Meegan shook his head. “Edris made the deal. He ain’t local. Knows a lot of bad folk. Passes through once, twice a year.”

“She’ll be the necromancer. Did she have a name?” Snorri asked.

“Chella.” Meegan licked his lips. “Had Edris scared, she did. Never seen him scared afore. I didn’t want to meet her, not after that. Don’t care how tasty she were built.”

“And would you know where to find this Chella now?” Snorri’s great hands closed around the haft of his axe as if imagining it the necromancer’s throat.

Meegan shook his head, a quick shake like a dog flinching off water. “Ain’t from around here. A northerner, Edris said. Had a bottle of liquor off her, he did, for us all to toast the mission with. Some Gelleth brew, I think Darab said it was. Strange burn to it.” He smacked his lips. “Passing strange. Made you want more of it, though. Most like she’s from Gelleth. Perhaps she went back. Perhaps she’s watching us right now. Something stood the boys back up after you knocked ’em down.”

“What should we do?” I didn’t like the idea of some necromancer witch watching from the ridges, ready to send her dead men after us. The whole idea had sounded faintly ridiculous back in Grandmother’s court. I’d been sure most of it was lies, and whatever parts of it might have held truth didn’t seem so scary. Mouldy old corpses jerking witlessly after frightened peasants seemed no threat to proper soldiery. But miles from civilization—and Rhonish civilization at that—outnumbered by the dead on treacherous ground, my view of things had suffered an about turn. “I mean, we should do something.”

“With him?” Snorri kicked Meegan’s bound feet.

“About her,” I said.

“My goal is in the North. If anything gets in my way, I’ll put a hole through it. If not, I’ll leave it behind.”

“We pick up the pace, keep heading north. I like it.” When a plan involves running away, I’m in.

“And him?” None of the solutions for Meegan looked good. I didn’t want to let him go, I didn’t want to keep him, but whilst I’ll do my fellow man down at every turn, I’ve no murder in me.

“Let him join his friends.” Snorri knotted a hand in the ropes around Meegan’s wrists and hoisted him to his feet.

“Hey now, that hardly seems fair. He was going to kill—”

Snorri took three strides, dragging Meegan to the edge where the rock fell away in a single steep step . . . and pushed him over. “Those friends.”

Meegan’s wail of despair ended with a wet thunk and the sound of something, or things, running towards the place he hit. Snorri met my shocked gaze. “I try to be a fair man, to live with honour, but come against me armed and looking to take my life, and you will not walk away again.”

FIFTEEN

Nights spent on mountains are not to be recommended. Nights where the dark is full of the sounds of dead men trying to climb up to where you’re shivering under thin blankets, even less so.