Could she be a mercenary come up from the south? Had she run into a Demonai scouting party? No, the Demonai used longbows as a rule, and black-fletched arrows.

Ragger’s head came up and he whinnied out a challenge. Han swiveled on his knees, aiming his arrow into the woods in the direction the horse was pointing.

A riderless bay horse stood at the edge of the trees, ears pricked forward, watching them.

Han lowered his bow. Once he’d assured himself the horse was on his own, he called out softly, “You there. Where’s your owner?”

The horse staggered toward them, nearly going down, and that was when Han noticed the bolts feathering the gelding’s shoulder and neck. He was sturdy, standard Fellsian military issue, with a shaggy winter coat. He was fully tacked—obviously a casualty of the recent battle, or ambush, or whatever it was.

When the horse came within reach, Han held out his hand and the gelding lipped at it. There was a carry bag slung over the saddle, and Han lifted it down, murmuring soothingly to the badly wounded animal.

Han poked through the contents of the bag—a soldier’s kit. In a side pocket was a pay voucher from the Queen’s Guard of the Fells, made out to one Ginny Foster, Private.

What were bluejackets doing out here in the middle of a storm, all out of uniform?

Han made a quick circuit of the killing field, clearing snow away from two or three more bodies. All were dressed in nondescript traveling garb, most young.

Whose side were they on? Who had killed them? Had any of them escaped? And where were the killers now?

It didn’t seem wise to linger here, even though the battle was long over. If the killers were still in the area, they might return to this shelter when the new storm hit.

Han came up alongside the injured horse. It stood, head down, breathing hard. It would probably go down for good after a day or two of suffering.

“Hey, now,” he said, reaching around under the bay’s neck, probing with his fingers, finding the hot vein, gripping his amulet with his other hand.

“It’s all right,” he whispered, following with one of the deadly charms Crow had taught him.

The bay went down easily, but Han still shivered. It was the second time he’d killed with magic, the first he’d killed intentionally. Maybe it would get easier with time.

Han took a quick look inside the cabin, finding nothing of value except a sack of frozen oats in the lean-to, which he took.

Mounting up again, Han pulled his serpent amulet free, letting it rest on the outside of his coat. He slid his bow into his saddle boot, within easy reach, though he hoped the raiders or invaders or whoever they were had moved on.