The last vestiges of smoke wove amongst the branches
creating an indistinct haze through which the riders squinted fruitlessly. The
cloying scent of burning and blackened wood caused the horses to shift nervously,
pawing at the frozen ground and straining their necks from side to side. The
men compensated skilfully with the casual flicker of thigh muscles, their
attention remaining carefully attuned to the shrouded forest. They all recognised
the increased likelihood of an ambush in this remorseless environment. Their
breath misted and combined with the horses’ panting, the only sound in the
otherwise unnatural calm.
Each man was veiled against the cold by an assortment of
furs and woollen layers. Nobody here wore simply the clothes which they had
originally arrived in this land with. Nothing in their previous lives could have
prepared the men for the cold bleakness of the northern landscape. They had salvaged
what they could from those who no longer had need of the warmth – the dead and
buried. A slight, handsome man with a tawny mane of hair pulled his own wool scarf
tighter across his face. Hawk’s nose was already pink and his throat was aching
from the bite of the frigid air.
“I don’t like this.” He complained in an undertone, his
words as much directed to the temperature as to the silence. He glared at his swarthy
companion who was one of the last northmen. His head was bared to the elements and
yet there was not a trace of discomfort on his face. Raven had been born into
the cold of perpetual winter, never knowing anything except the grey and white
lace of the snow and ice. Whilst Hawk’s gilded features oftentimes lead to an
underestimation of his ruthlessness, nobody could misjudge the threat inherent
in Raven’s powerfully muscled frame.
“You Southerners’ are all the same.” Raven rasped with dry
amusement. In truth though, they were all the same, even the northman. They had
been stationed in the northern garrison some years before. It was a service
they all had to complete before they could be rewarded with their freedom. Whilst
the others dreamt of one day returning to loved ones in the prosperous south,
the northman allowed his resentment of the rape of his homeland to fester. Only
the comely southerner managed to deflect the northman’s bitterness. It was a
bond forged by the necessity of survival, but respect had been grudgingly
earned resulting in a kind of friendship. Neither knew the others true name,
for when they came to the garrison they were assigned fresh identities. Great
influence could be wrought from the knowledge of a man’s true name and they
remained careful to address one another by their new monikers.
Raven came to attention suddenly, all humorous lightness deserting
his features. His fingers tingled, and not with cold, as he reflexively gripped
the pommel of his weapon. They were being watched. His eyes scanned their
surroundings and he silently echoed his friend’s complaint. The cold stillness
leant a permanence to the coiling smoke which would otherwise have been swept clean
by the slightest breeze. The densely packed forest cast too many shadows,
creating a hundred new places for an enemy to hide.
As if a blade had caught the sunlight something flashed bright
in the smoke-filled depths. He kicked his horse forward, frowning darkly at the
uneasy feeling that lay upon him like a shroud. It was then that he saw the
figure standing opposite. It stared directly at him with the watchful, amber
eyes of a wild animal. It was impossible that he had not seen its approach. The
woman made no effort to conceal herself or the vibrant fire of her long, unkempt
tresses.
“Raven?” His friend questioned from across the clearing. The
northman realised that in his preoccupation he had been drawn away from the
rest of the group. He drew breath in readiness to reply and bring their
attention to the solitary figure. Except she had disappeared, as if she had
been no more than a wraith or a shape conjured by his imagination from the smoke.
Yet he felt certain that she had been real. As he turned back to the other men
he could not help but rub his talisman, unsettled by the apparition. She had
made no move towards them and could have been carved from stone if it were not
for the movement of her lips. They had been repeatedly forming the same set of
words again and again. Even from that distance he had known instinctively what
she had been chanting.
She had been calling his true name.
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