Leda

Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Tooth

The moon wouldn't keep still. Hal fixed her gaze on it as hard as she could, but it slipped from sight once more, hovering above a cleft in the mountain range. She narrowed her eyes and focussed harder, only to find it had travelled upwards ˗ and with it the stars, which performed dizzying loops across the night sky.

The shouts and songs of villagers dragged her back to earth. She looked down at her tankard which was empty, and then at Fælc, whose massive hairy head wavered unsteadily.

"Master Fælc," she said. For some reason her lips, tongue and breath wouldn't produce the words she needed. "Master Fælc!" She tried again. "We scarecrows..."

"Yes?" His brow furrowed, as if he were struggling with a problem of great complexity.

"We scarecrows are not noted for..." she wiped froth from her jaw with the back of her hand "...we are better noted for our fighting than our drinking." She struggled to her feet, leaning on his shoulder for support. "And so, I'm afraid I must admit defeat."

A few drunken cheers for Fælc ensued. The big man shook his monstrous head. "Poor form, Scarecrow. Very poor form."

"I know, I know. I can only watch and learn," she said, picking her way towards the fire pit. Behind her, Fælc called for more ale and then muttered a few words in the mountain people's strange, guttural dialect; no doubt at her expense, for the others erupted into laughter.

In the dying light of the fire she saw Roc ˗ now holding forth in song amongst a group of admirers. Lauré leant against Magda, sleeping but stronger, her health revived by good food and rest. The highlanders had served them with chunks of roasted goat ˗ the meat tough and chewy, but a true feast after days spent riding on half empty stomachs. Now, draped in furs and hides, her companions sat before the fire: Salvesté sharpening his knives, Jools staring into the flames with her chin resting on her knees, thinking and scheming. Hal slumped down beside her, warming her hands before the fire.

Slowly, Jools turned to survey her old friend. "You do know we've a mountain to climb tomorrow?"

Hal hiccoughed.

"And you're drunk."

"It wasn't my fault ˗ he insisted. And we can't insult their hospitality, or so you all told me earlier."

Jools shook her head. "Here we are, planning a bleedin' rebellion, and you can't keep your hands off the ale."

Hal stared at her unsteadily. "So we're planning a rebellion now, are we?"

Jools bit her lip and looked away. "Or something like that," she mumbled.

"Or something like that. What exactly is going on, Jools? Just what are you up to? Why don't you tell me anything?"

Jools gnawed on her lip, staring into the glow of the fire pit. "Because I don't trust you," she said at last.

"You...what?" In spite of the beer, Jools' words pierced. "Why not?"

"You know why not. You were a mess. I had no idea what you might do. And I need folks I can rely on. Not big mouthed aristos who can't see where their duty lies."

"I see," Hal said, tensing. "And where does my duty lie right now, Jools? Do please enlighten me."

"You should have been planning to block Castor before he even made it to the throne."

"You know I don't deal in politics."

"This isn't politics, it's survival, Hal!" Jools turned pained eyes on her friend. "We could all see what he'd do when he became Emperor."

"It might have escaped your notice, but there was ˗ there is ˗ a famine. My people were starving."

Jools' eyes glittered with zeal and cunning. "All the more reason for you to make Leda Empress instead of him. She'd not leave them to starve."