even—’
Beyard had tied Gallow’s hands in front of him so he could knot them to his saddle. Gallow grabbed two fistfuls of Arithas’s furs and dropped to his knees. He drove his head into the
Lhosir’s groin and pulled, hard. Arithas doubled up and pitched forward onto Gallow’s back. Gallow straightened, pulled him off his feet and let go. By the time Arithas even knew what
was happening, he was over the edge. He shrieked once and then Gallow heard the crack of him hitting a boulder and the rattle of falling stones over the echoing hiss of the Isset below.
Hrothin grabbed him. ‘And over you go too,
nioingr
!’
Gallow’s fingers closed on Hrothin. ‘Third time. Shall we go together then, brother?’ he hissed. They were face to face, nose to nose.
‘Hrothin!’
Beyard was too far away, though, and Hrothin’s blood was up. ‘Filthy
nioingr
!’
‘Fourth time.’ Gallow spat in his face. ‘You have to stand by those words with steel now.’
‘I have to stand by nothing for you, Marroc!’
‘Hrothin!’ This time Beyard’s shout was so loud and deep that it seemed to rumble through the ground itself and at the same time shake the air. Beyard was stamping through the
snow towards them.
‘You must get cold out here under all that iron,’ Gallow said.
‘Where’s Arithas?’
Hrothin snarled. ‘The
nioingr
threw him over the edge.’
The iron mask turned to Gallow. Beyard’s voice shook with cold fury. ‘You’ll hang for what you are, Gallow. A
nioingr
. No one will speak you out. No one will say your
name. You’ll be spat upon and dogs will eat the scraps of you and you’ll be forgotten. You’ll not cheat that fate. I’d thought you a better man, but Ironhand was right to
name you Foxbeard. Leave him, Hrothin. Arithas was an idiot.’ He pushed the two Lhosir apart and then punched Gallow in the face, the iron gauntlet smashing his nose and jarring loose a
tooth. Gallow hardly saw it coming. He staggered back. As he did, Beyard stooped and snatched one foot from under him, tipping him over onto the road. The Fateguard dragged him by his foot through
the snow and dumped him by the other Lhosir riders.
‘Two men came here after the fight. They’ve already taken what we’re looking for. They walked down the road and now we’ve trampled their tracks. One of them was hurt. He
was leaning on the other.’ He drove a boot into Gallow’s ribs. ‘Put this one back on his horse and tie him to it. We’re hunting for Marroc now. If he gives any more trouble,
cut off a foot. Or a hand. Yes, a hand. The king would like that.’
Gallow spat blood into the snow. ‘I gave no oath about not killing your men, my friend. And that one murdered Oribas.’ But quietly he wondered. Two men walked away? One of them was
surely the Marroc. But the other?
8
THE BURNING
O ribas took his time leaving the wood, partly to give his heart a chance to stop beating so fast, and in part because he managed to get lost on the
way out and wander through a lot more trees than he had on the way in. The Marroc were waiting in the middle of the field, sitting on their mules, watching like a pair of scared starlings ready to
take flight the moment anything came out. They looked at Oribas in amazement.
‘I have it trapped,’ he said as he reached them. ‘I’ll need your help to kill it. Fire and cold iron. I’ll need your sword.’ When neither of them moved he
poked Addic in the leg. ‘Well? Shall we put a shadewalker to rest or shall we wait for the next rain or snow to take away my salt and let it go?’
Addic dismounted. Jonnic stayed where he was at first, but when Oribas reached the edge of the trees, he got down and followed. They let Oribas lead the way this time and he heard them
whispering, cautiously but not cautiously enough, in the stillness under the trees.
What if he’s leading us to it? But that’s exactly what he’s doing! But what if it’s a
trap?
Beyard had tied Gallow’s hands in front of him so he could knot them to his saddle. Gallow grabbed two fistfuls of Arithas’s furs and dropped to his knees. He drove his head into the
Lhosir’s groin and pulled, hard. Arithas doubled up and pitched forward onto Gallow’s back. Gallow straightened, pulled him off his feet and let go. By the time Arithas even knew what
was happening, he was over the edge. He shrieked once and then Gallow heard the crack of him hitting a boulder and the rattle of falling stones over the echoing hiss of the Isset below.
Hrothin grabbed him. ‘And over you go too,
nioingr
!’
Gallow’s fingers closed on Hrothin. ‘Third time. Shall we go together then, brother?’ he hissed. They were face to face, nose to nose.
‘Hrothin!’
Beyard was too far away, though, and Hrothin’s blood was up. ‘Filthy
nioingr
!’
‘Fourth time.’ Gallow spat in his face. ‘You have to stand by those words with steel now.’
‘I have to stand by nothing for you, Marroc!’
‘Hrothin!’ This time Beyard’s shout was so loud and deep that it seemed to rumble through the ground itself and at the same time shake the air. Beyard was stamping through the
snow towards them.
‘You must get cold out here under all that iron,’ Gallow said.
‘Where’s Arithas?’
Hrothin snarled. ‘The
nioingr
threw him over the edge.’
The iron mask turned to Gallow. Beyard’s voice shook with cold fury. ‘You’ll hang for what you are, Gallow. A
nioingr
. No one will speak you out. No one will say your
name. You’ll be spat upon and dogs will eat the scraps of you and you’ll be forgotten. You’ll not cheat that fate. I’d thought you a better man, but Ironhand was right to
name you Foxbeard. Leave him, Hrothin. Arithas was an idiot.’ He pushed the two Lhosir apart and then punched Gallow in the face, the iron gauntlet smashing his nose and jarring loose a
tooth. Gallow hardly saw it coming. He staggered back. As he did, Beyard stooped and snatched one foot from under him, tipping him over onto the road. The Fateguard dragged him by his foot through
the snow and dumped him by the other Lhosir riders.
‘Two men came here after the fight. They’ve already taken what we’re looking for. They walked down the road and now we’ve trampled their tracks. One of them was hurt. He
was leaning on the other.’ He drove a boot into Gallow’s ribs. ‘Put this one back on his horse and tie him to it. We’re hunting for Marroc now. If he gives any more trouble,
cut off a foot. Or a hand. Yes, a hand. The king would like that.’
Gallow spat blood into the snow. ‘I gave no oath about not killing your men, my friend. And that one murdered Oribas.’ But quietly he wondered. Two men walked away? One of them was
surely the Marroc. But the other?
8
THE BURNING
O ribas took his time leaving the wood, partly to give his heart a chance to stop beating so fast, and in part because he managed to get lost on the
way out and wander through a lot more trees than he had on the way in. The Marroc were waiting in the middle of the field, sitting on their mules, watching like a pair of scared starlings ready to
take flight the moment anything came out. They looked at Oribas in amazement.
‘I have it trapped,’ he said as he reached them. ‘I’ll need your help to kill it. Fire and cold iron. I’ll need your sword.’ When neither of them moved he
poked Addic in the leg. ‘Well? Shall we put a shadewalker to rest or shall we wait for the next rain or snow to take away my salt and let it go?’
Addic dismounted. Jonnic stayed where he was at first, but when Oribas reached the edge of the trees, he got down and followed. They let Oribas lead the way this time and he heard them
whispering, cautiously but not cautiously enough, in the stillness under the trees.
What if he’s leading us to it? But that’s exactly what he’s doing! But what if it’s a
trap?
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