It was impossible to know exactly when they had slipped past the bulk of the northern armies. So carefully had they kept to the cover of dense woodlands, that it was something of a surprise to break into an open field and find that there were no coils of smoke from burning cottage, tower-house or farm. No serious force seemed to have come up from the south yet. A few straggling bands of armed men in service to some petty lord or another sometimes rode this way, or that way, hooves thumping on mud and sod. But they had a disorganised look to them.
Where the line of the woods broke, a soft clutter of hills led down to a wide, bowl of a valley, divided neatly by several rivers that ran southward. In the farthest southern distance blue upmeads and highlands could be seen, and according to Caewen, those hills marked the northern boundary of the nearest kingdom of any note, Brae. If the armies of night and winter were to be stopped before the savagery of war grew too savage, it would have to be on the line of those hills.
There were other smaller armies moving east and west along the mountains, but it was here, upon these wide and open lands where the axe was most like to fall first and heaviest she thought. This was the most open and easiest pass south.
Ode squinted. “I think I can make out people.”
The others looked.
Caewen frowned. “Yes. Look, there and there. And all along the road too.” There were tiny ant-like scratches of people, wagons, horses and carts: all wending southward. “Already folk are fleeing their houses and running for hope and safety. I wonder if the lands beyond are yet aware of the threat?” A sniff. The air was cold and it was flushing her cheeks a hard red. “We’ll soon known. Let’s pick up the pace a little, Dapple. I think the risk of being too late is now the greater of our dangers.”
Dapplegrim took off at a canter. He didn’t speed like the wind–as he had when chasing Athairdrost–or when fleeing afterwards–but it was still a fast clip, and faster than any mortal horse might have managed for more than an hour without rest. Ode felt Caewen shift behind him, and lean forward so that she could speak into his ear. “Best avoid refugees as long as we can. An armed figure, atop a great black and skull-faced horse: such a thing might cause unease.”
He snorted. “True. Hurm.” And he changed course, taking wide circles around groups of folk. Ode could still see them enough to make out broad details as they passed. Some walked bent under the burden of what they carried. Some walked without anything at all. Some rode grimly in wagons. Some pulled wagons in teams of men and women, presumably for lack of an oxen or horse. Many had children. And most were hunched and slack-shouldered. Exhaustion and fear walked with them as silent companions.
“Wait! Wait,” yelled Ode. “I know him. Stop. There, in the wagon.”
Dapplegrim dug in his hooves and they half-skittered to a stop on the soft earth.
“Where?” he said, voice low.
“There, in that wagon. It’ Old Keezer.”
They turned about in a circle, and trotted towards the wagon. Within a minute the distance was closed. A few men and women jumped forward with pitchforks and bilhooks, but Caewen waved at them and did her best to sound reassuring. “We are but travellers too. We look foul, I warrant, but we mean no harm. We’ve been on the road for some days and..”
“Boy? Boy, is that you?” It seemed that the old man had already spotted Ode. He was riding in the wagon with others who were elderly, children or mothers. Once he got to his feet he did a bad job of not to tripping over people, then climbed down the back of the wagon.
Ode slipped from the saddle. “Keezer, yes. It is me. I never thought to see you alive again.”
“And I not you, neither, me boy.”
Ode looked around. He didn’t recognise anyone else. “Who are–“
“Oh, these folks picked me up on the road. They mostly from Scurrow, and a few from Rusk-Under-Morning. There’s no one from home, I’m afraid. I was out cutting wood when the soldiers came. I saw it all from afar–but–you must think me a coward. Me with me old axe, just standing there watching. But I turned my back and I limped away. Don’t think no one much else got away.”
“What about my Da, did he–“
Keezer shook his head. He made a noticeable effort to change the topic. “Here, now. Looks like you’ve fallen in with some oddfellows. Did that little charm I give you lead to anything good?”
“Oh,” said Ode with a smile. “It did lead to some things.” He half-turned and looked at Caewen and Dapple. He could see the two little glistening black eyes of the shadow watching too, from its hiding place under the flap of Caewen’s leathern purse.
“Here,” cut in one of the men, “If you lot are friendly–and I only half believe it to look at you–but if you are, we could use someone riding alongside us with a sword. We’ve been held up by robbers twice now, and had to bury three good souls by the roadside cause of it.”
Caewen said, “No,” and there was a real note of regret in her voice. “I’m afraid we ride south on errand, as fast as we can. Brae must be warned, and soldiery and knights must be called, if they are not already. And I have other matters aside, that draw me away.”
“I’m sorry for it,” said Keezer. “I’d have liked to hear the whole tale.”
Ode could only shrug and smile. “It’s a long one and winding, and I only half-believe it myself.”
Keezer put a hand on his shoulder. “Well, sometimes going on a long winding sort of journey is the only way to find the long straight road home. You are changed, boy. I can see it in you. More confident. More true to the good lad you always were, but never believed in. I’m glad of it.”
“I am too,” said Ode. “I am too.”