Page 14 of Blood & Claw

The market ground was empty at this hour, apart from a drunk who was staggering about, singing tunelessly.

Ailsa skirted him, breaking into a run as she approached the gates.

“Ho, where are you going?” A guard—clad in boiled leather, an iron helm jammed onto his head—greeted her.

“A party of seven just left,” she replied, wishing her voice sounded steadier. “One of them was a woman.”

The guard’s eyebrows drew together underneath the rim of his helmet. “Did they? Well, they must have sprouted raven’s wings and flown, because I didn’t see them.”

Ailsa’s mind wheeled. Maybe this was good news. Maybe they were still inside the fort. She just had to find them and—

“However, a group of men … mercenaries by the look of them … came through a short while ago,” the man went on. “On foot … although they had a garron pulling a wagon with them.”

Ailsa’s pulse spiked. The beggar hadn’t mentioned a pony and cart, but the description was close enough. “Aye, that’s them. Do you know which way they went?”

“There’s only one way out of the village beyond the walls, lass,” the guard replied, eyeing her speculatively. “After that, there’s a crossroads. East to Muirport. West to Troon. Or northeast to Farnoch.”

Shit.

“Let me through … please.” Her voice cracked.

The guard’s frown deepened. “Friends of yours, are they?”

“Aye. I need to catch up with them.”

“It’s late, lass … and you shouldn’t be out here on your own as it is. Traveling without an escort at night is asking for trouble.”

“I’ll catch up with my friends soon enough.”

It wasn’t a convincing lie, yet she was desperate now. She had to follow those men.

The guard watched her for a few moments longer. It wasn’t a lecherous or scornful stare. It occurred to her that he was likely a decent man who was only trying to look out for a reckless young woman.

He huffed a sigh then before stepping back and nodding to his companion. “Open the gates.”

A short while later, Ailsa jogged through the sprawling village outside the fort’s high walls. This settlement had grown considerably over the past years, especially since King Niall had drafted more locals into his army. Many of the warriors he was training lived in cramped roundhouses under the shadow of the walls.

There was no one about, save for the odd stray dog. The Whistle gusted into her out here, pulling at her cloak. The shriek and hiss of fighting cats shattered the night then, and Ailsa jolted, one hand traveling to her pounding heart.

The Mother protect her. She was as jumpy as a botach on salt. She had to get a hold of herself.

She made her way beyond the village, past the last of the squat roundhouses, and stepped out onto the crossroads. Guttering torches burned here, illuminating the iron cage hanging from a scaffold next to the road, where the king left criminals to die. Everyone in Braewall knew about ‘the cage’, but Ailsa had never actually seen it before.

Breathing hard, she came to an abrupt halt.

There was a woman inside—gaunt-faced and wild-eyed.

“Cold night for a walk,” she greeted Aisla as she approached, her voice dry and weak.

The cage swung overhead, creaking in the wind. “A group of travelers went by not long ago … men with a wagon and a pony,” Ailsa replied warily. “Did you see which way they went?”

“Aye.” The woman leaned forward, thin fingers wrapping around the bars. It was then that Ailsa spied the dark swirls that had been inked onto her arms and neck. Those tattoos were the same kind Kayla wore. She was a druid. “Northeast.”

5: PLUNGED INTO DARKNESS

NORTHEAST.

A SIMPLE answer.