and her sister, that’s what she’d fix on. They were the stars she’d set her
course by, two points of light in the black. They were all that mattered.
So she heeled her new horse and led the three of them out into the gathering night. They hadn’t gone far when Shy heard noises beyond the wind and slowed to a walk. Lamb brought his horse
about and drew the sword. An old cavalry sword, long and heavy, sharpened on one side.
‘Someone’s following!’ said Leef, fumbling with his bow.
‘Put that away! You’ll more likely shoot yourself in this light. Or worse yet, me.’ Shy heard hooves on the track behind them, and a wagon, too, a glimmer of torchlight through
tree-trunks. Folk come out from Averstock to chase them? The Keep firmer set on justice than he’d seemed? She slid the short-sword out by its horn handle, metal glinting with the last red
touch of twilight. Shy had no notion what to expect any more. If Juvens himself had trotted from the dark and bid them a good evening she’d have shrugged and asked which way he was
headed.
‘Hold up!’ came a voice as deep and rough as Shy ever heard. Not Juvens himself. The man in the fur coat. He came into sight now, riding with a torch in his hand. ‘I’m a
friend!’ he said, slowing to a walk.
‘You’re no friend o’ mine,’ she said back.
‘Let’s put that right as a first step, then.’ He delved into a saddlebag and tossed a half-full bottle across to Shy. A wagon trundled up with a pair of horses pulling. The old
Ghost woman had the reins, creased face as empty as it had been at the inn, a singed old chagga pipe gripped between her teeth, not smoking it, just chewing it.
They all sat a moment, in the dark, then Lamb said, ‘What do you want?’
The stranger reached up slow and tipped his hat back. ‘No need to spill more blood tonight, big man, we’re no enemies o’ yours. And if I was I reckon I’d be reconsidering
that position about now. Just want to talk, is all. Make a proposal that might benefit the crowd of us.’
‘Speak your piece, then,’ said Shy, pulling the cork from the bottle with her teeth but keeping the sword handy.
‘Then I will. My name’s Dab Sweet.’
‘What?’ said Leef ‘Like that scout they tell all the stories of?’
‘Exactly like. I’m him.’
Shy paused in her drinking. ‘You’re Dab Sweet? Who was first to lay eyes on the Black Mountains?’ She passed the bottle across to Lamb, who passed it straight to Leef, who took
a swig, and coughed.
Sweet gave a dry chuckle. ‘The mountains saw me first, I reckon, but the Ghosts been there a few hundred years before, and the Imperials before that, maybe, and who knows who back when
before the Old Time? Who’s to say who’s first to anything out in this country?’
‘But you killed that great red bear up at the head of the Sokwaya with no more than your hands?’ asked Leef, passing the bottle back to Shy.
‘I been to the head of the Sokwaya times enough, that’s true, but I take some offence at that particular tale.’ Sweet grinned, friendly lines spreading out across his weathered
face. ‘Fighting even a little bear with your hands don’t sound too clever to me. My preferred approach to bears – alongside most dangers – is to be where they ain’t.
But there’s all kind of strange water flowed by down the years, and my memory ain’t all it was, I’ll confess that, too.’
‘Maybe you misremembered your name,’ said Shy, and took another swig. She had a hell of a thirst on her.
‘Woman, I’d accept that for a strong possibility if I didn’t have it stamped into my old saddle here.’ And he gave the battered leather a friendly pat. ‘Dab
Sweet.’
‘Felt sure from what I’ve heard you’d be bigger.’
‘From what I’ve heard I should be half a mile high. Folk like to talk. And when they do, ain’t really up to me what size I grow to, is it?’
‘What’s this old Ghost to you?’ asked Shy.
So slow and
course by, two points of light in the black. They were all that mattered.
So she heeled her new horse and led the three of them out into the gathering night. They hadn’t gone far when Shy heard noises beyond the wind and slowed to a walk. Lamb brought his horse
about and drew the sword. An old cavalry sword, long and heavy, sharpened on one side.
‘Someone’s following!’ said Leef, fumbling with his bow.
‘Put that away! You’ll more likely shoot yourself in this light. Or worse yet, me.’ Shy heard hooves on the track behind them, and a wagon, too, a glimmer of torchlight through
tree-trunks. Folk come out from Averstock to chase them? The Keep firmer set on justice than he’d seemed? She slid the short-sword out by its horn handle, metal glinting with the last red
touch of twilight. Shy had no notion what to expect any more. If Juvens himself had trotted from the dark and bid them a good evening she’d have shrugged and asked which way he was
headed.
‘Hold up!’ came a voice as deep and rough as Shy ever heard. Not Juvens himself. The man in the fur coat. He came into sight now, riding with a torch in his hand. ‘I’m a
friend!’ he said, slowing to a walk.
‘You’re no friend o’ mine,’ she said back.
‘Let’s put that right as a first step, then.’ He delved into a saddlebag and tossed a half-full bottle across to Shy. A wagon trundled up with a pair of horses pulling. The old
Ghost woman had the reins, creased face as empty as it had been at the inn, a singed old chagga pipe gripped between her teeth, not smoking it, just chewing it.
They all sat a moment, in the dark, then Lamb said, ‘What do you want?’
The stranger reached up slow and tipped his hat back. ‘No need to spill more blood tonight, big man, we’re no enemies o’ yours. And if I was I reckon I’d be reconsidering
that position about now. Just want to talk, is all. Make a proposal that might benefit the crowd of us.’
‘Speak your piece, then,’ said Shy, pulling the cork from the bottle with her teeth but keeping the sword handy.
‘Then I will. My name’s Dab Sweet.’
‘What?’ said Leef ‘Like that scout they tell all the stories of?’
‘Exactly like. I’m him.’
Shy paused in her drinking. ‘You’re Dab Sweet? Who was first to lay eyes on the Black Mountains?’ She passed the bottle across to Lamb, who passed it straight to Leef, who took
a swig, and coughed.
Sweet gave a dry chuckle. ‘The mountains saw me first, I reckon, but the Ghosts been there a few hundred years before, and the Imperials before that, maybe, and who knows who back when
before the Old Time? Who’s to say who’s first to anything out in this country?’
‘But you killed that great red bear up at the head of the Sokwaya with no more than your hands?’ asked Leef, passing the bottle back to Shy.
‘I been to the head of the Sokwaya times enough, that’s true, but I take some offence at that particular tale.’ Sweet grinned, friendly lines spreading out across his weathered
face. ‘Fighting even a little bear with your hands don’t sound too clever to me. My preferred approach to bears – alongside most dangers – is to be where they ain’t.
But there’s all kind of strange water flowed by down the years, and my memory ain’t all it was, I’ll confess that, too.’
‘Maybe you misremembered your name,’ said Shy, and took another swig. She had a hell of a thirst on her.
‘Woman, I’d accept that for a strong possibility if I didn’t have it stamped into my old saddle here.’ And he gave the battered leather a friendly pat. ‘Dab
Sweet.’
‘Felt sure from what I’ve heard you’d be bigger.’
‘From what I’ve heard I should be half a mile high. Folk like to talk. And when they do, ain’t really up to me what size I grow to, is it?’
‘What’s this old Ghost to you?’ asked Shy.
So slow and
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