Swordmage

SEVEN

13 Ches, the Year of the Ageless One

Since it was still early when Geran, Kara, and Hamil returned to Griffonwatch, they sent to the kitchens for a small sack of food to take with them. They returned the buggy to its house and the horse team to the livery, since no roads led up into the Highfells, and the few tracks that did wind up into the hills and moors were far too difficult for a wagon or carriage. Instead they chose horses from the Shieldsworn stables and saddled their mounts. Kara kept a horse of her own in Griffonwatch, a big roan mare named Dancer that she’d trained for years. Geran chose a strong bay gelding, and for Hamil they found a small, sure-footed mare. Halflings generally found ponies better suited to them than horses, but Hamil had spent enough time around the larger animals to handle them easily enough despite his small stature.

An hour before noon they set off again. This time, instead of turning at the Burned Bridge, they followed the Vale Road north from Hulburg, keeping on the right bank of the Winterspear. The river was shallow and swift, rushing over a stony bed in a broad, braided stream that narrowed quickly as they headed inland. Farms clustered close by the southern end of the valley amid stands of birch and ash, but as they continued northward the farms grew fewer and farther between.

About three miles from Griffonwatch, the road passed through an old ditch-and-berm of earth, now grassy and overgrown. “Lendon’s Dike,” Geran told Hamil. “My grandfather raised it more than fifty years ago, back when orc raids in the Winterspear Vale were common.” He pointed toward the far side of the vale. “Lake Hul lies under the western hills there, so the earthworks run less than two miles.”

Hamil studied the old fortifications. “Seem to have had little use of late.”

Geran nodded. “Orcs haven’t come into the Winterspear Vale in numbers since my father was a young man. The Highfells make for good walls.”

A short distance beyond the old dike, Kara turned eastward along a cart track that ran past the long fieldstone cowsheds and hay cribs of an old dairy farm. The track petered out into a footpath and began to climb steeply up the side of the valley. Trees and brush thinned out quickly as they gained height, and soon they were picking their way through the steep meadows and mossy rock outcroppings of the hilltop. From their vantage they could see the broad path of the Winterspear all the way to Hulburg’s distant rooftops. Then they crossed over the crest, and they were in the Highfells proper. To the north a long line of low gray downs stretched off until they simply melted into the distance; eastward the rolling downs marched for miles until they began to climb up to meet the wooded ramparts of the Galena Mountains, perhaps twenty miles distant.

Raw, blustery wind whistled through the grass and heather, pushing the brush first one way and then the other. The sky was blue and cloudless, marked only by a distant earthmote drifting aimlessly against the wind. Hamil surveyed the view. “This is the so-called Great Gray Land of Thar? There doesn’t seem to be much to see.”

“Here, near the Moonsea, the moorlands break up into the steep glens and valleys that we call the Highfells,” Kara answered him. The wind blew her hair into her face, but she shook it off, paying no attention to the raw cold. “But if you ride a few more miles north or west of here, yes, you’d be in Thar.”

“How far does it run?” the halfling asked.

“From here west to the Dragonspine Mountains and the Ride beyond, close to two hundred miles.” Kara turned and pointed off to their right, where the mountains fenced the horizon. “To the mountains, not more than another twenty miles or so. Vaasa’s about seventy miles east of us, on the other side of the Galenas.”

Hamil waved his hand at the downs ahead. “And to the north?”

“For the most part, more of the same until you reach Glister, a hundred and fifty miles away,” Geran said. “There’s a shifting stretch of dangerous Spellplague-riddled changeland in the middle of the moor, and a couple of days’ ride past Glister there is a much wider stretch of changeland that runs for hundreds and hundreds of miles. All sorts of plaguechanged monsters roam those lands, and sometimes they come down into Thar. No one I know of has ever found out what might be north of that, but sooner or later I imagine you would run into the Great Glacier and snows that never melt.”

“And no one lives up here?”

“None but orcs and ogres, and their tribes generally keep to the northerly parts of the moorland,” Geran answered. “Shepherds and goatherds graze their flocks up here in the summertime, but other than that, the land’s not good for much. The soil’s thin and poor and doesn’t drain well. You’ll want to be careful of your mount-this isn’t good ground, and there are a thousand places where a horse can snap its ankle.”

The halfling silently absorbed the view for a moment. Geran could guess what he was thinking; the idea of so much land that was so wide, so open, and yet so desolate was likely foreign to his experience. Hamil had grown up in the warm forests south of the Sea of Shining Stars; the Moonsea’s northern shores must have seemed like the very end of the world to him. For his own part, Geran found the cold, clean air and long views bracing. It was a hard land, to be sure, but it was a simple land. The complexities and confusion of life held less of a grip on his spirit here.

He glanced over to Kara. Since her thirteenth summer, the summer when her spellscar had manifested itself, she’d found a refuge up in those barren and lonely places. Geran and Jarad used to come to the Highfells to savor the independence and freedom the wild country offered. But Kara had taken to spending as much time as she could in the wild land around Hulburg simply because there was no one there to shy away from the deformity of her spellscar. He’d long since learned that Kara’s spellscar was not dangerous, but all too many people around Hulburg-or any place, really-regarded the spellscarred with fear and suspicion. It didn’t surprise him to see that Kara had continued to seek solitude in the high country in the years that he’d been away from Hulburg.

They continued on, riding more east than north, keeping a cautious pace. No trees grew in the Highfells, of course, but in small hollows or sheltered spots, thick low gorse grew, and sometimes they found small shelters of fieldstone and turf in these places-lodges used by herdsmen in the warmer months. From time to time they came across sudden steep-sided streambeds, narrow and deep, or passed by old cairns and low, rounded barrow mounds. And on one occasion they rode along the rim of a sharp, steep-sided bowl of changeland easily two hundred feet deep, its sides made of glistening blue stone grooved with strange whorls. Geran remembered the place well; one summer afternoon in his fifteenth year, he and Jarad had explored the sinkhole by roping themselves down to its floor, only to find that its lower reaches were honeycombed by crevices where repulsive, silver-winged eel-like creatures laired. They’d had to climb back up with smoking torches clutched in their hands to keep the nasty things from chewing them to pieces.

Another half-hour brought them to the edge of a barrow field, a wide expanse of small burial mounds. The southern borders of Thar were strewn with the ancient tombs left behind by people long since lost to history. Hundreds of the mounds lay within a day’s ride of Hulburg. Sometimes dozens stood together within a few hundred yards of each other, and sometimes a single barrow stood all by itself, a dismal and lonely sentinel on the open downs. Geran had never learned why that was so.

Kara stood up in her stirrups, taking a moment to gain her bearings as she studied the barrow field. This one was well ordered; the barrows stood in low rows, serried ranks of weary soldiers standing watch against the cold north wind. She looked left, then right, and nodded to herself. “We’re here,” she said. “This way.”

They followed behind Kara as she rode up to one of the larger barrows. Long ago someone had excavated its door, revealing a low, black opening in the hillside. The whole thing was better than a hundred feet across and almost twenty feet high, which suggested to Geran that someone important had been buried in the mound; most barrows were quite a bit smaller. Kara slid out of her saddle, patted Dancer’s muzzle, and made her way slowly into the open space before the barrow’s black doorway, her head down and her eyes on the ground. Geran and Hamil dismounted as well and waited for a moment as the ranger studied the moss-covered rocks and wiry grass of the hollow.

“Here,” she said over her shoulder. “This is where Jarad was found.”

Geran felt a cold shiver in his heart, but he forced his feet into motion. He came up beside Kara, looking at the ground where she pointed. He couldn’t see much, but that didn’t surprise him; Kara had always been much better at reading tracks than he. Hamil joined them a moment later, squatting to run his fingers lightly over the ground.

“The Shieldsworn sent for me as soon as they learned Jarad had been found,” Kara said quietly. “I had a good look at the scene later that day. You can’t see much, since it’s been almost a month now, and we’ve had a lot of rain since. But you can still make out the impression in the heather, there, and just a bit of rust from his mail. He’d been here for about two days before he was found.”

Geran took a deep breath and straightened up to look around the hollow. “What do you make of it, Kara?”

“Jarad rode up from the south side of the barrow and hitched his horse back behind those boulders there.” She pointed at a jumble of gray stone and gorse a couple of bowshots from the door, more or less back in the same direction from which they had just approached. “He approached the barrow on foot, circled the area briefly, and chose a spot where he could lie low and watch the door-over there, in the gorse. There’s a depression that would make for good cover. I’ll show you.”

She led them away from the barrow door about forty yards, angling away to the side, until they stood by a tuft of wiry brush. “He waited here for a short time, perhaps an hour or so. Then a party of five riders approached the barrow from the south and dismounted right in front of the door there-four men and a woman. A fight followed; I think Jarad wounded two men before he was cut down, right where his body was found. No one moved him.”

“You’re certain of all that?” Hamil asked.

“I told you, I had a good look at the scene.”

Geran smiled humorlessly. “What Kara isn’t saying, Hamil, is that she’s the best tracker between Melvaunt and Vaasa. I’ll say it for her. You can consider everything she just said ironclad fact. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s read a few more pieces of the puzzle she hasn’t shared yet, because she can’t quite put them together.”

“All I have left are guesses,” Kara said. “For example, I can’t tell you why he rode to this particular barrow and waited here. Nor can I tell you if the riders were the people he was waiting for.”

“He might have guessed which barrow the crypt-breakers were likely to try next,” Hamil suggested. “Or, more likely, someone told him. He came to this barrow because he expected someone to be here.”

“I think you’re right, Hamil.” Kara gave the halfling a long look. “But that begs the question of whether Jarad’s source was sincere or lied to him in order to lure him to a place where he could be ambushed. Either way, it doesn’t explain why Jarad broke cover. From this spot he could easily have seen he was outnumbered. With five riders to deal with, Jarad should’ve stayed in his hiding place. You can see for yourself; if I get down under this brush, you can’t see me from in front of the barrow. You would have to be right on top of me to know I was here.”

Geran closed his eyes. He found himself imagining the encounter… the black doorway in the low, rounded hillside, nervous horses tethered on a line, a sky of sullen, gray-black rain, cold wind making the long grasses ripple and hiss. Jarad lying flat beneath the gorse, cold and wet, a big, strong man with a long braid of straw-colored hair, scowling fiercely at himself as he debated whether to go for help or deal with matters himself. Was it a sudden furious skirmish in the dell when he gave his location away? Or had he challenged the intruders, demanding their surrender? And who were the killers? A band of adventurers passing through, a reckless gang from town, or men sworn to some guild or merchant company?” Jarad was always confident of his sword arm,” Geran finally said. “Maybe he was afraid the tomb robbers would elude him again if he rode away to gather more men. Or maybe he thought he could spy them out, mark their faces, and apprehend them later in town.”

Or maybe he didn’t think the riders were enemies, Hamil said silently to Geran. To Kara, the halfling spoke aloud. “Kara, earlier this morning you said that crypt-breaking was especially dangerous in Hulburg. Why is that?”

“Aesperus, the King in Copper,” Kara answered. “He was a fearsome necromancer who ruled over this part of the Moonsea hundreds of years ago. He survives as an undead lich who commands the dead of the barrowfields. Too many things that should lie dead and buried under stone rise and walk the Highfells once their tombs are breached.”

“It’s one of the few laws the harmachs enforce without mercy,” Geran added. “No one is to open a tomb anywhere within land claimed by Hulburg. And it’s considered high treason to collect anything of value buried in a barrow.”

“Sensible enough, I suppose.” Hamil glanced at the barrow and the moorland surrounding the old mound. He shook his head. “A damned lonely place to die.”

They stood in silence for a moment, quietly surveyeing the scene. It was the middle of the afternoon; Geran guessed that they’d need to turn for home in an hour or so if they hoped to reach Hulburg before dark. If there was anything to find here, he couldn’t imagine what it might be. Kara had been over the ground more than twenty days ago, and if she hadn’t found anything more then, he certainly wouldn’t now. The wind shifted again and streamed the long grass atop the barrow to the other side, revealing a silver-green underside to the stalks. He shivered, and then his eye fell on the cramped, dark doorway leading into the barrow.

“Kara,” he said, “did anyone enter or leave the barrow?”

The ranger nodded. “Yes, the riders did, after they’d killed Jarad. But there isn’t much inside, just a short passageway ending at a fieldstone wall. If they were tomb-breakers, they didn’t do much to the place before giving up.”

“Let’s have a look anyway,” Geran suggested.

He led the way to the low, overgrown opening. It was half-sunken into the side of the barrow, more like a storm cellar than an actual door. A cold, stale smell clung to the passage. He felt in his belt pouch for a copper coin and whispered the words of a simple light spell-one of the more elementary spells he happened to know. The coin began to shine with a bright yellow radiance, driving the darkness back into the hill. Holding the coin before him, Geran ducked under the heavy stone lintel, his right hand on his sword hilt. Hamil followed close behind him, and Kara hovered in the doorway, a tight frown on her face.

As she’d said, the passage ran straight for a short distance, took a sharp right turn, and ended in a rough wall of stones piled high across the narrow corridor. Geran studied it for a moment, thinking. Something was odd here, he was sure of it. Many barrows were sealed by similar walls across the entrance-way; the people who’d interred their chiefs and heroes in such places simply walled them up when the burial rites were over, and then buried the passage they’d used to carry the dead man and his belongings into the burial chamber. He knelt and felt at the floor by the base of the wall. Rock chips and discarded stones littered the ground atop a thin layer of damp dirt.

“Hamil, have a look at this,” Geran said. “I think this wall’s been taken down and put up again.”

The halfling leaned close, studying the loosely piled field-stone. “You’re right. All the dirt and mold from between the stones is knocked out.”

Kara leaned over his shoulder. “Yes, I noticed that before. It didn’t make sense to me. Why would tomb-breakers put the wall back behind them?”

“Why, indeed,” Geran murmured. Because they wanted to keep people out? Or had they wanted to seal something inside? He found a deep, dirt-filled crevice between stones in the wall beside him and wedged the illuminated coin into it to free his hands. “All right, be ready. I’m going to move a few stones and have a look at what’s on the other side.”

“Geran, that might be dangerous,” Kara warned. “You know the harmach’s law.”

“I know it. But someone knocked this wall down and rebuilt it not too long ago, so it’s hardly like we’re the first people to open this barrow.” Geran found a loose stone near the top and began to pry it out. “Besides, if someone wanted to keep something dangerous inside, I doubt they would have taken the time to pile up rocks here. They’d have run for their horses and ridden off across the Highfells. I think that this wall was piled up here to keep us out, possibly by the men who killed Jarad. I want to know why.”

Kara gave him an unhappy look, but she came forward and helped him pry stones away from the wall. Hamil stayed back out of the way, moving the rocks they dislodged back down the passage to keep the way clear. In a few minutes Geran managed to open a sizable hole near the top of the wall. A cold breath of air with the distinct smell of stale meat sighed through the opening.

“I can smell something dead in there,” Kara said, grimacing. “Maybe we shouldn’t take out any more stones.”

Geran paused and listened carefully. It felt cold and the air was tainted… but he could not feel anything unnatural waiting in the darkness beyond. He and Hamil had plenty of experience with old crypts and tombs, including some that were haunted by the restless dead. He thought he knew the feel of such creatures close at hand. But to reassure himself, he retrieved his shining coin from the crack where he’d wedged it and held it close to the opening they’d made to peer through to the other side. He couldn’t see much yet, just the hint of more passage beyond. “Just a few more,” he decided.

“If a wight lunges out and claws off your face, it won’t be my fault,” Kara muttered. But she returned to the work, worrying free another stone.

Geran did the same, and then he was able to put his shoulder to the remaining mass and shove over most of what was left with a terrible crash and a great cloud of dust and dirt. Coughing, he backed up to let the dust settle.

In the dim yellow light of the spell, they found that the passage ran a bit farther to a burial chamber. Once it might have hidden the funereal wealth of an important chieftain, but it was clear that it had been emptied long ago-likely by the same men who’d originally excavated the mound’s doorway, Geran figured. The grave itself was a simple depression in the loose flagstone floor, covered by a chipped slab of roughly cut stone. The three companions spread out through the chamber, silently taking in the scene.

I don’t like this, Geran, Hamil whispered in his mind. You say that the dead in this land don’t rest well. We shouldn’t be here.

Something isn’t right here, Geran answered him. He’d been in a few barrows long ago, mostly ones long since opened and home to nothing but mice and dust. The harmach’s prohibition did not apply to tombs that someone else had already opened, after all. But something in this burial mound was out of place… the air was cold, and the smell of death lingered more strongly there. Why does it still smell that way? he wondered. It was hundreds of years old.

“Someone has been in here recently,” Kara said. She knelt, her fingers spread over the rough stones of the floor. Black earth and mold filled the crevices between the stones. “The same men who were outside when Jarad was here. I can tell by the bootprints. And there’s a lot of old blood here.”

The tomb slab, Geran realized. He moved over and crouched beside the heavy stone that covered the grave. “So some old party of tomb-breakers dug out the barrow and removed everything from this chamber,” he mused aloud, “but either they didn’t take anything from the body under this slab, or they put the slab back when they were finished. Neither seems very likely to me.”

Kara glanced over from where she knelt, and she frowned. “No, it’s not,” she agreed. She moved beside him and looked for herself. “This slab was dragged over and set here not long ago.”

“I thought so,” Geran answered. He glanced up at Kara and Hamil. “Be ready in case I’m wrong.” Then he shifted to get his fingers under the edge of the slab, tested its weight briefly, and breathed, “Sanhaer astelie!” Magical strength flooded into his limbs, and with one great heave he rose from his crouch, lifting with the power of his long legs, and threw the heavy slab away from the dank hole beneath. A sickening stench of foul air rose around him.

“Damnation!” Hamil hissed. Only a handful of despoiled bones remained of whatever chieftain had been buried there. But atop the ancient skeleton lay two additional bodies-the corpses of a young woman in a tattered dress of red wool and a short, broad-shouldered man in a shirt of mail. The woman’s skin was darkened and tight, and her sightless eyes stared up at the ceiling. Her throat had been cut. The soldier’s coat was dyed red from a wound just under his ribs that had left a long scarlet trail down his coat.

The smell was strong and unpleasant, and Geran quickly backed away, covering his mouth and nose. Kara and Hamil did likewise. “Two of Jarad’s killers, I suppose,” he managed from under his hand.

Kara held her hand over her nose. “I think she’s the woman who was with the riders. Her shoes match the marks I found outside. I was wondering why someone up in the Highfells would wear shoes better suited for a dance hall. As for the warrior, he could very well be one of the men injured in the fight in front of the barrow door. Perhaps Jarad managed to mortally wound one of his attackers before they cut him down.”

“Do you know the woman?” Geran asked.

Kara shook her head. “No, she could be anybody.” She knelt and looked closely at the body. “She’s dressed like a townswoman. And her wrists are tied behind her back.”

“What of the armsman, Kara?” Hamil asked.

“Look at the mail,” Geran answered for her. “It’s barred horizontally, Mulman-style.” That meant little in and of itself, but it was an unusual style. None of the armorers in Melvaunt or Thentia made their armor in that fashion; it was favored in the city of Mulmaster. He realized that he’d noticed mercenaries wearing Mulman-style mail recently and simply hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Thousands of armsmen wore Mulman armor, after all.

The ranger looked at the man’s body. “No coin or jewelry that I can see. They didn’t bother to strip the armor, but his weapons are gone. An old scar across his cheek…” She frowned suddenly and straightened up. “Damn. I think I’ve seen this man before. It’s a little hard to tell in this condition, but that scar, I know I’ve seen it.”

Geran glanced at Hamil then back to Kara. He waited in silence, allowing her to search her memory without interruption. After a moment, she gave a soft snort and nodded. “He’s a House Veruna man. I’ve seen him around town, usually in the company of other Veruna armsmen. Most of them are Mulmasterites and wear mail coats just like this. He left his colors at home, naturally. There’s nothing here to positively identify him as House Veruna.”

“So, they dragged the dead or dying armsman in here and left his body in the barrow grave. But why was the woman killed?” Geran wondered aloud. “I doubt that she was part of the ambush, since she’s hardly dressed for a fight.”

“She outlived her usefulness,” Hamil said darkly. “The Veruna men brought her here as a prisoner, maybe for the purpose of luring your friend Jarad to this spot. Once they’d killed him, she was nothing more than an inconvenient witness. Her bad fortune, I suppose.”

“We only know of one Veruna who was here, and he’s in the ground at our feet,” Kara answered. “We don’t know for sure that the others were Veruna men too.”

Geran made a sour face. “I have a strong suspicion about that, especially after what Mirya told me about Jarad’s missing dagger.”

Kara grimaced, but she didn’t debate Geran’s point. Instead she stared at the two bodies, her azure eyes gleaming in the dim light. “What I don’t understand is why they left Jarad outside,” she said. “If they went to the trouble of burying two bodies in here, why not three? Why leave Jarad out in the open to be found? If they’d simply dragged his body in here too, we might still be looking for him.”

“That’s simple,” Hamil said. “They wanted his body found. The killers wanted to send a message, something more pointed than an unsolved disappearance. But why bury these two here, where they might be found? It would’ve been better to carry these bodies away and bury them somewhere else.”

“It would have been awkward if they’d met somebody else out on the Highfells while carrying the bodies with them?” Geran guessed. “They were lazy? Or perhaps they thought that the harmach’s law would keep anyone from looking too closely at the barrow?” He shook his head. “It could be anything. All right, let’s have some fresh air while we figure this out.”

They withdrew from the barrow chamber and made their way back out from the entrance, climbing into the bright afternoon sunlight. The wind was cool and deliciously fresh after the stale dead murk of the barrow. Geran took several quick strides out into the hollow around the mound, straightening and stretching, before he realized that someone was standing by their horses, watching him. “Hamil!” he hissed.

The halfling stopped close behind him, and Kara halted too. They stared at the man who was watching them. He wasn’t human, that much was apparent. His skin had a ruddy brick hue, and two sharp, black horns jutted from his forehead. He dressed in a long coat of bright scarlet embroidered with gold thread over a ruffled white shirt, and his black silk breeches were bloused into low boots of fine leather.

“You should be more careful,” the horned man said in a rasping voice. “There are dangerous men abroad these days. They might have been lying in wait for you.”

Geran set one hand on the hilt of his sword and slowly moved away from his friends. “Well, it seems that we were fortunate to encounter you instead of them.”

“I didn’t say I’m not a dangerous man too,” the stranger replied. He carried a short, rune-carved staff in the crook of his left arm, but kept it at his side. He nodded at the barrow behind them. “Did you find anything in there? Anything like a book?”

“A book? No, only corpses,” said Hamil with a scowl. He shifted behind Kara to hide his knife hand from view.

The horned man snorted impatiently. “Well, of course. Barrows are full of them.”

Geran narrowed his eyes. He could make out some of the sigils on the horned man’s staff, and he didn’t like what he saw. Unless he misjudged the horned man badly, they were dealing with a formidable sorcerer of some sort. Symbols of fire and lightning glinted among the runes.

“Who are you?” Geran challenged. “What are you doing here?”

The sorcerer’s nostrils flared. “Who I am is no business but my own. As for what I’m doing here, well, I’m looking for something. But if this barrow’s empty, then it would seem I am in the wrong place. I will trouble you no more.” With an eye over his shoulder, he turned away and started back down the thready trail.

“Not so fast!” Kara called after him. She hurried after him. “In the name of the harmach, stand where you are! I will have some answers from you!”

The sorcerer glanced back in irritation. “I think not,” he said, and he struck his staff to the ground. “Arkhu zanastar!” he cried, and then he leaped up into the air. His scarlet coat rippled behind him as he soared off into the sky.

Kara swore and dashed over to where Dancer neighed and pranced nervously, reaching for the bow cased by the saddle. But by the time she retrieved the weapon, the horned sorcerer was only a distant speck in the sky, speeding away over the moorland until he topped a low rise and vanished from view. “Damn,” she snarled. “If that… person… was not involved in this somehow, then I’m an orc. What was he, anyway? Some manner of devil?”

Hamil shook his head. “No, a tiefling. They come from the distant east. They’ve got some infernal blood in their veins, but they’re not really devils.”

“On the other hand, that fellow was clearly a sorcerer of no small skill,” Geran added. “I think you ought to be glad that you didn’t have your bow closer to hand. If you’d shot at him, he might have taken offense.”

“I don’t care who or what he is, I won’t stand by and let him spite the harmach’s laws,” Kara retorted. She returned her bow to its case, still looking after the vanished sorcerer. Her brilliant eyes glowed with anger, and she turned away to collect herself. After a moment she shook herself and looked at Geran. “We should at least take the bodies back to Hulburg for a decent burial. I don’t like the idea of leaving the woman out here for Aesperus, and I intend to ask Darsi Veruna how one of her men ended up dead at the scene of Jarad’s murder. She still hasn’t given me a good answer about the business at Erstenwold’s, anyway.”

“We might as well get started then, since the afternoon is getting on,” Geran answered. They’d have to wrap the bodies well to keep the horses calm, double up on one of the mounts, and they wouldn’t make very good speed returning to town. “I’d just as soon not be out on the moors after dark.”

“What’s our next move, then?” Hamil asked Geran.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But I think I’ll follow Mirya’s advice and try to figure out why Veruna’s mercenaries are suddenly interested in barrows.”