Oliver dragged the leader far enough into the trees to give them some distance, but kept the campfire in sight. He let the man's leg fall, removed his helmet, and sat on him to rest.
“Sir,” Kellan began.
“What?”
“Should we have left them there?”
“They'll be all right. Those two aren't going anywhere in that state.”
“That isn't what I meant.” Kellan struggled with the words. “They can't fight back.”
Oliver looked at him for a long moment.
“You saw what they did.”
“I did. It's terrible. But a knight should show mercy—”
“I hurt them. What happens now is up to the women. If they want to let them go, they can.” Oliver cut across the rest of the objection. “We don't get to forgive on somebody else's behalf, Kellan. You show mercy to the wolves, and the lambs pay for it. Sometimes you have to choose.”
Screams rose from the clearing. Oliver glanced toward the fire.
“Doesn't sound as though they want to forgive them.”
Kellan watched the light between the trees. Slowly, he nodded, though he had more to think about than he could put into words.
Oliver got up.
“Still work to do.” He kicked the leader in the stomach. “You're good at pretending. Had much practice?”
The man curled around the blow, then scrambled onto his knees.
“Please, my lord. Let me go. I'll leave. You'll never see me again. I've got two children. They'll starve without me.” His head dipped again and again as he begged. “Please. Mercy.”
Oliver considered him. “Tell me what you know. All of it. Then perhaps I'll think about it.”
The man looked up uncertainly. “You mean it?”
Oliver pointed toward the fire. “Or you could go and explain yourself to them.”
Another scream reached them. The pirate's lips shook.
“Don't give me to them.”
Then he began to talk.
He and the other men came from southern Skagos, from a small tribe of islanders and northmen who had fled the mainland. A Skagosi called Horned Varr had brought three such tribes together for the raid, gathering more than ninety fighters. They had steered clear of the Boltons and Karstarks, whose lands were too well watched and too well defended. Instead, they had come farther south, where they expected easier pickings.
Oliver turned to Kellan. “I thought you said this was the North.”
“It is, sir. But it's south of Skagos.”
“Right.” A place could be north from one direction and south from another. He turned back to the captive. “Where are they going next?”
“I don't know. Corden left us here because he didn't want us with him. Why would he tell me? Please, let me go.”
“You're the only one left. How do you expect to get home on your own?”
The man faltered. He plainly had an answer he wasn't eager to give: find Corden and leave with the others. He started to stammer something else.
Oliver punched him unconscious.
“Watch him,” he told Kellan. “I'll find some rope.”
The grass rope from the shore had gone around the barrow wheel, and even that had worn out within two days of leaving camp. The pirates, at least, had brought plenty.
He passed the fire. The two men still lived, though they had been badly wounded. The women fell quiet when they saw him and tried to hide their bloody hands. Oliver picked up lengths of rope from the ground and went back without speaking.
He bound the leader's upper body securely, then tied his ankles with enough space between them to let him walk, but not run. He tested the knots.
“Bring him back. Keep a close watch on him, and don't let the women kill him. He hasn't told us everything.” Oliver stood. “The local lord's men can get the rest out of him. Six pirates dead and one captured ought to count for something when we arrive.”
At the fire, he looked at the other two captives.
“Still not finished?”
The women exchanged glances. Ceryn took the dagger in both hands and went to the younger pirate. She raised it, held it there, and could not bring it down.
Oliver held out his hand. “Give it back.”
For a moment she kept her grip. Then she surrendered the weapon.
He drove it into the man's heart.
“Find another trade in your next life.”
He finished the man with the broken leg too, then sat on a stone beside the fire.
“Ceryn. We've helped you. Could you find us something to eat? They must have food here.”
“Yes, my lord. Yes.”
Having something to do got them moving. The pirates' stores had come from their village; these were ingredients they knew how to prepare. They washed pots, cleaned vegetables, and began talking quietly as they worked. Here and there, Oliver heard something almost like cheerful conversation.
He took it as a sign that giving them power over their tormentors had helped. They were too young to spend the rest of their lives imprisoned by what had happened. In his view, returning some of the pain to the people who had inflicted it might give them a way to move beyond it.
It was strong medicine, and he had already seen how easily it could go too far.
When Kellan brought the leader back, two of the women snatched up stones and rushed him. Oliver had to intervene. Kellan couldn't hold them off, and Oliver wanted that prisoner alive. He ended up seated on him again, keeping the captive under his own protection while supper was prepared.
He hadn't freed these women so they could learn to enjoy hurting people. How to stop vengeance becoming something else was proving less simple than handing over a dagger.
Hot food arrived at last. Around the fire, a few of the exhausted faces managed smiles.
* * *
They ate mostly in silence. Insects called in the woods; the prisoner groaned occasionally beneath Oliver. When his bowl of pea soup was empty, Oliver looked around the circle.
“What do you want to do now?”
The women lowered their spoons. They looked at one another without answering, until the red-haired one spoke.
“I have an uncle in Grayfold. I could go to him.”
“And the rest of you?”
“My sister married a man there,” another said.
“I know a boy from Grayfold,” said a third.
Oliver turned to Ceryn. “Is it far?”
“If we leave early, we can be there before noon.”
“Then that's where we'll go. We'll spend tonight here and leave in the morning.”
After supper, the women huddled together and slept. Oliver and Kellan arranged the watches. Then Oliver leaned against a tree and let himself drift off.
When he woke in the night, Kellan sat alone beside the fire, his head sinking toward his chest. Oliver shook him gently.
“Get some sleep.”
The boy started awake. “Sir? I—” A yawn swallowed the rest. He could scarcely keep his eyes open.
If the pirates had returned, they would have found them defenseless. Oliver wasn't pleased, but he was looking at a fourteen-year-old who had marched, dug a grave, fought, and stayed awake far beyond his strength. The boy's earnest ideas about being a warrior hadn't changed his age.
“Go on. Last part of the journey tomorrow.”
Kellan pulled a stolen blanket around himself and lay beside the fire. Within moments he was snoring.
Oliver had no phone, no clock, and no useful way to measure the hours until morning. He watched the flames and turned to the memories that had become so clear since his arrival. There were enough books in there to keep him occupied, at least. After a while he settled on Don Quixote and began going through it in his head.
Here was the great adventure the old knight had always wanted: roads, dangers, people in need of rescue. Oliver looked toward the three bodies at the edge of the clearing, two men and a woman. The reality was crueler than he had ever wanted to imagine.
He hoped the next stretch of road would contain less blood.
At first light, he chose a level patch near the tree and began to dig. The sound of the pick woke the others one by one. Kellan came over, rubbing his eyes, and looked into the half-finished hole.
“A grave, sir?”
“Well spotted. Give me a hand.” Oliver passed him the pick. “You can finish it.”
Kellan climbed in willingly enough. Oliver left him working and went to Ceryn, who was washing by the stream.
“We can't take Mairen with us. I've started a grave for her. Would that be all right?”
She stared at him without speaking.
“If it isn't—” Oliver looked back toward the tree. “I should have asked you first.”
“No. No, my lord.” She shook her head, fighting for her voice. “I didn't think... Thank you. She shouldn't be left out here. Thank you.”
“We buried the people in your village. We can bury one more. She deserves that much.”
While the others made breakfast, Oliver and Ceryn carried Mairen to the grave. Kellan helped them cover her. They stood quietly beside the finished mound, then gathered their things and left the camp.
The red-haired woman explained that this was the road her village used to reach the settlements inland. Kellan led the way, the women walked together in the middle, and Oliver followed with the prisoner.
Before they set off, he made sure the man understood what would happen if he tried to run.
“Tell the lord's men what you know, and you might buy your life. Run, and you get three chances. Your left arm. Your right arm. Then your life.”
The pirate attempted a smile. “Tied like this, my lord? I wouldn't dare. I'd rather keep the arms.”
“Good. At least your wits still work.” Oliver pulled on the rope and started him walking.
They passed through the woods and over several low hills. Beyond the last of them, fields spread out before them. Wheat stood lush and green, high against Oliver's thighs. Farmers working among it straightened as the travelers came into view.