Sa’har tried to pull away from him, but Pagaloth held on tight. Some of the nearby Agarathi were starting to notice. “I just told you, Pagaloth. Let me go. Just let me go.”
“Yes. Let him go, Sir Pagaloth.” The voice belonged to Sir Hadros. “Just what’s going on here? You two having a lover’s tiff, are you?”
Pagaloth hastened toward the hedge knight. “Hadros, there is a man among us, pretending to be someone he is not. Ten’kin. The man who told us about Fronnfallow. I think he is harbouring some dark intent.”
Sir Hadros looked over at Sa’har, then back at Pagaloth. “Are you sniffing a trap, Sir Dragonknight?”
Pagaloth wasn’t sure. He was suddenly unsure of everything. The men were all looking at him, frowning; some were glaring. “I…I don’t know,” he said, quieter now. “I just…you need to speak to him yourself. You have to take precautions.”
“I always take precautions,” the stout old knight said. “You hear those hooves, Pagaloth? You see those horses heading out? Those’ll be the outriders, my eyes and my ears and my nose as well, and better than this lumpy old thing.” He prodded at his own nose to show him. “And I’ve sent a pair of scouts ahead as well, just to be safe, Miller and Doris. If they come back saying there’s something nasty awaiting us at Fronnfallow, or anywhere close, I’ll turn us right around. We won’t get within a mile of the place until I know it’s safe to proceed.” He put a hand on his shoulder. “Yes?”
What could Pagaloth do but nod? The men were looking at him like he was a madman, and frankly, he felt like one right now. It had come on so quickly. “Yes,” he said, at last. “I am…tired,” he admitted. “Perhaps that’s all it is.”
Hadros gave him a shake. “You’re a wary sort, Sir Dragonknight. No wonder you made a good sworn sword to Captain Lythian.” He drew his hand from his shoulder. “Now come, ride with me at the front. We’ll be the first to hear if there’s trouble ahead.”
Pagaloth nodded doubtfully, but did not deny him. He turned to have a final word with Sa’har but the Skymaster had already moved off, drifting away into the crowds. Perhaps he has gone to speak with Ten’kin, Pagaloth thought. Later, he told himself. I will let things settle and speak with both of them later.
He mounted up and rode to the front of the lines with Hadros. There were calls to get the host moving, ringing out through the woods, and the men moved into motion. Almost at once the rain began to come down, sprinkling softly through the trees, pitter-pattering on the leaves and soaking into their cloaks.
The hedge knight scowled at the skies. “Damn this weather. Was a few hours without rain too much to ask?” He snorted. “Bardol says Vandar’s weeping, for all the bloodshed across his lands. What do you make of that, Sir Dragonknight? You think a dead god can cry?”
“I think men find ways to explain things they don’t understand,” Pagaloth said. “For that they often look to the gods.”
“Aye. We’re of the same mind there. So…you going to explain what that was about?” He glanced behind them. “Not like you and the Skymaster to feud.”
“It was a misunderstanding,” Pagaloth said.
“Aye, about this Ten’kin. Well, we’ll get to the bottom of it later, Pagaloth. Just watch yourself, you hear? I didn’t much like the way those men were looking at you. Like you were some foreigner to them. Never good to alienate your own.”
Pagaloth wasn’t certain what he meant. “Foreigner? I am a dragonknight of Agarath. I have always served my people.”
“I’m not saying you haven’t. Just that there were some dark looks in your direction, and those eyes…I didn’t like them. Some of those men don’t trust you.”
Pagaloth was getting a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Why should they not trust me?”
“Why do you think? You’ve got a northern stink about you now. Well, maybe stink’s not the right word. To me it’s a pleasant smell, but I’m Vandarian, so it would be. To the rest…” He shook his head. “Guessing they know all about your time with the captain, in service to some northern lord. Your hair’s been shorn and your beard’s been cut, and even your skin’s gone a little lighter out of the sun. They don’t see you as one of their own anymore.”
A man of no nation, Sir Pagaloth thought. He had become a pariah the moment he swore his sword to Lythian, abandoning his oaths as a dragonknight. He was a rogue now, an exile and an outcast, but above all he remained a patriot to the true nature of the land he loved. I will see it restored, he told himself. And my honour with it.
They rode on in silence for a time. The rain made a peaceful tinkling as it fell through the trees, and the rustle of the four hundred men at their back had a calming quality to it as well.
“So, you never heard of Fronn before?” Hadros asked, after a while.
Pagaloth looked over at him.
“I saw you in the cabin. Your face. You don’t know the story, do you?”
The dragonknight shook his head.
“Aye, well let me tell you then. We got some time to kill, so why not?”
The hedge knight set into his tale as they continued through the trees, telling of the giant wolf god Fronn and how he’s been slain here long millennia ago by Drulgar in his rage. “Was a time of titans,” Hadros said. “That dragon wanted to prove himself the meanest, so he went out on his hunts. Three times he tried to slay Fronn, and three times he failed. The first time, the wolf howled so loud the dragon tucked its leathery tail and flapped away in fright. On the second, he leapt so high he managed to get onto Drulgar’s back, scratching and biting at him until the dragon gave up and flew home. The third time, Fronn outran him, dashing about across these here lands, avoiding his attacks. The dragon plunged down upon him a thousand times and a thousand times the wolf sprung away, snarling and mocking. That’s how these dales were formed, during that battle, the legend goes. Eventually, the Dread got tired and flew south as he had those first two times. He was so tired, in fact, that he slept for five hundred years, brooding all the while.” He shrugged. “Or so the singers like to say.”
By then they had left the wood behind and were crossing one of those valleys, a misty vale peppered with stands of tall elm trees and lonely old oaks. The grasses had grown high between them, stroking at the flanks of their horses as they went, and here and there massive puddles had formed, large as lakes, pooling in the lowlands.
“This rain,” Hadros grunted. “Wasn’t joking about swimming home, was I?” He gave a bitter laugh that lacked his usual vigour. A shadow passed his eyes as he looked forward, across the sloping rise and beyond. “He died just over those hills,” the hedge knight went on. “Down in a dale on the other side. In places you can still see his bones poking up from the dirt, though most of them are covered over by now. Massive they are. Gives you a good idea of how big Fronn was, though supposing we don’t need to imagine it all anymore…not since we saw the Dread.”
“What happened?” Pagaloth asked. “The fourth time Drulgar came?”
The knight gave a deep sigh. “Nothing good, Sir Dragonknight. Nothing good at all. All that mocking…the running about and leaping on his back…well, the Dread didn’t much care for that. After that long sleep of his he came back bigger and meaner than ever, and well, wasn’t much of a contest then. Tore Fronn up, ripped him limb from limb. The bones….they’re spread over miles. Each year there are still blood blossoms around them, big red flowers that bloom where the blood soaked into the soil. And the trees weep red sap too, as though they remember what happened. Ah. Maybe they do? Some say there’s memory in the soil, that their roots can see the past. Always thought there was something sad about that. All these trees crying over the memory of a god.”
Pagaloth had not taken the knight for a sensitive man. “And the wolves? These spirits Ruggard spoke of?”
“Nonsense. The wolves are drawn to that vale, is all that is. Fronn was their god. They come to remember him, and not just regular wolves. Nowadays, aye, but once before there were fellwolves and direwolves and shadowwolves stalking these lands, and most of those are monstrous big. Guess that’s where the rumours started.”
“We saw a fellwolf only days ago,” Pagaloth reminded him. “Could a pack of them have gathered there?”
The man thought about it, scratching his bulbous nose. “Aye, suppose it’s possible. If so these Agarathi won’t be many. Not much a dragonkin can do against a fellwolf, Pagaloth. A man like you, maybe, but there aren’t so many Agarathi who can beat the Barrel Knight in single combat.” He gave him a grin.
“You heard about that?”
“Sure did. Captain Lythian told me, the evening before we left. He thinks a lot of you, you know. And I can see why.” He smiled a sincere smile then his eyes moved forward again. “Ah…there’s Mads returning now. Come, Dragonknight, let’s ride ahead.” He spurred his destrier into a gallop and raced off across the valley.
Pagaloth rode hard to keep up, the wet grasses slapping at his blood bay courser as he went. The rains were still falling in an incessant drizzle, cold enough to give a man a chill, and a deep fog was settling about the lands, souping down in the valley. Pagaloth could not abide it. He craved some heat in his flesh, some sun on his skin. No wonder they think me half northern. This rain is soaking the south out of me.
Sir Hadros came to an abrupt stop ahead, pulling hard at the reins. His horse reared and gave a loud whinny as Mads Miller and the other scout, a young spearman called Cam Doris, came racing up to join him. Pagaloth slowed as he approached, glancing back. The mists moved heavily, a shroud that veiled the land in a wet grey cloak. He could barely see anyone back there, save a few shadows in the fog.
“What news?” the hedge night called. “Did you find the Agarathi?”
