Upthog fairly ran up the ever-increasing incline. She held Rosie’s makeshift reins of plaited rope in her right hand and kept the pace brisk. Scamp cursed her as he ran to the sound of the donkey’s hooves. Even though young, he was finding it hard to keep up, maybe as much to do with his uncertainty as any lack of fitness.

  “Where… we… going?” he asked, puffing and staring at the sheer drop to the right of the path, visible as a well of dark blue against the path’s lighter shade.

  “We’ll skirt the mountains and head south,” she replied. “Keeping to the foothills, we’ll eventually arrive at the iron mine, where we can ford The Big River.”

  “The Big River sounds like a bit of a stretch.”

  “River ain’t big near the mine. Little more than a stream; it gets big and fast-flowing near Tayvir. There’s a bridge at the capital. King’s White Cloaks at both ends, so we’d never get across. No, it’s the fords for us. Once over, we’ll head for Indber Colptha, on the headland of Ceann Bró, and take ship for Middle Kingdom.”

  So, there it was, the first stage of a long journey, at least in her mind. Scamp had other plans.

  When she’s asleep, I’ll run.

  “Sounds easy,” he said as a splash hit his face. Not the little splash of a summer shower but the full-weighted, mini-waterfall splash of a torrential downpour. The splash that is a forerunner, a taste of things to come.

  “Cac.”

  A short time later, the sound of the donkey’s hooves on the rocks was only just audible through the hiss of rain. If he’d not known differently, Scamp would be convinced the Creator was washing the mountainside, hoping to prevent their escape. He chuckled to himself, not believing in the Creator any more than he believed in the Four or their lord, Dhuosnos.

  Cac on this rain, though. If He existed, anyone would think He was on the side of evil.

  Scamp tried to keep his eyes clear of the stinging water, but it was hopeless. Hardly able to see more than a few strides in the sheeting grey, he was afraid he was going to die, and not because the Creator was against them or the best trackers in the Kingdoms were hunting them. They were still in the foothills of the Impassable Mountains, and they had already passed several sheer drops to the side of the deer track. With such poor visibility, it would be easy for either or both of them to walk off a cliff and be unaware until their feet were scrabbling for a path that wasn’t there.

  “Cac on this.”

  “What did ye say, boy?” Upthog asked, cupping her ear.

  “I said much more of this, and we’ll drown before getting anywhere near Indber Colptha,” he said.

  “Sounded shorter.”

  Did it now, losán?

  “Can we not get in the dry?”

  “Not two hours since we were already caught,” Upthog said with a snort. “But ye’re right; if we need a reason to delay, this is it. Tuatha-forsaken rain’s threatening to wash us off the mountain.”

  “Won’t they catch us?” Scamp voiced a sudden worry. He understood he contradicted his wish to escape the rain but couldn’t help himself. It seemed his life was becoming one of contradictions, not the least of which was being a suspected murderer while running in the company of a definite murderer. “Can’t they track us?”

  Upthog shook her head but gazed back the way they had come as if unsure. “They can’t follow in this; any spoor will be washed away before it’s set. There’s a cave not far. We’ll just have to hope the bear’s out of hibernation.”

  “What bear?”

  When Upthog laughed, Scamp felt his anger rising at her toying with him. He was already sick of the woman; if her threats were real, they’d be together for months if they lived that long. He opened his mouth to tell her but lost his footing and slipped onto one knee. The pain shooting from the point of impact up through his thigh caused him to hiss in a breath.

  “Watch yer footing. Dead treacherous when wet.”

  Cursing, Scamp used the donkey’s tail to haul himself to his feet. Rosie showed her indignation with a bellowing heehaw and lashed out with a hoof, only just missing him.

  “Takes a lot to get her up, but angry, she ain’t nice, Boy. Bit like me, to be honest.”

  “Cac on you, Upthog. Where’s this cave?”

  Shaking her head, she waved at something as if he might see the cave despite not being able to see much beyond where she was leading the donkey.

  “Wait, don’t donkeys have sure footing in the mountains?” he asked, wondering if Rosie should be leading the way.

  “That’s goats, bodalán,” Upthog said, grinning.

  “How much further?” he asked, hopping on one leg and rubbing his knee, conscious that he might slip again by doing so.

  “There,” she said, waving at a squat blackness in the sheeting grey. As Scamp drew near, he saw a sorry-looking shrub of some type. He had no idea what it might be, but neither did he care. He moved around the bedraggled leaves to see a darkened cave entrance behind. If she hadn’t been with him, he would have walked past without the slightest idea it was there.

  And right off a cliff, probably.

  Once in the cave, Upthog lit a torch and led the donkey towards the rear. The cave was low-ceilinged but deep and dry. It was known because, as well as the torch by the entrance, someone had left a pile of wood chopped and neatly stacked halfway to the rear. A smaller pile of kindling lay beside it.

  “Someone’s been here before.”

  “Ye don’t say. Ye think ye could light a fire?” Upthog asked as she settled the donkey in the back. Saying nothing, Scamp set about laying a fire close to the entrance. By the time she’d got the donkey comfortable, tendrils of smoke were curling towards the ceiling before being drawn out by the storming winds.

  “Get yer wet clothes off. Hang them in front of the fire,” Upthog said, rummaging in the saddlebags.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “What?”

  “Ye heard me, boy. Get them off,” she said, throwing a blanket at him. “Last thing we need’s a fever.”

  Last thing we need is a fever.

  Scamp was surprised to find the blanket mostly dry and realised her saddlebags were nearly proof against the flooding rain. He showed her his back, wrapped himself in the wool and shrugged out of his clothes. When he was done, Upthog was naked, facing the cave’s rear, hanging her clothes on a wooden frame it seemed someone had built for that purpose.

  Only a girl would bother.

  That little he knew because his Ma had constantly slapped his head when he dumped his clothes in a pile wherever he undressed. She always told him that only boys would be so careless.

  Grinning at the memory, he watched Upthog as she worked, wringing and hanging each garment. He couldn’t take his eyes off her buttocks or the glimpse of a breast each time she leant forward.

  “Ye got nowhere better to put yer eyes, Boy?” she asked without turning her head.

  How does she do that?

  He looked away, feeling his face flushing. Finally, Upthog said, “Hang yer clothes next to mine. And wring them out first.”

  Picking up and screwing his clothes so tight the moisture ran out, Scamp moved past her, where she was now wearing a blanket and sitting near the fire with her knees drawn up and her chin resting on them. She was staring at the shadows dancing on the cave wall, playing with a dagger he hadn’t known she had, the neat lines of her face contorted by deep thought.

  Where was that hidden?

  “Ye given any thought to the Four?” she asked.

  “What, them monsters who don’t exist, you mean?”

  “How can ye be so sure?”

  “It’s like the Lord of Darkness. Just something used to scare leanaí into their cots.”

  “Ye think the demon horde make-believe?”

  “You don’t?”

  “I know Darkness to be real. I know the Four are real and chasing ye. I know The Coven were real and that Kathvar murdered them in the name of justice. If ye don’t believe, why are ye with me?”

  Scamp had expected the answer or something similar. However, the vehemence of her conviction surprised him. His question had angered her for some reason. Scamp shrugged, not because he didn’t know why he came—she gave him no choice—but because he was wary of offending her. The recluse in the forest was changing into something he couldn’t have imagined. Never mind the callous way she killed two guards, nor the competence she’d shown in her immediate actions, which was competence requiring experience. No, it was because she shone with an aura of knowledge: Upthog wasn’t just good at what she did but knew what she was doing. He felt sure this was not her first time hiding from enemies.

  Who put the firewood here? And why bother—it’s in the middle of nowhere?

  “You stacked the wood?” he asked.

  “Aye. This is me little hideaway. Never know when ye might need a secret place.”

  He supposed the answer should have been obvious, even to someone whose mind was on other things, like rainwater soaking through to the bones of him.

  “Why d’you build a clothes rack?” He kicked himself for asking but needed to know why anyone would bother.

  “It rains here all the time. I don’t hunt with a spare set of pants, so I built a rack. Light a fire. Hang them up. Dry in no time.”

  Her explanation brought another question to mind. “How long have you lived in the forest?”

  “Ever since I heard that Kathvar…” she trailed off and stared into the cave’s rear as if suddenly interested in the donkey’s welfare.

  “What did Kathvar do?”

  “I told ye already. He killed me brother.”

  “Aye, you did. What you didn’t tell me was how or why.”

  “And I’m not going to. I don’t want to talk about it, Scamp.”

  He noticed her sudden use of his name. It was a pleasant change from boy. He thought it might mean she would talk if pressed. Twiddling her vicious dagger, he was not sure pushing her would be a good idea. But then, his Ma always said that to receive, you need first to ask, which he always countered by asking for pie instead of oats and mutton, which always earnt him yet another slap against the head.

  “If you want me to come with you, you need to talk to me.”

  “What’s that mean, Boy?”

  “You murdered two guards. I’m running because of you.”

  “Ye were already running.”

  Scamp shook his head and stared between his feet. He was aware that on the face, it seemed her argument was sound, but it wasn’t. He’d been running from a petty act of arson. If anything, it was a game he had played with the losán, Kathvar. Being suspected of murder was something he felt could have been—and would have been—resolved when they caught him. Running with her, two dead guards to the rear, was an entirely different cauldron of ingredients. There was no denying his involvement in their deaths. His part had been as a bystander, but who would believe him or even care? As far as any law was concerned, Scamp was as guilty as she was.

  “I ran from a little fire. Volt will believe if I tell him no one was in the shed.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. That little act of arson is the least of yer worries, Boy.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Kathvar wants ye. Ye’re his Summoner. Ye’re his path to riches and power. The Four want ye because ye’re their way out of Tech Duinn. Dhuosnos wants ye because ye’re his way out with his demon horde. Ye’re a Summoner. Get used to it.”

  Cac on that shite, Upthog.

  “Everyone keeps telling me I’m a Summoner, but how do you know?”

  Rather than answer, Upthog contemplated him over the flames for several moments. She seemed to be gauging his ability to accept what she was about to tell him. It was as if she didn’t trust him to do the right thing or maybe to understand what the right thing was.

  Finally, staring into the back of the cave, she said, “I followed Kathvar here because he killed me brother…” She hesitated, twiddling the dagger ever faster. “As soon as I was old enough, anyway. Me first thought was revenge. I watched the witch while awaiting a chance and saw his interest in ye, which stoked me curiosity. Stoked it so high I started to watch ye meself.”

  Stopping without explanation, she stabbed the dagger into the soil of the cave. Scamp knew when best to keep his own counsel. It was something he’d learnt from dealing with a drunken father. Whenever the drunk said something Scamp disagreed with, and he said so, his father would beat him mercilessly. He suspected this woman might have the same reaction.

  “Anyway, I watched ye lighting fires and talking to yerself when ye thought ye were alone. Did ye know Kathvar did the same? He had someone watching ye constantly—”

  “If that’s true, why didn’t he stop me running?”

  “I’ve no idea. That’s why I went to the village, to find out. Imagine my surprise when I saw Volt’s troop there. Not just the Chief’s Champion, but also the two trackers who murdered me brother.”

  “I thought Kathvar murdered your brother?”

  “He ordered it. Those who carried it out are lying with an arrow in the head back on the road.”

  And suddenly, things began to fall into place.

  “That was revenge, too. Why didn’t you kill them in the glade?”

  “They were armed and expecting trouble. No one knows these woods better than me. I knew the route they would take and that I could be there before them. I’m a skilled archer—”

  “I saw.”

  “Will ye stop interrupting me, Boy.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It wasn’t just revenge. When they took ye, I knew I needed to stop him. I knew the witch couldn’t be allowed to succeed. I never believed fate was countering the Creator until that moment. Suddenly, I saw something fighting His overarching supremacy.”

  “You sound like you agree with the Three Sisters.”

  Upthog didn’t answer him, but judging by her face, answers weren’t necessary.

  Not rats, weasels, burnt and prodded.

  Despite his conviction of her insanity, Scamp sat and thought about what she’d told him. It might be true, or it might be something born of her madness. He suspected it lay somewhere between the two, but he was also sure she was hiding something from him. Watching her, he decided that if he stayed, he would keep asking until she admitted what it was.

  Changing tack, he asked, “What happened the day your brother died?”

  “He didn’t just die. He was murdered,” Upthog snapped.

  “Sorry, when he was murdered.”

  “Those two by the road ambushed him on his way to market. I was at our roundhouse high on a tor. I saw them coming and so ran.”

  “How do you know they murdered him?”

  “He knew it would happen and warned me. He told me that whoever came to our steading would be the ones who did it.”

  Again, Scamp got the sense she was holding something back. Something about what happened between Kathvar and her brother was difficult for her to relate, or else it was something that would make Scamp think less of her or her claims.

  Either way, he was not sure what he would do.

  “When ye said everyone keeps telling ye ye’re a summoner, who does everyone mean? Exactly, mean?” she asked out of nowhere.

  “Did I say everyone? I meant you.” Scamp didn’t look at her as he answered, hoping she would drop it. He didn’t want to have to tell her that Marbh told him how to summon a demon.