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bargains and trading favours with any witch or hedge wizard he met.
    They walked on, Yanal keeping well back so Daken had time to calm. He didn’t have a horse of his own, had sold it weeks ago when it looked like Canar Thrit was going to requisition every
horse it could. Bastards hadn’t done it in the end, but the rumour had meant he got sod all for the worm-ridden creature.
    There was a light dusting of snow on the empty fields on one side of the road, nothing much but enough to make Yanal fervently hope they found some decent shelter for the night. The sky was
clear and there was precious little breeze; no biting wind thank the gods, but a frost for sure after nightfall. A tangle of hedgerows skirted ash trees and young oaks away to their left, barely
enough to keep the worst of the chill wind off but as much as they’d managed the last two nights.
    ‘Sun’s on the way down,’ Daken commented from up ahead. ‘We better start lookin’ for somewhere to sleep.’
    ‘Aye,’ Yanal said miserably, trying not to stare enviously at the white-eye’s thick sheepskin coat. His own was nothing like as warm. ‘Last of our food then.’
    ‘Should’ve learned to use that bloody sling better then,’ Daken replied sourly. He looked back. ‘And don’t you start looking at my horse that way.’
    ‘I weren’t,’ Yanal said sulkily, ‘you made it clear enough last night.’
    ‘Good . . .’ Daken took a breath as though to continue but stopped dead, jerking on his horse’s reins to bring it up. ‘Well, looks like it’s your lucky night, I
won’t have to eat you either.’
    Yanal flinched at the thought as Daken pointed ahead, down the road. He was as savage a fighter as any man Yanal had ever met and it was hard to put much beyond the axe-wielding madman.
    ‘What is it?’ he asked hoarsely.
    ‘Someone up ahead.’
    Daken was perfectly still now, weight on the balls of his feet like a hound poised to spring. Yanal moved up beside him and looked to where the white-eye pointed. He couldn’t make out
much, just a dark shape that had to be another traveller two hundred yards down the road.
    ‘They seen us?’
    Daken shook his head. ‘Don’t look like it.’
    Without taking his eyes off the other traveller he reached for the axe he’d stowed on the saddle. Plundered from a recently deceased cavalryman who’d been cheating at cards, it was a
long-handled affair with a crescent blade on one side and a small clenched-fist hammer on the reverse. Daken tossed Yanal the reins and slipped off the road.
    ‘Ride up and keep ’im talking – I’ll circle around and catch up when he’s not looking.’
    Yanal nodded, eyes flitting to his spear and short sword, also bound to the saddle. ‘Bastard better have some food.’
    ‘Won’t help him either way,’ Daken said softly, the dangerous edge restored to his voice. He slipped off into the undergrowth and quickly the sound of his footsteps faded to
nothing.
    ‘Aye, true enough,’ Yanal said and hauled himself awkwardly into the saddle.
    A lone traveller was just asking for trouble and they could meet a lot worse than Daken. A white-eye only enjoyed killing in battle when he was worked into a frenzy; out here it’d be clean
and swift. He nudged the horse into a brisk walk and started to catch the figure ahead.
    Daken heard hooves on the dirt road and cursed mentally, there were no voices accompanying them despite the order he’d given Yanal. He’d wanted their victim to be
chatting away, not listening for danger. Now that wasn’t happening Daken couldn’t tell what was going on. This would be a short-lived robbery if their victim was walking with a cocked
crossbow, but he was fast running out of options.
    He glanced behind him. The ground was pretty open, a few bushes to hide behind but none as thick as the ancient hawthorn he was presently behind. Once they passed that he’d have precious
little cover if he was going to hide.
    Fuck it,
he thought and