— 45 —

The king kept his promise and at mid-Kemmin, the Companions rode out to hunt bandits in the hill country north of Ero. Korin talked as brashly as ever, but Tobin could tell that he was anxious to redeem himself in their eyes. According to Tharin, whispers about his previous falter had found their way around the Palatine.

The night before the Companions left, the king hosted a feast in their honor. Princess Aliya sat at her father-in-law’s right and played hostess. In spite of early fears, this pregnancy had progressed well. The birth was expected soon after the Sakor festival and her belly filled out the front of her gown like a great round loaf.

The king continued to dote on her, and she was all sweetness with him, and with everyone in public. In private, however, Ki’s prediction had proven true. She was still the same harridan she’d always been, and the discomforts of her state had not improved her temper. Tobin escaped her sharp tongue most days, though only because he was Kin. Korin wasn’t so fortunate; already exiled from his lady’s bed for months, he’d quietly gone back to his old ways. Aliya had learned of it, of course, and the ensuing rows had become legendary. According to her lady-in-waiting, the princess had a strong throwing arm and excellent aim.

None of this made Tobin like her any better, but he found himself fascinated by her all the same, for she was the first pregnant woman he’d known. Lhel said this was part of a woman’s secret power and he began to see what she meant, especially after Aliya insisted that he put his hand on her belly to feel the child move. Mortified at first, his embarrassment gave way to wonder as something hard and slippery skittered fleetingly against his palm. After that he often caught himself staring at her belly, watching for that mysterious play of movement. That was Korin’s child, and his own kin.

That winter started wet and unseasonably warm. The Companions and their men set out in drizzle and didn’t see the sun again for weeks. The roads were churned mud under their horses’ hooves. Inns and forts were sparse in this part of the country, so they spent most nights in waxed canvas tents—damp, cheerless encampments.

The first pack of bandits they found was a paltry one, just a few ragged men and boys who’d been stealing cattle. They surrendered without a fight and Korin hanged the lot.

A week later they found a stronger band entrenched in a hillside cave. They captured their horses, but the men were well armed and held out for four days before hunger forced them out. Even then, they fought fiercely. Korin killed the leader in the midst of a bloody melee. Tobin added three more to his score, and without any help from Brother. He hadn’t tried summoning the ghost or seen any sign of him since leaving the keep.

The soldiers stripped the bodies before burning them, and only then was it discovered that eight were women, including Ki’s second kill. She had grey in her hair and old scars on her arms.

“I didn’t know,” he said, troubled.

“She was a bandit, Ki, same as the others,” Tobin told him, but it gave him an odd feeling in his stomach, too.

Tharin and Koni had paused over another body. Tobin recognized the stained green tunic in Koni’s hands; this had been one of his own kills. This woman was older than the other. Her sagging breasts and the thick streaks of white in her hair made him think of Cook.

“I knew her,” Tharin said, draping a ragged cloak over the body. “She was a captain in the White Hawk Regiment.”

“I can’t believe I fought a woman!” Alben cried, rolling one of his kills over with his foot. He spat in disgust.

“There’s no shame in it. They were warriors in their day.” Tharin spoke quietly, but everyone heard the angry edge behind the words.

Porion shook his head. “No true warrior goes freebooter.”

Tharin turned away.

Korin spat on the dead captain. “Renegade trash and traitors, all of them. Burn them with the others.”

Tobin had no sympathy for lawbreakers—Una and Ahra had both found ways to serve without turning renegade and the women of Atyion were content to wait. But Tharin’s unspoken anger stayed with him, unsettling as the smell of burned flesh that clung to their clothing as they rode away.

The dead captain haunted Tobin’s dreams for weeks after, but she was not a vengeful spirit. Naked and bloody, she knelt weeping to lay her sword at his feet.