At length, a pack of songbirds that had been questing among the upper branches some distance to our north ceased their hue and cry, and the amiable calm of midwinter began to return.
I crouched behind an upthrust patch of snow that offered some meagre cover from above, flanked by the spare branches of a young grove. In spring it might have been a tussock, or might have been a lonely dolmen stone, but for now it was a place to hide. I craned as high as I could to see up and down our line.
The druid Berel was speaking in a low and rapid-fire tone to Sadepa, who was answering in monosyllables. Further on, I caught a glimpse of Blake Bauldry making an attempt at concealment behind a squat and ruined stump.
My heart was racing.
Grannine, give me strength, I thought. I wondered if I had meant to implore God.
Eris had tumbled into cover in the opposite direction from Dermot, putting herself just out of arm’s reach behind a tangle of juniper. She was out of reach, but close enough that she could pull a face at me as she shifted position and snow dumped into her boot. Despite the grimness of our circumstance, the little misfortune was so incongruous that I nearly laughed.
“My heart,” I whispered, as low as I could. “Where is Fedxir?”
“Mariead Lady-dae,” Fedxir said, from not more than twelve paces beyond Eris, evoking a flash of ice-cold fear up my spine. He broke from the stand of juniper that was sheltering her. I was able to prise my hand from the falchion before I continued.
“Fedxir-dan.” Using the correct suffix was another triumph. I did not linger on it. “How many?”
“Fifteen, maybe.”
Behind Fedxir, Dermot broke from cover and shook snow off like a dog, marching in our direction. He circled around the juniper from the opposite side, and Grannine came into view behind him, head half-turned, Her eyes fixed on the hillside to the east. She glanced in my direction for an instant, and I saw Her reassuring smile. The hem of Her dress skipped over the snow like mist.
“Mariead,” She said fondly, and held out Her hand as they approached. I took it loosely; it was warm in mine.
“Mariead,” Dermot grunted, and he paused only to nod to Fedxir as he approached. “Fedxir. Talvec come back yet? Thought he was with yous.”
“North,” Fedxir said. “We went in three. I found them first. I found Epa after. I do not know where he is.”
“Fifteen. Armed?”
“Yes. They are wise in the Forest.” Fedxir’s face was flushed, from exertion or effort. He dusted snow from his gloves. “But not so wise as we. They did not chase us far. I do not think they knew we were human.”
“What else did you see? Any detail.”
Fedxir hesitated.
“Dae frelex,” Dermot said.
“The lass understands,” Grannine said, at the same instant. In the chorus I heard his accent in Hers, the root of the lilt in Her voice. She took her eyes off the hillside again to offer me a scarlet wink. I let go her hand.
Fedxir looked at me with an expression which might be described as quizzical.
“They were not young men. They were animals with many fangs. Many weapons and strong armor. They had–” Fedxir lifted his arm, drew a finger along his sleeve. “Ivy, here.”
“Chains.” Dermot’s lip curled. “Penitents, then. Patrols for their camp?”
A birdcall rang southward down the line, and the rest of our druids broke cover. The others in turn filtered out into the open, assisted by druids to extricate ourselves from drift and bramble.
“Lady Mariead,” Asher Stewardson came down the line with too much haste for courtesy. “The other druid, Talbec?”
“Talvec,” Dermot said, under his breath.
“He came back earlier, was speaking to his sc—his priest, the woman. She says the Templar moved them. All of them. Their camp’s empty,” Asher swallowed, catching his breath. “Big trail, lots of feet going north, and then a small band coming back again.”
Talvec returned? Why hadn’t she informed us?
Eris rolled over onto her back, squirmed in the snow for a moment with an expression of grief as she tried to seat her foot in a bootful of snow, and shoved her way upright.
“They broke camp in a blizzard?” Dermot snorted. “This man’s as mad as we are. But if he’s north of us we haven’t a care, he’s not likely to find our trail.” He stopped, rubbed his chin thoughtlessly, winced at the cost to his injured hand. “Fucking–why send them south?”
“Might be our trail?” Eris suggested. “They think we’re south of them?”
“You’d think they’d look a bit harder. If that’s the best of his force, this won’t be any harder than the first time.” Asher straightened up, regaining some of his confidence.
Is he pursuing us north? Now that he knows we are closer…
In one instant, the mood of our journey had changed. I felt the unfamiliar and unwelcome weight of command settle on my shoulders like a stone.
“Sergeant Bauldry,” I lifted my voice to reach the man on his approach. “Aidan. All of you, please, come here.”
Our number was now large enough that drawing close meant huddling up in the snow, but conversation began before we had fully assembled, many voices speaking over one another.
“We should move to the west,” Speaker Rina had only half an eye to spare for us. Like the others of her kind, she was watching the Forest around us. “We are too close. Another scout may find us.”
“If that’s what they’re after.”
“What was that?” Tyler Pace spoke up. He was a clever-looking man with kind eyes, which now held more worry than patience. “Have they spotted us?”
“Not yet.” Dermot popped all the knuckles on his left hand. “Maybe next time.”
“–north,” the druid Talvec was saying to Lyn Dorsey. Behind her, the soldier Cassius was listening with a look on his face that I misliked. Miles Fenson was not far from him. “During the storm.”
“Everyone, please,” I raised my voice as much as seemed prudent. “If I could have–”
“They’re going after the others?” This in a nervous tone from a woman I knew to be called Freya Tucker. She had been the last to volunteer for our journey. I knew her less well; her was hair brown, streaked with white, her features young but weary.
“Too late to save ‘em if they are,” Cassius answered. This did not put Freya at ease.
“Silence,” Aidan said. No one complied. I lifted my hands.
“Please,” I repeated. Dermot shifted around the ring to nudge Cassius with his elbow; Cassius was nearly of a height with Dermot, but wider in the shoulders, and he turned with an expression that was almost wrathful until Dermot pointed to me. This exchange did not go unnoticed; the others looked to me in turn. I spoke on. “We have a moment to gather our thoughts before we withdraw. The Templar commanding our pursuers–” I looked to Aidan.
“Sir Duncan of Lansing.”
“–has moved his bivouac north, and he has dispatched fifteen of his soldiers south. Talvec, Fedxir, and Sadepa were watchful enough to discern this for us.” I scarcely paused to take a breath, only long enough to keep from sounding distraught. “Aidan, you knew the man. Have you got any insight to share?”
The question came out phrased as Dermot might have. Or as Grannine might have. Simple human mimicry? Or something more sinister? I dismissed this fear.
“He may have deduced that we were low on supply.” Aidan wrapped both gauntlets over Tensil’s hilt. “I would imagine his intention in moving north would have been an attempt to make a second raid more difficult, or to press us closer to home. But he, too, would be low on rations, and lower still after breaking camp.”
“You think he’s after his next meal.” Cassius said bluntly. Aidan turned a glare on him for the interruption, and each stared at the other for a moment; Cassius a full head taller, Aidan bearing Templar steel.
“I do,” he replied.
“So your man’s sent a guard back to escort the wagon, and to help them find the new camp.” Eris nodded. “Has the ring of reason to it. I’m inclined to agree.”
““Fifteen more guards on the caravan,” Dermot muttered. “Three more armed men for every watch, and veterans at that. Got any flashes of brilliance, minstrel?”
“Not yet. Any other theories?”
“Don’t suppose we might have scared him,” Astrid said hopefully. Sergeant Bauldry laughed.
“Might be that too,” Miles Fenson, of all people, agreed. If he had been any other man I might have said he sounded hopeful. “We did have druids with us, and they did put a few men in the snow.”
“Not enough,” Saric said brightly. Sadepa laughed, a hungry sound that made my throat hurt.
“He’s running from us?” Asher muttered. “Why send men back?”
“This is good news, isn’t it?” Freya asked. “If we follow them, they’ll lead us to the wagons. That’s what we’re after.”
“That’s not a bad plan.” Asher said. Dermot had a grim look on his face, one I was starting to recognize. I felt as though I might be wearing it myself.
“Sorry, lass,” he said, in a gentler tone than I’d heard from him since we had left camp. “We don’t have the time. We have numbers on our side. We’ve got to take them now, before they find the caravan, or we might not get away with a fucking thing.”
I saw the teeth of his plan just before they swung shut, as ice-cold and pitiless as a bear trap. Rina was nodding. So was Saric. Sergeant Bauldry wore a pained look, but he, too, began to nod.
Freya, Lyn, the Pace couple, and mild-mannered Dieter Black looked shocked at the very idea.
Some bleak and bitter part of my soul ached to vouchsafe this plan. To set us upon that course to become something more than only scavengers, only a band of highwaymen seeking our survival.
To attack! To at last come to grips with our enemy on equal footing—or better!
But there was real fear on Lyn Dorsey’s face. Quiet horror in the expression of Dieter Black.
“We are not a hunting party,” I said. I uttered the words quietly, as though I might stifle my disagreement if I did not speak too loudly. “Not all of us are soldiers, Sir Slate.”
Dermot scratched between the bandages on his hand.
“We let those men find the caravan, we’ll be the ones outnumbered, and they’ll be on their guard.”
“I agree,” Aidan said.
“You do?” Dermot said.
“I do.”
“Fuck me.”
“We’ve too many green hands here,” Sergeant Bauldry shifted forward into the circle, pressing his bulk in until space was made for him to advance. “I don’t like our chances.”
“Then the old hands will go,” Dermot retorted. Speaker Rina joined in a moment later, perhaps the slower for listening in her second tongue.
“Dermot-kan is right. We will do this for those who cannot.”
“I will not be the last to volunteer,” Aidan said quietly.
“Sure, and why not. Been a while since I’ve spilt Scarlet,” Cassius rubbed his hands together against the cold, blew out a cloud of shimmering fog.
I saw the fracture forming right down the middle of our band. Those who were set upon their course had wrathful eyes and stern faces. Dermot had been the first to speak, and he would be the most reluctant to step down…unless I asked him, maybe. Maybe. If I pled, we might still avert this.
I had killed before. More than once. I knew I would kill again, if I had to. I had killed to protect myself, to protect Eris, to save others. This felt different. Too far removed from self-preservation.
So this is how I become a murderer.
And yet…could I remain behind and profit from murder, and convince myself that I had no part in what was done? No.
I told myself that was why I volunteered. That, and not the devil’s own curiosity. That, and not my fury too long denied.
“Very well.” I shifted the Teague firearm higher on my shoulder. “I’ll join you. We’ll move on them after dark. Those who wish to remain behind can do so.”
“I will stay with those who do not fight,” the druid Sedec said coolly. “That they might be hidden.”
“Tonight,” Rina nodded. She raised her voice. “We will need to follow to their camp. Berel! Sadepa!”
“Oltag-al,” Berel put a hand up to restrain the tall druid at their side. “Epa has run far.”
“Rakh,” Rina snapped, in the tone of a curse. “Tollel.”
“I’ll go,” Astrid Fuller volunteered, stepping forward. “If Berel is willing to put up with the racket.”
Berel snickered.
“We go,” the druid gestured to Astrid. “I teach you to walk snow softly. Come.”
“Berel-tan.” Rina clicked her tongue sharply. “We will draw back. I will meet you here before night.”
Berel nodded, already shifting to depart. Astrid bowed to Rina and followed her companion out of the ring.
“We’ll need a good camp,” Sergeant Bauldry clapped his hand on Lyn Dorsey’s shoulder as though to cheer her. She did not flinch under the weight. “Might be we’ll come back with rations to cook.”
“Can’t risk a fire.” Dermot had picked loose one end of the bandage on his hand and was starting to unravel it. The flesh beneath was as black as coal. “Might be more of them out.”
“Blast,” Eris muttered. “Fighting’s hungry work.”
Cassius let out a single blunt laugh. He grinned at Eris like a corpse.
“Riverwoman,” he said. “This isn’t fighting, it’s killing.”
*
BLANK SLATE 
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