Leda

Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Crofter

After so many months of rain, the moors were a bog. Edæc's horse sank to its fetlocks amid the rotting heather, its strength sapped as the land sucked it down, gripped its hooves and refused to release it. Edæc knew there was no point in riding it further. The animal had borne enough. He felt it tremble, shake and sink again, panting and snorting with the exertion of dragging its own body from the mire.

Dal Reniac rose ahead like the ghost of itself ˗ a phantom city which he glimpsed through the cloud and haze. He could make it on foot ˗ leaping from turf to turf ˗ and arrive there quicker than his horse could take him. Jumping down, he patted the straining beast's neck and freed it from the weight of saddle and bridle. Perhaps it would survive out here, or find its own way home. But the horse sank to its knees and rolled over onto its side with an almost human groan, and he doubted its chances.

There was, however, no time for pity. Dal Reniac must be warned of Castor's advance. If need be, they might send reinforcements to Hannac and the Nests. He pounced from turf top to turf top until, with a curse, he missed his footing and landed knee-deep in bog, almost losing a boot as he clambered free, his trousers coated to the thigh in filth.

Where was Leda now? He felt that she was still alive; that she was also making her way back to him, back home. They would embrace together before the fire, plan their defence of the city and prepare for their wedding. The very thought of her, of her warm limbs threaded around his own, her hair tickling his face, the sweet intensity of her lips ˗ it made him move ever faster. Perhaps she was already there, waiting. Perhaps she had not had time to send word to him.

His heart galloped with exhaustion. He staggered again, landing on his knees, his hands plummeting into the mud. He must find the road now. He had avoided it on pain of being seen. But this...this was a miserable death, to founder out here on the moors in such weather. A story floated to mind ˗ one Hal had told him ˗ of how her grandfather had ridden hard to Hannac in the darkness across this very stretch of moorland on learning that his young wife was to give birth. Of how his horse had missed its footing, slipped and fallen...they'd found Hal's grandfather the next day, his body cold and broken, too late to rejoice at the birth of his son.

The moors were Edæc's home. They were as wild in their beauty as Leda herself. But they were also death, danger, despair. He pushed on. Anyway, Dal Reniac couldn't be so far, could it? He could no longer see it through the mist. Had he veered off course? Was he wandering in aimless circles? Edæc stopped and listened. Were those...men's voices out there, drifting on the wind? Or had he imagined it? He stopped and listened, the cold inching its way beneath his jacket, his tunic and shirt. His fingers curled around the hilt of his sword. Again the conversation carried, riding the air. If the wind had not whispered to him, then who was that out there as the dusk gathered into darkness? Mutterings, a brief exchange ˗ and then a brand burst into flame, shattering the gloom. We drew his sword and waited.

A pair of faces loomed ˗ grotesque against the light and shadow, a dog following on a leash, slavering, its eyes rolling. Edæc said nothing, stepping back from the light.

"Who's out there?" The voice was harsh and gruff. "In the name of Leda Nérac, Lady of Dal Reniac, answer!"

In Leda's name? The dusk patrol, then! His own people. Edæc closed his eyes in relief. He opened them to find a blade levelled at his neck.

"Drop your sword!"

The dog lunged at him, growling.

"Friends," Edæc began.

"I said drop your sword!"

He let it fall with a soft thud into a patch of heather. The blade was slowly removed from his throat.