Fire And Ice (Book 1) (63 page)

             
A suitable site was found for making camp just as dusk descended on the world.  By the fading light they unrolled their many blankets on the ground under the cover of some evergreens.  The trees had kept the ground clear of snow so it was nice and dry for a change.  After a dinner of dried meat and the last of the cheese he had brought, Irne was put in his blankets while Coran sat down on a nearby log.  Devon joined him after he finished rubbing down his horse.  Coran was glad he had done the chore earlier. 

             
They risked a small fire to keep warm, the light flickered off the branches and needles that enclosed their campsite protectively.

             
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Devon commented as he threw a stick into the crackling fire. 

             
“It was your idea.  You said we could handle ten of them.”

             
“If we take them by surprise.  That is not what I mean though.  It just feels wrong.  I don’t trust Irne.”

             
“Neither do I,” Coran concurred.   

             
“Then there is this weather,” Devon said with disgust.

             
“What about it.”  It was cold and snow was on the ground.  Not unusual since it was the season for it.               “We have traveled how far north? And since reaching the south side of Lake Midia it has not gotten any colder.  It has snowed, but the temperature has stayed about the same.  I thought the north was supposed to be a frozen wasteland in the winter.”

             
Coran frowned.  That was true, it should be colder than it was.  He had never been this far north himself but he had heard enough from others not to doubt what they knew of the weather.   Right now it was still about as cold as a late Tyelin winter.  “Maybe it is just a mild year, or maybe it will get colder further north.  What does it matter anyway?  You should be happy it is not any colder than it is.”

             
“I know.  It could be a mild year, like that one year when we never even saw snow.  I think I was eleven.”

             
“I remember,” Coran said.  That was when he had been at Summerhall.  Actually, they both were there at that time. 

             
“Something still does not feel right,” Devon grumbled.

             
Coran was inclined to agree, about the weather anyway.  “Well, you can think about it while you take first watch,” he stated, then stepped around the fire.  He removed his sword belt and placed it next to his blankets before crawling into the many layers.  A mild winter could be a blessing or a curse.  For the Karands Elthzidor led it would be a good thing, since they were not used to the cold.  That was not good for the West though.  On the other hand it could prove a salvation.  Even Northmen would find it easier and faster to travel using unfrozen rivers.  If he could convince them to help.  That worried him a great deal as he tried to sleep.  Katelyn was counting on him to bring the North into it.  Well, maybe not.  She was not fool enough to put her hopes on something that probably would not happen.  How could anyone expect him to convince the people of the North to do anything?   

             
Leaving their sheltered spot behind they mounted up and rode on.  The rolling hills became steeper, and the valleys between more pronounced as the land changed the closer they got to the durges.  They passed another village tightly packed in a steep sided valley.  It would be the last they would see until leaving the durges again. 

             
Lakes appeared, large and small, and the winter brown grass rose out of cold water and in some places ice.  Irne led them, instinctively following some mysterious path that always went over dry land, avoiding the lakes and frozen marshes.  They reached a point in the center of the wetlands where the land rose above the surrounding area so it was somewhat dryer.  The higher terrain was a forest of pine and a few hardwoods mixed in.

             
It was still no colder than when they had crossed the border.

             
Irne suggested they stop and camp for the night.  He said it would be another half day across the plateau to where Gorod was most likely camped.  They could stop again tomorrow and sneak up on the murderer after dark.

             
Camp was readied, and the horses unsaddled and hobbled for the night.  A fire was out of the question even though Irne said they would be perfectly safe.  Devon agreed that a fire was too great a risk.  For some reason none of them could sleep so they all sat up as night swallowed the trees around them.  The moon wasn’t able to penetrate the thick forest, so the darkness was ominous.  Even more so with no wind to rustle the leaves.  There was no sound at all.               “Why don’t you tell us how you know so much about Gorod,” Devon asked to break the eerie silence.  He was a barely distinguishable shadow sitting a few feet away.

             
“I know a lot of people, so I get a lot of information.  Other people want that information.  So they pay me for it.”               “Disreputable people,” Devon snorted.

             
“You could look at it that way,” Irne continued.  “I tell them when a merchant is moving valuable goods or when gold might be shipped.”

             
“Or where someone can find some people to do a dirty job for him,” Coran broke in to see if he was correct.

             
“If it is what someone wants.”  Irne’s voice was less sure.

             
“Say a certain someone with white hair?  Like Naras?” 

             
“So that is how you found out about me.  I told Gorod that he was not to be trusted.  He had too many secrets of his own that he would not share.”

             
“He came to you didn’t he?  And you took him to Gorod?”  Coran continued to press the man.

             
“Yes.” 

             
“I still don’t understand why Gorod would trust anyone with the location of his secret camp, especially a weasel like you,” Devon insulted the bald man.

             
Irne was not amused.  “They trust me because I have never betrayed them.  Never.”

             
Coran heard the contempt in the voice and realized what Irne was saying.  He took a cloth and stuffed it into the weasel’s mouth as he tried to scream.  He was still loud enough to here at a distance.  Devon used the hilt of his knife to hit Irne on the head.  The tavern keeper/criminal kicked his heels and his eyes threatened to roll up in his head, but he was not yet unconscious.  Devon struck again and Irne went still. 

             
After checking the motionless form Devon looked up and whispered.  “Oops.  Hit him a little too hard that second time.”              

             
Coran was already scanning the forest for anything moving.  “Do you think he led us into them already or are they expecting us further on?”  It was a trap either way, but with the second way they still might have the element of surprise. 

             
“How could he have told anyone?  We were with him the whole time.”

             
That was true.  He was never out of their sight, except...  “The gate guard.  Bloody shife,” he swore at his blindness.  “Irne said he knew a lot of people.  How better to get the kind of information he needed that was useful then from a member of the guards.”

             
“Particularly from one who is stationed at the gates,” Devon added.  “Shife?  What does that mean.”

             
“That is what sailors call the excretions from birds,” Coran replied.  It was a good thing it was dark so his smile was hidden.

             
“Oh.  I did not know that.”

             
“Later.  Right now we have to assume they are coming for us.”

             
“And that there will be more than ten,” Devon added.

             
“Come on.  We have to get away from this spot in case he told them where we would camp.”  Coran led the way into the trees as quietly as he could.  It was difficult when they could hardly see where they were putting their feet.               

             
“So what is the plan,” he heard Devon say from behind him.  “Tell me you have one.”

             
“Well, Irne must have been expecting them at any time or he wouldn’t have said so much.  They are probably closing in on our camp from more than one side.”  He pushed a pine covered branch out of the way slowly to reduce the rustling as he passed.  He held it bent, out of the way for Devon until he passed too, then slowly let it straighten.

             
“You’re making sense so far,” whispered Devon.               “If we can get outside of them and circle around we might be able to come up behind them and get the surprise back on our side.”

             
“Sounds good to me.” 

             
They worked their way until he thought they were far enough out then stopped.  Peering hard through the trees he spotted movement about twenty yards to the right.  He tapped Devon and pointed.  Keeping low they stalked their prey.  It would have helped to know how many they faced.  The shadow they followed went in and out of vision as it passed between the pines.  They moved forward to a spot that would intercept the shape and waited. 

             
They didn’t have to wait long.  Two shadowy figures moved with stealth only a few feet away.  When they were in reach Coran jumped up with his knife in hand, put a hand over where the mouth should be and struck.  Devon did the same with the other one.  Coran could feel the course, heavy clothing under his hand as he removed his knife blade and wiped it on the body.

             
Coran silently thanked Hormil for his instruction in some of the more personal techniques in killing men without being discovered.  He also thanked a man called Hunter who he knew from Tyelin.  Hunter had taught him how to stalk his prey and it worked better on men than it did animals.

             
As the night grew older they found and eliminated another pair of faceless forms.  Eventually, they found themselves overlooking the place where their horses and blankets had been left.  Three men were standing in the middle of their camp, no four.  One stood up from where he had been leaning over something on the ground.

             
“Dead all right.  Skull is bashed in,” the rough voice informed the others.

             
“I didn’t mean too,” Devon whispered his complaint.

             
“Shh,” Coran admonished.  He was trying to hear what they were saying.

             
“Where are they?” another one asked.              

             
“Where are the others?” a deep voice commented.  It seemed to come from the tallest of the four who was turning about him.

             
“They were coming from the north and east sides.”

             
“He said they were Southern Lords.  Might be dangerous.”  Something struck the speaker who shouted an oath. 

             
“Not as dangerous as me,” the deep voiced threatened.

             
“Of course not.  I didn’t mean to say that Gorod.”

             
“Spread out and find them,” the deep voiced Gorod ordered.  They walked away from the fallen Irne in different directions.  One was headed right for them and another would pass not far to their left.

             
Devon pointed to the one on the left and slipped away on silent feet.  Coran crouched down and waited.  The moments dragged by, his breathing loud to his ears.  The rustle of someone passing through vegetation sounded in front of him and then the figure was there.  Coran looked up into the man’s eyes which went white at the sight of him.  Coran’s dagger struck upward into the man’s middle.  The figure gasped, trying to call out, but little escaped his mouth as he fell to the forest floor.  Only two left.

             
He walked forward keeping an eye on the two heading away from him.  A slight noise came from his left, a glance revealed Devon approaching.  They met each other in the camp.

             
“What now?” the blonde man from Anders asked with a grin. 

             
Coran almost rolled his eyes.  How could his friend be having fun?  “I suppose we either sneak up on them or call them out.”              

             
“I am tired of sneaking,” Devon decided.  “I have all these scratches on my hands from the branches, and there is a tear in my cloak.”  With a sigh for his ruined cloak he stood up and Coran copied him.  “Hey Gorod!  Get your ugly goat face over here!”  His smile went even wider.

             
“Do you think it is a good idea to enrage a Northman?  Have you ever heard of a berserker?”