"There's no doubt that we're half responsible for this mess."

On the other side of the rusty gate, Jerem Natime looked at me, his face sewn with shadows. From time to time I glimpsed the brightness of his eyes and the oily reflection of his short curly beard. It was not the first time he had visited me. I remained mute while he spoke, sometimes for hours at a time. I listened to him distractedly, from afar, separated from his words by the iron of the cage and the cold detachment that had imposed itself on me since I had the leisure to meditate on the events that had taken place that day, first at the Lemis estate, and later, the betrayal of Trap street. I had been tricked from the beginning.

It must have been about ten days ago that I returned to the gloomy song of the jails. This time, there was no cell. I had been put in the dungeon, near the quarters of the overseer. Captain Rouq had ignored the protests of the latter, who was wetting himself at the idea that I was bewitching him. He did not speak to me and even avoided looking at me, if he could, so that I would not cast an evil spell on him.

The chains rattled in the dark. I looked straight ahead, retreated into silence, and Natime finally and cautiously straightened up. The joints of his knees cracked. I was startled with bitterness, and as he wrapped himself in his warm cape, without looking at him, for the first time in a week, I said:

"Why do you come, Natime?"

The first-blade contemplated me intensely, before taking a step towards me. "Well... because in your place I would like to know," he said softly. "There won't be much truth at the trial, but it seems to me that we owe it to you. At least partly." I sniffed and spat in the stinking bucket I had shit in that morning. "Don't worry, I got it all figured out. You suspect that it was the assassin that killed Holen, or at least cut him. You're going to hang me anyway, because of the people who think I'm a wizard." Natime crouched down in front of me, with a sad look on his face. "We don't have much choice anymore, unfortunately," he replied. It seemed to me that he meant that, at least partly.

I clenched my jaws and stared into his eyes. "But that's not all, is it?" I said in a challenging tone. Natime opened his mouth, but I interrupted his speech and suddenly wanted to rip out his tongue. "I understood the rest, too. I wasn't the spy, was I?" The soldier pinched his lips and looked away briefly. "Well, yes," I said, and the emotion squeezed my throat by surprise. "The spy was Crumby. I thought about it. Those of the upper class must have known that I had worked for Sesh before you pretended to cut off my hand. It would have been stupid if I had been the spy. But you made them think you were stupid and that I was the spy, and you knew that they would believe it all, because they thought you were idiots."

Natime straightened up. "I've often told Bert that you're too smart for your own good," he said. "If you had followed his advice, we wouldn't be in this situation." I was whining now. "It was Sesh who lied to me from the beginning," I said between two sobs. "If you had trusted me, I would have understood. You threw me to the Lemis like rotten bait." Natime nodded. His hands disappeared to the back of his neck as he groped around in his cloak. "I know," he said. "But, I'm telling you, you're too smart for your own good. You'll have to be gagged at the trial so you don't put Crumby in danger. There will be a lot of people there. We'll have to say that it's to prevent you from casting spells. Here, this is for you."

The soldier had unhooked his moon-shaped pendant and was handing it to me through the bars. "My mother gave me this necklace, and it belonged to her mother before her. It is silver from the Forges of Arul, in the canton of Rockin. You know they say it makes you brave." Natime waved his hand, his thick, red face was tense, crimson even, by the glow of the torch. "I want you to have it," he continued. "To die well. Many men have fallen before you in defense of the walls of Brown-Horn. You will join their ranks, in the minds of those who know. You will not be forgotten." I grabbed the pendant and with an angry gesture I sent it straight into the shit bucket. Natime gave me a look that was both dark and compassionate, then he left me and I never saw him again.

The days went by, at least as far as I could tell from the jailer's comings and goings, slow and monotonous, then sluggish and fearful when he had to approach me. I spent my time dreaming of somewhere else, far away with Dera and Rue and Mesh, between the huge trees and the mossy, gullied rocks of the Highlands. Yet I had resigned myself to my fate, in a way. Ever since Sesh had given me away, I no longer had feelings. They wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing me cry or beg at the trial. Then, after daydreaming, there came a night when my bowl of soup was more consistent than the others and the bread fresher, and I knew I was going to be hanged the next day.

I had just finished eating when the imposing latch on the prison door slammed down. I looked up. In the liquid shadow play of the torches stood a small, thin, very straight form, which advanced towards me with a hesitant step. I squinted my eyes. It was Brindy. My resolution suddenly gave way and I immediately began sobbing desperately. Brindy crossed the space that separated us, collapsed to the bars, and passed her two little hands through them. I grabbed them through the gate. She had grown since the last time I had seen her, she looked like a little woman squeezed into her skirts, prettier than ever, and her long black hair was braided. It was so good and so bad to see her so alive and so beautiful at the same time.

She pressed her cherry-colored mouth against my forehead. Silent tears ran down her cheeks. "Say nothing, Fyss," she sniffed. "It'll be easier that way."

I pressed myself against her, in spite of the cold metal and, prostrated, I breathed in the smell of the fresh hay from the Ronna farm and her scent, which I had been missing with each breath for almost two years. She passed her slender arms around me. I cried as I had never cried before. "We bought you something with Ucar," she said in a sad voice. "We bought you some glazed walnuts. We'll come see you tomorrow." I shook my head while sobbing. Brindy stroked my hair. We stayed like this for a long, long time, the rhythm of her sweet breath rocked me. I ended up falling asleep with exhaustion, despite the cold and this monster of fear that was gnawing at my guts, collapsed in her arms on the straw of the dungeon.

I don't know what woke me up, probably it was the uncomfortable bite of the bars, and Brindy was gone. The frozen irons weighed heavily on my feet. It was almost completely dark and the torches were only half burning. A wooden bowl, filled with walnuts, laid on the floor on the other side of the gate. I understood that I had not been dreaming. I reached out my hand, to slip one into my mouth. It crunched, but I felt like I was swallowing ashes. Then, suddenly, there was a clicking sound. I startled, straightened myself up, and the hinges of the prison door creaked their metallic complaint again.

I hurried to the bars, my heart beating. I couldn't see anything, but I could hear the rustle of hesitant footsteps as they made their way to my dungeon.

Then the face of the jailer appeared in the half-light. He was an ugly, thin, bald man with a black bubo on his upper lip. I saw the sweat on his forehead, and yet it was cold. There was an almost melodious tinkling, and the bunch of keys that he never let go of moved in the lock. His bony leg trembled as iron embraced iron. I took a step back. His face was rigid, like that of a madman or a feverish man. The gate opened with a scrape. The wind sang in the distance, in the abandoned corridors. The man advanced again, a single stiff step. I was afraid of what he was going to do to me, then I saw the brightness of the steel under his throat. Behind him, as if married to darkness, an imposing shadow stood out. The embers of the glowing torches flashed on the folds of the fabric and, at intervals, the shiny scales glittered. A rocky voice echoed in the darkness:

"The irons now."

The jailer came forward and crouched, groping with his keychain near my ankles. The shadow that commanded him stepped forward. I easily recognized the wrinkles, and the pepper and salt beard. Ulrick the val-warrior held the tip of his long curved sword under the jailer's glottis. He glanced at me briefly.

"You want to live, Sletling, am I right?" he grumbled. I nodded slowly, but the warrior had turned back his attention to his quivering hostage. One by one, the chains fell off like heavy snakes. Ulrick had the jailer sit down, the flat of his blade pressed hard against his sweaty face, then he grabbed me by the cloak and pulled me out of the dungeon. "How you Brownians can think that a pile of bones like that could kill three men, I don't get it," he spat scornfully. "Put on your shackles, guard." To support his order, Ulrick tapped the jailer's shoulder with his sword. The man obeyed with a whisper, and I heard the locks click distinctly.

"Take his shirt, Sletling, and gag him. Take his keys too." I did so. The terrified jailer remained passive, so that I clumsily inserted a sleeve of cloth through his toothless mouth, before wrapping the rest of the garment around his face. My hands were shaking.

"If Ereck hadn't seen you working on my leg, I'd say you can't do much with your fingers," Ulrick said sarcastically. "Get moving now." The Val closed the gate with a jolt, then with great strides he crossed the postern to reach the dark corridor that led outside. The draughts made his heavy cloak undulate. I ran behind him. A last door, straight ahead, at the end of the windy corridor. The Val stopped and turned toward me while sheathing his sword, a ratcheting shadow of steel and bronze :

"When we'll be outside, we'll walk, Sletling, we won't run. We won't talk either. You will stay close to me. Is that understood?"

I nodded and swallowed. "How will we get through the gates, my lord?" I asked in a small voice. Ulrick sniffed and gave me a particularly contemptuous look. "Just obey me. I've already taken care of the rest. Your chains are still warm, Sletling, it's not too late to change my mind, and It will be less trouble." I didn't answer anything, and I looked at my feet, so Ulrick snapped his fingers in front of my face. I looked up again. "Put your hood on," said the Val, then the door opened and the cold air grabbed me. Beyond, an indistinct agitation buzzed. We climbed the stairs with a brisk pace and I followed the warrior into the courtyard, my stomach liquefied. Then I saw the red light, the hot smoke burned my lungs and I heard the screams.

The arch of the door was illuminated by the blinding inferno, and the very night itself seemed to burn out. Ashes rained down on the courtyard. The fodder warehouse just in front of the castle vomited flames as high as the tower, which snored like dragons. Bard's people, their eyes haggard, their faces illuminated by the fire, tried as best they could to create a chain between the fire and the underground wells that rose up under the keep. All around us ran black, soot-stained silhouettes carrying water or tools. The guards shouted incomprehensible orders, their spears had given way to buckets and axes.

The Val was walking calmly in the midst of chaos and I noticed for the first time that he limped slightly. We crossed the courtyard. There was a loud creak, a carbonized frame collapsed in the street, throwing a cloud of sparks into the starry sky. Warm gusts of wind swept across my face and lifted the hood of my cloak. I coughed. We crossed the arch, two soldiers ran past us. I bowed my head. No one blocked our path.

Ulrick quickened his pace, turned right to reach the alley of the Gates, and I had to trot to keep up with him. Echoes resounded behind us, I squinted in the darkness and finally the fire bell began to chime frantically. The blazing shadows danced on the stones. A few sleepy faces glanced out through their half-open doors, some apostrophied us, but Ulrick did not break his silence. Obedient, I followed his example. A night patrol ran up the alley, with a second squad on their heels, and a few ragged volunteers followed them in disorder. Ulrick lifted me up by the cloak and carried me into the shadow of an adjacent alley. The militiamen passed by us blowing a disorganized torrent of leather, metal and raucous voices. We resumed our journey, before branching off into a new alley, and then the courtyard beyond.

Two large harnessed horses were waiting for us, tied under a canopy, their nostrils blowing in the cold night. One of the animals, the mare carrying the barding of scales, neighed softly as the Val approached. I saw the copper gleaming, while without saying a word, Ulrick threw a few coins in the darkness. Two ragged silhouettes appeared, and their swift hands seized the bargain. They disappeared before the echo of the coins on the stones faded.

The Val undid the bridles of his mounts, then searched in the saddlebags carried by the pack horse. His hands came out holding a helmet with a hackle, which he put on his head. He quickly fixed the mesh veil over his face and adjusted the straps with a grunt, before turning to me. With his helmet, the val-warrior dominated me by almost a span. All I could see were the oval shadows where his eyes were supposed to be. Elsewhere, there was only the riveted mesh and the bronze scale. "I guess you've never been on a horse, Sletling?" he asked. "No, my lord," I said. Ulrick sneered. "Then you'll get behind me. We may have to force our way through the wall. If I use the spear, lean to the left, but don't let go of my belt. Is that understood?" I swallowed and my mouth twisted into a silent acceptance.

Ulrick promptly grabbed me under the armpits and put me on the saddle.

It was higher than I thought, and the back of the mare was so wide that I felt like I was doing the splits. The Val sighed, swore into his beard, and stepped into the stirrup. I was briefly crushed, my face sunk into his cape which smelled of grease and smoke. His left hand freed the shield strapped to the side of the charger, the right one grasped the lunge line of the packhorse. I felt the Val's thighs contract slightly and I groped in search of his weapon belt. The large mare moved forward to the alley, and behind us the obedient gelding followed in its footsteps. I was battered by the unusual roll and banged myself several times in the armor of the Val before I managed to stabilize myself properly. My heart was beating in the tips of my numb fingers, clenched around the belt.

Above, the sky glowed red and the echo of the fire filled the alleys with flaming ghosts. We continued on our way with a slow pace and passed under the damaged arch of the old gate and its carved stones covered with ivy. The wall had been deserted by militiamen who had left to fight the fire. Around it, the city at night seemed peaceful, but we still came across some curious night owls who were hurrying towards Horn-Hill. From here, we had the impression that the entire summit was being won by the flames. The hooves resounded regularly on the cobblestones, hammering a quiet rhythm while we went down the alley of the Gates. Down below, clinging to the wall, the torches of the guard house glowed. Below, an abyss darker than the walls, and drawing closer, opened up to the freedom beyond. I still didn't dare to believe it. Not really. Then a sleepy silhouette left the darkness of the towers, a spear in hand and the lantern raised. Ulrick stopped the horses a few spans from the gate.

The man who was blocking our way took a step forward, and I recognized the grimacing face of old Nep. I stuck my face into Ulrick's cape. "Do you know what's going on up there, warrior?" Nep asked in the tone of conversation. "It's not the castle burning down, at least?" Ulrick grumbled kindly. "A fool set fire to a hayloft. Nothing serious if it doesn't spread." Nep nodded and opened his mouth. Then he saw me, half buried in the thick fabric of the coat, and his eyes widened. Ulrick's hand immediately clasped his shield while the other rested on the pommel of his curved sword. Nep stood in the way again, and his spear rose toward the rider. Ulrick's tone changed completely. "If we fight tonight, Brownian, you will die," he said in a low and dangerous voice. I saw Nep hesitate and swallow his saliva. The war mare was chomping at the bit, as if she had sensed the change of mood. Then the guard's weapon lowered a few inches. "I'm old, warrior, and I'm not afraid to die," Nep said in an equal tone. He bowed his head and his gray eyes met mine.

His wrinkles folded with sadness. He observed me for a few moments, before taking a step to the side. "There are twenty men in those towers," he continued, "and I only have to shout to make the portcullis fall. But I like the child. I don't think he killed as they say. I'll shout anyway, when you've passed."

Ulrick took the reins again. "Thank you, Brownian," he said. "Sletling, if you fall, I won't stop." The mare took off, a dizzying acceleration that I would not have suspected the beast capable of. I was almost thrown out of the saddle and, out of sheer terror, I closed my eyes, certain that I was going to break my neck. The westerly wind, from which we had been sheltered by the walls, suddenly grabbed me and I understood confusedly that we were outside. I heard the warning scream of Nep behind us, then the metallic rumble of the portcullis a few moments later. The gelding was galloping beside us now, and Ulrick led the foaming horses on the road to the Brown wharf. The fresh air was blowing in my face, I couldn't feel my fingers, and the heavy cape of the Val threatened to throw me off the horse every time the wind blew it down. I don't know how I managed to stay in the saddle that night, during the uneven mile that separated us from the ferry, yet, despite the increasing pain and the feeling that my legs would tear off with each jolt, I didn't let go of the thick belt.

The boatman was waiting for us. Ulrick made me get off and I had to sit down for a few moments to come to my senses. The Brown was lapping gently around the pontoons, its smell was silty and strong. The boatman groaned, Ulrick grunted in return, I heard the tinkling of the coins, and the man led the horses one by one to the ferry.

I too sat down, leaned against the railing and looked back, without really understanding yet that we had made it and that I wasn't going to hang in the morning. There were torches coming down towards us now, and I heard a horn blowing in the misty valley.

The boatman seemed to hesitate, then Ulrick drew the sword and without a word the man grimaced and grabbed the rope. The val-warrior thrust his blade into the planks, where it swayed in a whisper. The wet hemp squeaked, and the ferry left the docks. Our pursuers were now close. I saw the horses and the dust turned gray from the darkness, and the men jumping from their saddle, their long bows in hand.

We were almost halfway there. Ulrick swore, threw the sizzling torches on the ferry into the water, and grabbed his large shield." I've had enough arrows for this year," he said darkly. "Lie down, Sletling." The men lined up in the darkness. I took trembling refuge behind the empty barrel that was nailed to the ferry, but in the end the guard did not shoot any arrows that night.

Brown-Horn glowed on the horizon, the only home I ever had.

I thought of Brindy, Robin, Ucar, the widow, and Dera and my friends of the clans. I thought of Sesh. My eyes blurred, an indecipherable mixture of regret and relief. Then Ulrick cut it short by barking his orders, when the forest on the opposite bank suddenly appeared. He had the three of us disembark, cut the ropes of the ferry that went adrift and compensated its trembling owner with a handful of silver denarii.

Without saying a word, the Val grabbed me and put me back on the saddle of his charger. The mare snorted. In front of us, the road to Cover-Pass sank between the twisted trees, and beyond, I could already guess the reverberation of a triumphant dawn.

End of Part 2

Thank you for reading!