Saska looked around. “I don’t see Scalpel and Savage.”

“Gone off to root,” Leshie said. “They’re always at it.”

“Go find them, bring them back. We need to get going. Kaa Sokari too.”

“Why me? Kaa will only shout at me for interrupting Squire’s training.”

“I’m sure you can handle it.”

Saska stepped away before Leshie could complain, moving back toward the edge of the grove where it met the Capital Road. The horses and camels were here, and the few sunwolves and starcats of the company too, lounging around in the shade, panting and grooming. She saw Joy among them, off to one side, and went over to scratch under her chin. No blood, she saw. Joy often went off hunting during these breaks, prowling away into the plains in search of food, occasionally returning with a carcass in her jaws and a muzzle all soaked in blood. Not this morning, though. She tended to have better luck at night, when her black coat made stalking easier.

“Ready to go?” she said to the starcat.

Joy’s answer was to stand to her feet, reaching her fore paws forward in a great long stretch, back bending like a bow.

Saska smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The calls were soon ringing out for the men to muster, their waterskins filled, provisions replenished by whatever the innkeep could spare. Savage came skulking through from behind some rocks, a murderous look in her eye, her husband Scalpel fixing his swordbelt as he walked behind her, looking amused. Del and Kaa Sokari returned as well, though from another direction, Leshie shaking her head as she followed.

She walked up to Saska. “He shouted at me, like I said he would. Gave me a proper earful. And that sellsword too, that Savage bitch. She said she’d take my eyes out if she ever caught me watching her and her husband go at it again. Called me a ‘red-headed pervert’ and worse. Can you believe it?”

Yes, Saska thought. Leshie might look innocent as a maid, but her mind was full of filth. “You shouldn’t be watching them, Leshie. I only asked you to fetch them back. Not stand and ogle. Who does that?”

“I…I didn’t watch!” Leshie exclaimed. “Gods, them? If I was going to watch a pair do that, it wouldn’t be them, Saska.” She looked visibly repulsed. “You must be joking.”

Saska was joking, of course. Though it was fun watching the girl squirm, so she decided not to say it.

The procession was soon on the road again, hooves clopping and claws scratching along the dusty cobbles beneath the blaze of the midday sun. They had ridden many miles that day already, rising as they liked to do before dawn, to steal a march on the day in the cooler conditions. Some of the men urged that they remain in the shade through the heat of the day, but that was not time Saska wanted to waste. Instead they would take it slow, taking breaks in the shade where they could, stopping at every available water source to cool their necks and faces and have a drink.

Sir Ralston came to ride beside her on his enormous warhorse, christened Bedrock by Leshie, for bearing the Wall atop it. One of the Red Blade’s more witty nicknames. “So, what have you decided?” the giant asked her.

“I haven’t. Not yet.”

“Shall I make the decision for you?”

If only, Saska thought. But she had wanted to have agency, wanted to be a leader, so no, she had to make these decisions herself. “No,” she said. “How long until we reach the turn-off to the Matian Way?”

“Ten miles.”

“Then I have ten miles to think.”

They kept an eye down the cliffs as they went, Leshie regularly riding off on her rouncey to see if there were any signs of Sir Clive Fanning and his men. Her reports were all the same. Nothing. No bodies, no torn bits of clothing or discarded armour, no steel in the sand or bloodstains on the rocks. When the cliffs shallowed, Saska even let Leshie climb down the trail the innkeep had mentioned, to have a better look. Merinius went with her, and the Butcher as well, but they only came back saying the same thing. No signs of a camp. No old fires. Nothing to suggest anyone had passed that way.

It’s all for the best, Saska reflected. With all this talk about containing her secret, gathering waifs and strays along the way would be best avoided. It was one less thing to worry about.

And maybe that was the point. I need less to think about, and worry about, not more. The shortcut across the Matian Way would save them days, as much as a week, and perhaps the lives of some of her men as well. I cannot save everyone, she told herself. Every day hundreds, even thousands were dying, here in the south and across the north as well, and ridding one town of one crazed, monster-communing madman would not help her in her quest. If she did that, she’d only find herself having to stop at every beleaguered settlement, every town and village and city under siege, serving justice along the way. For every battle she embroiled herself in, she would lose another of her men, and by the time she reached the north, she might have no one left.

No, that would not serve. I must keep my focus, keep things simple, as Rolly says. She hated it, but it was the sensible choice. “Your brother must become single-minded,” Kaa Sokari had said of Del. I would be wise to do the same, she thought.

So when the Whaleheart next rode up to her and asked which way they would go, she gave him a definite answer, the answer the giant sought.

“We’ll take the Matian Way.”

17

“Gruloks,” he said.

The council members stared at him blankly.

Rammas scratched under his chin. “Rock giants?”

Elyon nodded.

“How many?” asked Rikkard Amadar.

The prince laughed and gave a shake of the head, still struggling to believe it himself. “Many,” he said. “There were sixteen of them when I left. More may yet be drawn to him.”

“To your father?” asked Lady Marian, standing straight-backed and stoic in her seamless smoke-grey armour.

“They’re drawn to the power of Vandar,” Elyon said. He drew the Windblade, causing the walls of the pavilion to billow. A few sheets of paper and scrolls went blowing from the command table. Sir Karter and Rikkard stepped forward at once to set them right. “Sorry,” Elyon said. “I was trying to be dramatic.”

“You mean the Blades of Vandar attract them?” Killian asked.

Elyon nodded. “Vandar made the gruloks to fight in his wars. That’s why they’re awakening, and being drawn to the bearers. They’re being summoned to fight for Vandar.”

Prince Raynald had a look of boyish wonder on his face. “Will some come here, then?” Once more he continued to glance at the Windblade in a manner Elyon considered covetous. Perhaps there is more of his grandfather in him than I thought. He had no great fear that Raynald would act upon that desire, but all the same, it stirred a reaction in him.

Eyes off. It’s mine. Mine, and mine alone. The thoughts came unbidden, that rat, gnawing in his mind. He took a moment to repeat his father’s mantra, briefly closing his eyes, right there before the captains and commanders of the east. I will give it up. I will give it up. I will give it up. I will…

“My lord, are you quite well? Do you need to take a short rest, perhaps, before we…”

“I’m fine, Sir Karter, just fine.” Elyon opened his eyes, not caring to explain himself. He sensed the likes of Rikkard and Killian and Marian were already quite aware of his private struggles. He gave answer to Raynald’s question. “I tend to move around a lot, Prince Raynald. That makes me hard to track for these creatures. And they are shy, I am told. They shun people as much as they can.”

Rammas gave a snort. “Didn’t imagine they could be so sensitive.”

Nor did I. Though sensitive was perhaps not the right word. It seemed that the gruloks required a first meeting, somewhere private, with a bearer, before showing themselves to others. Vilmar had told him it must have been their custom, some means of testing whether the bearer was worthy of their service. It was perhaps why so many had gathered near Amron Daecar. They gravitate toward nobility and power, Elyon thought. And Lythian is there also, with his bright new golden blade.

“How does your father intend to deploy them?” Killian asked, as though they were speaking of a troop of common spearmen.

“Defence, for now. Vilmar is working with him to improve communication, so the king can more readily issue commands. A few of them are able to speak a basic form of the common tongue. A few words, here and there.”

There were some murmurs at that. “Truly?” asked Rikkard. “What do their voices sound like?”

It was hard to explain. “Imagine a rockslide, and you’ll be somewhere close.”

Walter had suggested that they had learned to assimilate the language while they were sleeping, especially those who happened to be near people. When Vandar’s power faded, long millennia ago, the gruloks had simply lain down to rest, presenting themselves as large rocks and boulders to the eyes of man. In some cases, settlements had sprung up where they were sleeping. Those were the ones who had learned to speak, according to the scribe, absorbing bits of the language during their slumber.