never heard anything more than the occasional growl," Rowan said.
Crow tapped his temple. "In here. He speaks to me in here. I can't reply that way, it doesn't work like that. So I end up looking like I'm talking to myself, which makes me appear even madder than usual. It's got me into one or two situations over the years, trust me."
" That must get difficult," Rowan remarked.
"You wouldn't believe. And you know what? I think the little bastard enjoys it," Crow said, pointing his pipe at the sleeping bearcat, looking for all intents and purposes as if butter wouldn't melt in its mouth. "He's got a strange sense of humour that one."
* * *
His horse had been put outside under shelter alongside Crowstone's own ride, a grey pony. Rowan went out there before nightfall to ensure the two animals were secure and covered over. There was no helping the cold, but he could do something to take the edge off. A sheet over each was the most he could manage. He stood stroking the neck of his own horse and wondered if he would get far, should he decide to mount the beast and ride off. Get away from Crowstone and his talking bearcat sooner rather than later. What part did he want in the affairs of Starkgard? In the loss of a king, or the loss of a war for that matter?
He cared only for vengeance. Cared only to get as far as Greyside, where he would see his hands awash with Quayle's blood.
But it occurred to him that he owed Crow for saving his life, and that there was probably more to events than there seemed at first. Perhaps because something is mysterious, it should not be dismissed straight away. Above all else, he wanted to know just what it was the Order of Eld thought his destiny to be.
What did he care if Starkgard became embroiled in yet another war? It had just finished fighting itself – he was sure Starkgard would stand a war with a neighbour just as well.
His sole purpose, as he saw it, was to find Quayle and kill the son of a bitch. After that, as far as he was concerned, the future was unwritten. On that score he could wholeheartedly agree with the mage.
And what of Muriel? They'd parted company a long time ago. He'd gone his way, and she'd gone hers. Was she still in the same business? Lending her sword, her bow and arrow to the highest bidder? If so he'd never heard anything of her. Their decision to go their separate ways had been far from mutual, but still there'd been no feud between them. A little bad blood, perhaps, but nothing to kill each other for.
They'd had a friendship. She'd not understood why he would want to walk away from the free and easy life, the bags of money, the fine clothes and even finer food.
And though there'd not been romance between them, R owan still found he cared about her. It was enough to hear her name for him to wonder if she was all right, wherever she was, whatever she was doing. In the same way that a Brother loves his Sister, he worried about her involvement in the Order's premonitions as much as his own.
What could two former mercenaries have to offer the future of the North?
He decided it was better for all concerned if he stuck with Crowstone. When he went back inside, the mage was packing. "We will leave tomorrow after sunrise."
" Really? So soon?"
"I have been cooped up in here with you for two weeks now. That's long enough for me. Your wounds will heal properly on the open road," he said. "I despise sitting in one place for too long as it is. Now I see that you are moving about with ease, we should be on our way."
"As you say," Rowan said. He sat on the edge of the pallet and looked to his sword, propped up against the wall. "I'm headed North, though."
"Same as me," Crowstone said. "A pure coincidence, I am sure."
"Fine," Rowan said.
Crowstone looked up, bushy eyebrows raised. "Besides, I fear the owner of this place may return any day, and I do not wish to be caught in the act of trespassing if you take my meaning."
Fourteen
They picked their way through the
Crow tapped his temple. "In here. He speaks to me in here. I can't reply that way, it doesn't work like that. So I end up looking like I'm talking to myself, which makes me appear even madder than usual. It's got me into one or two situations over the years, trust me."
" That must get difficult," Rowan remarked.
"You wouldn't believe. And you know what? I think the little bastard enjoys it," Crow said, pointing his pipe at the sleeping bearcat, looking for all intents and purposes as if butter wouldn't melt in its mouth. "He's got a strange sense of humour that one."
* * *
His horse had been put outside under shelter alongside Crowstone's own ride, a grey pony. Rowan went out there before nightfall to ensure the two animals were secure and covered over. There was no helping the cold, but he could do something to take the edge off. A sheet over each was the most he could manage. He stood stroking the neck of his own horse and wondered if he would get far, should he decide to mount the beast and ride off. Get away from Crowstone and his talking bearcat sooner rather than later. What part did he want in the affairs of Starkgard? In the loss of a king, or the loss of a war for that matter?
He cared only for vengeance. Cared only to get as far as Greyside, where he would see his hands awash with Quayle's blood.
But it occurred to him that he owed Crow for saving his life, and that there was probably more to events than there seemed at first. Perhaps because something is mysterious, it should not be dismissed straight away. Above all else, he wanted to know just what it was the Order of Eld thought his destiny to be.
What did he care if Starkgard became embroiled in yet another war? It had just finished fighting itself – he was sure Starkgard would stand a war with a neighbour just as well.
His sole purpose, as he saw it, was to find Quayle and kill the son of a bitch. After that, as far as he was concerned, the future was unwritten. On that score he could wholeheartedly agree with the mage.
And what of Muriel? They'd parted company a long time ago. He'd gone his way, and she'd gone hers. Was she still in the same business? Lending her sword, her bow and arrow to the highest bidder? If so he'd never heard anything of her. Their decision to go their separate ways had been far from mutual, but still there'd been no feud between them. A little bad blood, perhaps, but nothing to kill each other for.
They'd had a friendship. She'd not understood why he would want to walk away from the free and easy life, the bags of money, the fine clothes and even finer food.
And though there'd not been romance between them, R owan still found he cared about her. It was enough to hear her name for him to wonder if she was all right, wherever she was, whatever she was doing. In the same way that a Brother loves his Sister, he worried about her involvement in the Order's premonitions as much as his own.
What could two former mercenaries have to offer the future of the North?
He decided it was better for all concerned if he stuck with Crowstone. When he went back inside, the mage was packing. "We will leave tomorrow after sunrise."
" Really? So soon?"
"I have been cooped up in here with you for two weeks now. That's long enough for me. Your wounds will heal properly on the open road," he said. "I despise sitting in one place for too long as it is. Now I see that you are moving about with ease, we should be on our way."
"As you say," Rowan said. He sat on the edge of the pallet and looked to his sword, propped up against the wall. "I'm headed North, though."
"Same as me," Crowstone said. "A pure coincidence, I am sure."
"Fine," Rowan said.
Crowstone looked up, bushy eyebrows raised. "Besides, I fear the owner of this place may return any day, and I do not wish to be caught in the act of trespassing if you take my meaning."
Fourteen
They picked their way through the
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