else, another option. Taking a breath to push back her first panicked instinct she looked around, and saw it.

‘Back there, into the trees,' she said. ‘There's an incline and a ridge. You can see the road ahead from there but stay concealed. It should be safe enough. They won't be able to see us up there.'

At least she hoped not.

He urged the black horse forward, slowing only when they entered the edge of the forest again, just enough so the horse could find his footing safely.

It was a good hiding place, one of her favourites. One where you could see without being seen. She used to watch the roads from up there, whenever she could sneak away from the tower. She'd imagine where the various travellers were going; Sidonia, perhaps, with its dark towers, or Pelias, perched on the edge of the great sea. But it didn't matter. Not now. They needed to hide and this was the best place. The only place available to them.

If these soldiers were coming from the north, they came from Ilanthus. And that was never good news.

She needed to warn Elodie. But going now would risk bringing the danger directly to their tower.

Indecision made her cling to Finn's back even more tightly, as the horse headed up the slope. As they reached the summit, Finn dismounted, leaving her perched up there. She let herself down carefully, aware of the horse's every movement, and went to his side, where he leaned over the top of the ridge, examining the road.

Smoke rose from the north road, beyond the trees, and Wren felt something catch in her throat, something hard and uncomfortable. There was only one thing in that direction. Thirbridge.

It had to be. There was nothing else for miles around except forest. The village was burning.

Had they put them all to sword?

‘Look in Dancer's saddlebags,' Finn said. ‘There's a—' His voice fell still when he glanced at her frozen expression. ‘Never mind. I've got it.' He rummaged in the bags and then came back with a small case, and a flask. ‘Drink some of that. It'll help.'

Wren watched as he opened the case and took out some kind of metal tube. Gone was the soft, bewildered man, dazed by enchantments. His eyes were sharp, every movement succinct and determined. He twisted the tube deftly and it expanded into an elegant telescope, smaller but not so different from the one Elodie kept mounted on a stand in one of the upper rooms of the tower. He lifted it to his eye and peered out over the forest. Capable, she thought, practised. She… she had to stop thinking about him. Wren brought the flask to her mouth and took a large mouthful.

It wasn't water. It burned down her throat. She could feel its heat in her chest and she coughed, spluttering as she pulled the flask back from her mouth.

Finn raised one eyebrow, even though he never looked away from the telescope and whatever it showed him.

‘Never had spirits before? Maybe take it a bit easier. It's strong stuff. Comes all the way from Sidonia itself.'

‘I suppose you go there all the time. Did they follow you here?'

He shrugged his shoulders, which wasn't an answer. ‘They weren't meant to. They also come looking for witches. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?'

Her stomach roiled. She could blame the alcohol, but she knew she'd be lying. ‘No.'

‘In the village, they called you the witch's bastard.'

‘Well they say a lot…' She caught her own words. They weren't going to be saying a lot of anything in Thirbridge anymore… ‘ Said … by the light…' Fighting the urge to throw up, she turned away from him. ‘She's just a healer. That's all. Not a witch.' Except Elodie called herself a hedge witch all the time. And the things they did… it wasn't all herbs and tinctures, was it?

Elodie's skill with othertongue was different though. Special. And far beyond the remit of mere hedge witches. Light danced to Elodie's whim. It always had done. And for Wren, the shadows did the same. Sometimes. When she could keep hold of them.

And if a horde of soldiers and witchhunters from Ilanthus poured into Thirbridge, with fire and sword, the villagers were going to do and say whatever was necessary to make them go away. Even if it meant turning Elodie over. If they were given any time to speak at all.

Holy light, the baby and Lindie, her mother, Devin Carter…

Everyone Wren knew…

‘There are far too many of them to be after just one witch,' Finn muttered.

Wren shoved his shoulder and, when he looked at her, she snatched the telescope from his hand. He seemed to find that amusing, though he didn't laugh. It wasn't a time for laughter. ‘By all means, be my guest.'

Below them, a group of Ilanthian soldiers appeared through the trees, coming down the Knightsford road. They stopped where she and Finn had stopped, milling around. A man on a grey stallion removed his helmet, revealing white-blond hair. Wren focused on him, bringing him into view. Handsome. As handsome as the man beside her, but older, and harder, with an air of privilege that couldn't be ignored. He studied the trees, and then turned almost as if he was looking right at her. Grey eyes, like steel.

‘Leander,' Finn growled. ‘The crown prince himself. This is not good. We need to move. He'll find our tracks and?—'

What was he doing on first-name terms with the Ilanthian crown prince?

‘No, they're leaving,' Wren told him, as Prince Leander gave an elegant hand gesture to his troops and they thundered on down the road ahead.

‘Don't bet on it. He doesn't give up that easily.'

‘How do you know?'

But Finn didn't answer. He moved back towards his own horse, keeping low to avoid detection from below just in case.

‘I need to get word to Knightsford. He won't dare go that far, I suspect, but they need to be informed. I don't know what he thinks he's after right now, but he's caught the scent of something. There should be a royal garrison at Knightsford at the ready to move north and intercept them at the first sign of an incursion. Or at the very least we can send a message further south.'

‘But Thirbridge,' she said. ‘We can't just… we have to help them.'

He shook his head. ‘We can't. Leander doesn't travel with so small a force. The rest of them are back there, burning everything in sight, killing everyone they find, covering their tracks. Or his tracks, anyway. Thirbridge is already gone. He's hunting. He won't stop.' The bitterness in his voice made Wren pause and she looked up at him in alarm.

‘What's he hunting?'

A strange kind of wind rippled through the trees around them, making the leaves whisper and shake. Wren thought for a moment she heard Elodie's voice. It was like a warning, a cry of alarm. She couldn't make it out but she sounded… afraid? That wasn't possible. Nothing scared Elodie. But as soon as Wren thought she heard it, it was gone. She was about to ask Finn if he'd heard it too but he didn't so much as glance at her.

Finn kept his gaze locked on the retreating figure, even though he didn't have the telescope to see any details. Perhaps he didn't need it.

‘Witches,' he said in a voice thick with loathing. ‘Me. His two favourite quarries. Take your pick.'