‘Leave her alone,’ Aphra repeated.

‘You never complained.’

‘I was young.’

‘Yes, you were. And beautiful. As is she. And spirited, full of fire. Bursting with it.’

‘Leave her alone.’

‘I need to know. Are you with me?’

‘Swear, on your precious Elyon. You will leave Riv alone.’ Iron in Aphra’s voice now.

Footsteps, Kol stepping close to Aphra, almost touching.

‘I swear it,’ he growled.

A long, indrawn breath.

‘Then I am with you.’

No words, just the rustle and snap of wings unfurled, the rush of air in this confined space, then gone as Kol leaped from the window into the darkness.

CHAPTER FORTY: DREM

CHAPTER FORTY

DREM

Drem woke, his neck throbbing, a burning sensation that was none too pleasant. And his ear hurt; he lifted a hand to feel scabs.

Wispy bit me.

Many pains demanded his attention, but a thought still managed to push past them. He did not feel immediately concerned for his life.

That’s a new sensation, of late, and a pleasant one.

Probably because there is a giant the size of a tree sitting at my hearth. A bear as big as my barn in the yard, two men that seem to be able to kill their enemies at will, while tying their bootlaces, and a hound that looks more like a wolven. And rips my enemies’ throats open.

And a talking crow standing watch.

Things had worked out a lot better than Drem had expected, although as he’d imagined death was his only option, his expectations hadn’t been that high.

Still, alive and safe is good. Or as safe as I can be, with Kadoshim and feral men who want to see me dead less than a day’s ride away.

He rolled out of bed, saw that his boots were still on, all of his clothes, in fact. His weapons-belt was draped over a chair, his sword, axe and seax all back in their various sheaths. He stretched and clicked his neck, buckled the belt on, liking the familiar weight.

When did that start to become comforting?

Then he walked out into the main room of his cabin. It was empty, apart from a pot bubbling over the hearth.

‘Morning,’ a rough voice croaked at him, making him jump.

Drem looked about, saw the white crow perched on a roof-beam, sitting directly above the steam that was rising from the pot. Its head was tucked under one wing, one red eye regarding him.

‘Morning . . .’ he said, remembering his da’s admonishments to always be polite, though he felt a little strange, talking to a crow.

‘Rab,’ the white crow cawed. ‘Name is Rab.’

‘Morning, Rab,’ Drem said. Then he frowned. ‘I thought you were on watch duty?’

‘Rab cold,’ the bird said, giving his best impression of a shiver to reinforce his point, feathers puffing up and sticking out in odd directions.

‘No fears, Fen prowling.’

‘The others?’