Kellan had reached the woman and was trying to reassure her. Oliver went over to them.
“They're down. Can you tell me what happened?”
She looked at him, then at the nearest pursuer. Without answering, she seized a stone almost as large as her head and flung herself beside the man. She raised it and brought its sharp edge down on his skull.
Again. Again.
When she stopped, he was dead. She let the stone fall and collapsed beside him, sobbing. Oliver stood where he was. He hadn't tried to stop her, and when Kellan moved to comfort her, he let him.
Eventually, she turned toward Oliver, fell to her knees, and clutched his leg.
“Please, my lord. My friends. They still have my friends in the woods. Please help them.”
“Were you taken from the village by the sea?”
She went still. “My home? Is anyone there alive?”
Oliver shook his head.
Her grip loosened. She sank back onto the ground. For a time she seemed unable to move, then she struggled up again.
“Please. They're by the river ahead. You have to help us.”
“How many men?”
“Three. They stayed to guard the others.”
Oliver tapped his saber's hilt. “Then we don't need this lot.”
He went to the second man, set his armored foot on the man's fingers, and ground down. The scream came quickly. When the pirate tried to rise, Oliver kicked him in the stomach, crouched, and hauled his face up by the hair.
“There's a village by the sea, about fifteen leagues back. Everyone in it was killed. Was that you?”
The man's eyes moved toward the woman. Oliver pointed to the crushed head beside the road.
“Think about your answer. I wasn't pleased with his.”
“Yes. Yes, it was us. Corden told us to. Said nobody could leave the village to warn anyone.”
“Are you in charge?”
“No! He didn't come with us. Our leader's back at camp.”
“Right.”
Oliver drew his dagger and cut the man's throat. The pirate caught at the wound, struggling to hold it closed, but his hands could do nothing. Within a few moments he lay still.
Oliver wiped the blade on the man's clothes and put it away.
“Kellan. Use my sword. Cut off their heads and bring them.”
“Their heads?”
“Can you manage it? I've seen you take the heads off fish. At least these won't wriggle.”
The man at the foot of the tree chose that moment to spring up and run.
Oliver drew the saber and threw it. The blade drove into the fugitive's back and knocked him to the ground. By the time Oliver reached him, he was dead, his hands closed around the steel protruding from his chest.
Oliver braced a foot against his back, pulled the weapon free, and struck through his neck. He lifted the severed head and turned to Kellan.
“Like that. Put your weight behind it.”
The boy stared through the openings in Oliver's helmet. Whatever he saw made him shiver.
“Yes, sir.” His fingers trembled around the borrowed short sword. “Yes.”
He approached the last unconscious man and drove the blade into his chest. When the man stopped moving, Kellan cut off his head. He looked back at Oliver, found no change in his expression, and forced himself to do the same to the other two bodies.
Only when all four heads were free did Oliver nod.
“Clean the blade when we reach water. Dry it properly afterward. Blood will rust it if you leave it there. A fighter needs to look after his weapon.”
Kellan looked from the sword to the bodies. That was what mattered now? Cleaning it?
Behind the faceplate, Oliver was pale.
He had never killed anyone before. Back home, he had stepped around ants on the pavement. Now he had cut a man's throat, thrown a sword into another man's back, and ordered a fourteen-year-old to kill someone who couldn't defend himself.
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At each step, he had known what he intended and done it. Disgust had not stopped him. Fear hadn't changed the decision. He had a use for the heads; he hadn't ordered this for amusement. Yet the ease with which he had acted disturbed him.
Was this courage? Had all those kills in the game become something harder than knowledge when they entered his mind? He had no answer. Whatever had changed, it had kept him alive. Mercy to men like these would only give them another chance to hurt someone.
He tore strips from the dead men's clothes, bound the four heads together, and hung them at his waist.
The woman trembled when he straightened. A tall man in golden armor, carrying heads as casually as supplies: for a moment she seemed less certain that she had been rescued. Then she looked at the faces and moved a little closer.
“Show me,” Oliver said. “Take us to them.”
* * *
Her name was Ceryn. She had no surname; she was a farmer's daughter, not a noble. Even the village had no proper name. To its people, it had simply been their village. Those nearby called it the village by the sea.
It belonged to House Colbert, which answered to the Hornwoods. A man called Roderic was responsible for protecting it and several other settlements.
“A sworn sword?” Oliver asked when she used the title. “What does he do?”
“He keeps the villages safe. We give him dried sea fish and the pretty shells we find. He lives at his manor in Redfield, though. He hardly ever comes to us. Berrin takes the taxes over with some of the others.”
“So, much like a knight with a village to look after.”
Ceryn looked puzzled. “A knight?”
“You have to swear to defend the Seven to be a knight, sir,” Kellan said. “Northmen keep the old gods. They don't have knights.”
Oliver filed that away. Whatever they called the office, he thought he understood its place well enough.
“Go on. Tell me what happened.”
Ceryn was nineteen. Her parents worried that she hadn't found a husband yet. She hadn't shared their urgency. She had seen what marriage had brought Mairen: children, housework, a man she didn't love, and beatings. Ceryn could still work. While she could earn her keep, her parents weren't likely to turn her out.
Two days before, a peddler had arrived with fishing nets. They were worn and full of holes, and nobody wanted them. After a short, unsuccessful visit, he left.
That night, a longship came onto the beach with more than twenty pirates aboard. The peddler was among them. He led the others through the village, showing them the houses. They kicked in doors and killed the people inside. Ceryn and a handful of other young women were carried away.
That morning, most of the pirates had left their camp. Where they had gone, Ceryn didn't know. Seven men remained with the captives near a source of water.
The women had whispered together and waited through the day. When night came, they made their attempt, struggling and scattering amid the confusion. Only Ceryn got away.
As she spoke, she began to understand something else. Those men had stayed close enough to catch her for much of the chase. Perhaps they had only let her run because watching her try was more amusing than sitting in camp.
She stopped and pointed ahead.
“There. Under that big tree.” Her voice had dropped almost to a whisper.
Oliver looked into the dark. Dense growth screened the ground beneath the branches. He studied it for a while but could make out no one.
“Find somewhere to hide,” he told Ceryn. “Stay down until I call.”
Then he turned to Kellan. “Sword and shield. Follow me, but don't show yourself until I've started. You're to block the way out. Don't let them run.”
“Yes, sir.”
They moved quietly toward the tree.
* * *
“What's keeping Sharr?”
Under the tree, a thin man with rotten teeth turned a hen on a spit above the fire. “Hope he hasn't ruined her.”
A younger man beside him laughed. “She's Anden's prize. Let them argue about it.” He glanced at the third man, who had short hair and a wineskin. “Did Corden say what we get for staying here with the captives?”
The short-haired man drank before answering.
“What we get? Nothing. That bastard Corden—” He looked around and lowered his voice. “He'd have got rid of me long ago if there weren't still men willing to follow me. Do what you like with them. When you're finished, take them home. They can raise sons for you.”
“Then I'll go first.” The younger man looked up into the branches. “The one in the tree. Can I have her?”
The other man's mouth twisted. Even he found that repulsive.
The young man got up and began to climb. At the edge of the firelight, five women were tied together, back to back. The man with the spit looked toward them impatiently, but the hen wasn't cooked, and he stayed where he was.
Something struck the ground beside the fire and rolled.
Brownish hair fell away from a face. The two men stared at it.
“Senn?”
Lucky Senn's head lay at their feet. They were still getting up when a golden-armored figure came out of the dark. Oliver brought the sheathed saber down on the leader's head and dropped him beside the fire.
He turned and punched the man with the rotten teeth in the face. As the man fell, Oliver kicked his lower leg. Bone cracked. The pirate clutched it and screamed.
Above them, the younger man abandoned the rope he had been reaching for and jumped out of the tree onto Oliver's back. His arms closed around Oliver's neck. The impact rocked him, but didn't bring him down.
Oliver drove backward into the trunk.
The man caught between armor and wood grunted and loosened his grip. Oliver twisted free and hit him repeatedly with a plated fist. He coughed blood and slid down the tree.
Kellan emerged from the woods with the borrowed sword and shield. It was over already. He had missed the fighting again. If Oliver kept doing everything himself, what was he supposed to learn? How to stand at the side and cheer?
Oliver flexed his hand and looked up.
A woman's body hung close to the trunk. Marks on the bark, and scratches on her limbs, showed where she had fought against it while the rope killed her. He tried not to imagine how long she had struggled.
Drawing the saber, he jumped and cut through the rope. Her body fell onto the young pirate beneath her, who cried out again.
“Kellan. Bring Ceryn.”
The five women watched him without speaking. Oliver found he didn't want to go closer. He was afraid they would start telling him what had happened, and he wasn't sure he could bear another account.
Ceryn ran into the clearing when she saw them. She dropped beside her friends and began pulling at the knots, sobbing as she worked. Oliver drew his dagger and tossed it onto the ground within her reach.
Then he turned to the pirate with the broken leg.
“Are you in charge?”
The man kept howling. Oliver drew his leg back and kicked the break.
“Not me! Him! The one with short hair!”
Oliver went to the younger man and hauled him up by his collar.
“Who's in charge?”
The pirate spat blood into his face. His eyes betrayed him, flicking toward the unconscious leader. Oliver wiped his face with his arm, struck the man backhanded, and dropped him.
He caught the leader by an ankle and began dragging him out of the clearing. As he passed the body beneath the tree, he stopped.
“Ceryn. Do you know her?”
Ceryn looked up from the ropes. “Mairen.” Her voice broke on the name.
Oliver turned away.
“Keep the dagger for now. I don't need those two. You decide what happens to them.” He pulled the leader toward the trees. “Kellan, come with me.”