One collapsed, falling back into the snow, clutching at an axe that suddenly sprouted from his chest. Bloody froth bubbled from his mouth. Keld emerged from the trees, running, another axe in one hand. His eyes fixed on the last man standing.

He was a shaven-haired warrior, sword in hand, a wispy red beard growing from his chin. He knew he had no chance of out-running Keld, so accepted his only option and swung his sword at the onrushing huntsman. Keld caught the blade with his axe, twisted, and the man was crying out, his blade falling from his grip.

‘I want him alive,’ Sig bellowed, Keld swirling round the red-haired man, his arm already moving, whole body committed to his blow. Sig saw him try to check it, but there was only half a heartbeat to do it in, the axe shifting its angle a fraction, the blow chopping into the base of his neck instead of his skull, and judging by the way the man screamed as he collapsed, there would be no coming back for him.

Too late.

Keld looked at Sig and shrugged, mouthed Sorry. Then the huntsman chopped his axe into the man’s head, silencing the screams.

Sig slipped from Hammer’s back, patting the bear’s neck, and strode to the man on the ground. He was sitting up now, just staring at her.

‘You must be Sig,’ he croaked.

‘Aye,’ Sig said, feeling the grin split her face, for she recognized this man before her, could still see the shape of the boy in the sharp lines of his face, echoes of his mam and da, too.

‘Well met, Drem ben Olin,’ she said, crouching and giving him her hand.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: RIV

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

RIV

Riv lay in a cot, slowly realizing that she was awake. She had been dreaming, strange, unsettling dreams of steel and blood, of Bleda, Aphra and Kol. Of Jin opening her mouth, a snake emerging instead of words, long and sinuous, jaws opening to reveal fangs dripping with poison. Of a mountain of heads with eyes that watched her every move. She was glad to be awake, though her throat felt blistered and raw, and she was still cold. Oh so very cold.

She opened her eyes, only a crack, but it felt as if it took more energy than a morning’s training on the weapons-field. A figure, just an outline, stood with its back to her, before an open window, moonlight pouring through it. Aphra. A torch burned, flame flickering, shadows dancing on a curved stone wall.

This isn’t my room.

The flames hurt Riv’s eyes and she closed them.

A beating of wings, the moonlight veiled, a figure at the window. The soft slither of leather on stone, the rustle of wings furled.

‘My thanks,’ a voice said, deep and warm.

Kol.

‘What is it that you want?’ Aphra’s voice, cold and weary.

‘I need to speak with you. Alone.’