During the evening the breeze died down slowly, and a chill settled down outside the warmth of the fire. Brunhilde was lying against a rock, listening to the crackle of the fire and staring out along the road. The sparse tree-covered valley walls gave way to open grassy plains to the north. If there was a bandit or animal attack it would be in a place like this where they could approach unseen.

Hope was probing the pilgrims on the depths of their beliefs. “What if the Sponsor rejects you, and you go home, can you come back and try again?” she said. None of the pilgrims could answer at first.

“I guess so. Maybe your pain wasn’t enough the first time, but if you suffered a great loss and went back again you might make it through,” Baram said. He took a sip of water and hissed it back and forth through his teeth to clean them.

“I couldn’t bear another try,” the Comtessa said. “How could a spiritual being be so cruel, as to turn me away?”

“What if being rejected by the Sponsor is the real pain? You would have to go back,” Hope said. She settled back with a smug smile on her face. Brunhilde snorted with laughter from her resting place.

The Comtessa clutched a hand to her forehead. “My head hurts, I think I’ll try to get some rest.” She took her leave from the group and bedded down for the night.

The twins tried to avoid Hope’s gaze, but she shifted closer to them around the fire. “What do you think?” she asked.

“We have nothing to return to,” Liara said. “Our father banished us from our lands.”

“We are adrift on the sea, cut loose from any bonds,” Nevio said.

“Why did you father disown you?”

“No reason!” Liara cried.

“No reason at all. I will admit we were not the perfect children, but we never did anything to deserve such injury.”

“You’re terrible liars,” Hope said. She tossed a loose twig into the fire, where it crackled and popped.

“How dare you accuse us!” Liara said.

“Why are we being submitted to this inquiry? You are here to protect us!”

“You paid Brunhilde to guard you. I’m travelling with Brunhilde because though she is an uncultured barbarian, she speaks the truth. A cockerel cannot hold intelligent conversation but can be trusted to announce the dawn,” Hope said.

“My thanks for the high praise,” Brunhilde said from her sitting place. She put her hands behind her head and leaned back a little. Maybe an argument would liven up the dull feeling of the pilgrims.

“I don’t care what the true answer is, but I’ve heard and told enough courtly lies to recognise them. You were plotting against him, or your snivelling cowardice was a worry that you could be turned against him, that much is obvious,” Hope said. The twins’ clutching at each other and stunned silence told her that her guess had landed close to the truth.

“We have our family’s best interests at heart,” Liara said.

“He lets the other houses plot against us. If we were allowed to oversee our spies and agents in Villenti, we could increase our standing tenfold,” Nevio said. He ran his fingers through his dark curly hair, and threw his chin upwards in a challenge. His hair stuck up like a cat trying to make itself look bigger.

“What’s wrong with ambition? We could rise from minor house to a powerful and safe house,” Liara said.

“Plotters. Weaselly little plotters, I see. Not popular in your family if nobody else stood up to your Father on your side. If you have no support in your own family it’s hardly likely you’d be able to garner any outside. Seems like he made a sensible choice really,” Hope said. She had no malice in her voice, her analysis was given in the manner of a scholar discussing a tactical problem. This made the sting even worse to the twins.

Nevio’s face flushed red. He quivered with barely contained rage. His hand moved to his waist, where a dagger sat in scabbard. Liara clutched his shoulder and slid her leg out slightly. Hope saw the hidden scabbard in her boot, where another dagger sat. She turned to Brunhilde and raised an eyebrow. Brunhilde sat up from her rest and looked over to the twins. She snorted with laughter again at the sight of their tense offended posturing.

“Come on then,” Hope said. She stood up and took a fencing position away from the fire.

“What are you doing?” Liara said.

“I could do with a little practice. To the first blood, or close touch if you prefer.”

“You want to duel me?” Nevio said.

“Why not? Get your anger out before you go to sleep. I don’t want a dagger in my ribs at night.”

“We are not skulking assassins!” Liara cried. She wriggled her toes and bent her ankle to give her a better draw from her boot.

“Duel me or accept the accuracy of my insight into your wriggling little noble minds. I am a warrior of intrigue and blade!” Hope sang. She span round with her arms out. Her shimmering cloak span with her, glittering colours shifted like a cocoon around her.

“Are you going to let your friend treat us like this?” Liara said to Brunhilde.

“Let her? I can stop that little gold-hair from doing what she wants as much as I can stop the rain from falling. Duel her or don’t,” Brunhilde said. She wanted to see how well the twins could fight.

“She has a sword, and I don’t, it’s hardly fair,” Nevio said.

Hope unbuckled the deadly blade from her side and clenched her fist. A dagger of golden light appeared in it. Liara whispered into Nevio’s ear. He stood reluctantly and took up a position.

Baram shook his head and sighed, but said nothing. Zorzio whined and shifted his case away from the fire and towards his sleeping roll. He lay down but couldn’t help peering over the case.

“To first blood?” Hope said.

“No. Whoever gives up ground first,” Nevio said. He slid his dagger from his sheath in a smooth motion that ended with the blade pointed towards her. His arm swayed and the blade moved back and forth.

“Fine.” Hope eyed his stance and feinted. He didn’t take her bait. Liara rested her right hand on her knee.

Brunhilde sat up to watch. The two danced a little, trying to coax out a strike from the other. They were sizing each other up. Nevio looked confident now in a way that he had not on the road. She had no doubt that he had stuck that dagger into the ribs of an enemy youth once or twice before. But his confidence would not hold up against Hope’s skill.

Hope played with him a couple of times. She let him lunge at her, always into a space she controlled. Before he could make any advance, he found her blade coming into to threaten him. He was trained to fight in cramped quarters, dark passageways in houses or streets, not real battlefields. Dangerous but not to Hope.

Nevio’s heart was pumping. He wanted to rescue his honour against her insults, but she was definitely trained in the blade. Her face was alive with a malicious smile, she seemed to enjoy his strikes at her as much as she enjoyed teasing him with her attacks. He felt definite fear creep into him.

He lunged again and she kicked at his shin. He fell to his knees, and Liara let out a shriek. Before she could drop her hand to her boot, she felt a strong heavy hand over hers.

“Let’s keep it one against one, hawk-mount,” Brunhilde said. She had sat down beside Liara unnoticed. She kept her hand tight over Liara’s drawing hand.

Hope backed away from Nevio and gave a look to Liara. Nevio stood and brought his dagger up. His tangled hair hung down over his face, a flick of his head moved it away and he readied his dagger again. He shifted and flicked his blade, but his confidence was gone. He knew that Hope was too much for him.

“Yield,” Hope said.

Nevio paused and considered her. She was standing casually, the golden dagger in her hand illuminated her face from below. The shadows on her face made her look taller, as if she was a stern judge staring down at him.

“I yield,” he said. He bowed to her.

“I accept. I can teach you where your weaknesses are,” Hope said. He looked at her to see if she was jesting, but she was calm now, as if they had not just been duelling.

“Yes, perhaps later,” Nevio said. He went to sit down and saw Brunhilde sitting down next to his sister.

Brunhilde squeezed Liara’s knee. “That was for your benefit, not Hope’s. She’d kill you if you interfered. And you didn’t pay me to fight my friend,” Brunhilde whispered. She stood and let Nevio take his place at his sister’s side.

“I’ll take the first watch, get some sleep,” Brunhilde said to the camp. She grabbed a short-sword she had found in the guard post from her pack, and went to take up a lookout.

“That was a bit of fun,” Baram said. He rubbed his nose.

Hope picked up her sword and, with it still in its scabbard, shadow-duelled with it. She replayed the previous fight in her head, going over the moves she had made, and imagining more. How she would have deflected Liara’s thrown dagger, if she had tripped how she would protect herself on the floor, what if Baram had charged her through the fire. All these fascinating puzzles kept her awake for a while, whilst the pilgrims all finally settled down.

A little higher up the valley, Brunhilde found a good spot to sit. A flat hollow in the hillside gave her a place to sit and see the road and campsite. She checked her found blade. It was pitted with brown spots but still serviceable as a weapon. She would have to break it if she ever killed with it, and it would be fine to use until then. The grip was unworn, due to a lazy guard or peaceful area. She swung the blade through the air a few times, feeling its heft.

A memory of sparring with her cousin came to her. In her father’s lodge she had played with wooden swords, enacting battles, rescuing fallen warriors and slaying dragons. All stories of her ancestors that were kept alive against the Hungry Moon that wanted to swallow all tales and make the world forget itself. Sometimes the older warriors would step in and adjust her hold or show her a move to take advantage of a weakness in her opponent. Her older cousins always complained, but as the youngest Brunhilde was always favoured by her uncles and aunts. Little Red Sparrow, they called her, after the way she ran around after the larger group of children. As the older boys and girls came of age they left to raid or travel, and were less inclined to spar with children’s toys. Brunhilde was left to play on her own.

She took the sword and thrust its point into the earth. One evening she had done the same outside the lodge, frustrated at having to spar with imaginary partners. She was outside warm glow of light from the doorway, and the sounds of laughter from the adults inside seemed to mock her loneliness. Her father found her, sullen and morose, sitting on the ground and staring at her lonely weapon.

“Look,” he said. He put his hand on her head and guided her to look up at the moon. “He’s eating himself out of hunger.” The moon was a thin sliver. “What does he want?”

“He wants our memories,” Brunhilde said.

“So?”

“Make stories large and small to escape his hunger.”

“The smallest act of kindness lives on as long as the greatest battle,” her father said. “Where did you get that sword?”

“Astrid made it for me.”

“Will you forget that?”

“No, never!” When Brunhilde’s sword broke in a mock battle Astrid took her into the forest and found a choice branch to make a new one. The hilt was a band of red ribbon that had been a hair-tie for Astrid.

“She’s trading in the south. If she is lost down there, will you remember her?”

Brunhilde stood up straight with teary eyes. “Astrid lives on in my anvil of joy. We share memories that will wound the moon and keep her from his belly.”

“So you do. You’ll be roaming and making your own memories to share with others, so Father Ice can’t take you.” He ruffled her hair. “Let’s go inside and share stories. Did I ever tell you how my uncle Thorin Twelve-arm skipped a stone right across the bay?”

She was making her own story, too far from home. She pulled the sword from the ground and held it up to the half-moon.

“Father Ice, if I die in battle this night my tales will live on so long, you’ll die of belly-growling hunger before you take me,” she said. She spat on the floor in rebellion.

Brunhilde looked down over the camp. Hope was asleep, wrapped in her cloak. The other pilgrims were snoring and mumbling in their sleep. She was the only one awake. She stretched and rubbed her arms and legs to keep herself awake.

The night passed and nothing came. She woke Hope in the pause of night, when the cold was no longer creeping stronger and before the prelude of dawn came. The princess rolled over and tried to stay asleep at first, but Brunhilde’s insistent shaking roused her eventually. Hope yawned at looked around the campsite.

“Anything in the night?”

“Nothing. But I smell something out there. Lions maybe. Something is hunting in the dark,” Brunhilde said.

Hope stretched and wiped the sand from her eyes. “Go to sleep then,” she said. She climbed to take up Brunhilde’s lookout spot. By the time Hope had settled in, the barbarian was sound asleep. She envied her ability to sleep in any condition at a moment’s notice. Hope would kill an army for a chance to sleep in a proper bed. Not the cloth and feather insults that existed down here. A properly engineered bed, of springs and stiff cloth that supported the sleeper like an eternal breeze. An army, of armoured and armed soldiers, yes. She would cut through them with blade and magic and at the other side of the battlefield, exhausted from her magnificent display of battle prowess she would sink into a proper bed, fit for a princess. Her eyes drooped as she felt the sheets pull over her. Light-moth silk, pillows of comet-swan down, so perfect. Such a lovely place to sleep.

She snapped her eyes open. The beautiful oblivion of sleep had taken unknown minutes or hours from her. She slapped her face and stood up. There was still no sign of dawn so she had not been asleep too long. Stupid. She pinched her thigh and punched the hard rock behind her. So stupid to do that. She had a duty to protect herself and Brunhilde. Thought uncultured she was a useful warrior. If she let her companion die in the night where would she be? Alone again. Alone in the dark.

The fear of being along gripped Hope with unusual weight. She slumped down on the ground. Her chest felt like stone, she could hardly breathe, as if the spirit of life inside her had given up on the simple act of taking in air.

She unbuckled her sword and tossed it down the hillside. It skittered to a halt halfway down. She had no use for that cursed blade. She wiped tears from her eyes. She was without kingdom, inheritance, or family. Her cursed fate was as bad as each of these dreary pilgrims’ summed and sevenfold. No, twelve-fold!

She felt a presence in the dark. Something padded down towards her. She turned her head, and through tears she saw a low gloom-coloured hunting cat. Its wide paws trod so gently on the earth it could have been walking on mist. A hungry cat, come to feast. Why bother to resist? The cat stalked closer, its head close to the ground and eyes fixed on her. Her stomach grew heavier with despair. She was fixed in place. It was her time to die.

It stopped and its haunches twitched from side to side. She could feel it ready to leap. Hairs on the back of her neck raised and her heart raced, but still the thick drapery of despair hung over her mind. A faraway part of her screamed with rage, but it was a pinprick of light. She lifted her hand to her cheek.

As the hunting beast pounced, a trained reflex in Hope shaped her hand into an arcane shape. Light flickered in her palm, her finger and thumb made a circle and she spat air through like an idle drunk spitting out grape seeds. A splinter of light darted from her hand, it struck the cat’s face just as it connected with her. She fell backwards with its weight, but instead of a deadly bite to her neck there was a hissing, yowling and warm blood dropping onto her.

Another reflex kicked in and she summoned a golden halo around her head. The shield designed to protect her against mental attacks shut out the numbing effect of the cat’s magic. There was no leaden despair in Hope now, only rage. She kicked the cat off and readied a golden blade in her hands.

The cat twisted to its feet and fixed her with a stare. It hissed, showing vicious fangs, blood dripped from its wounded cheek. Hope hissed back and the cat’s ears twitched in confusion at her resistance. It was not prepared for a resisting victim. It moved sideways, trying to circle her with its gaze still fixed on her. Hope moved with it, still crouched low to the ground and with her magic burning in her hands. She wanted to punish this opportunistic whelp. Reducing her to self-pity was unforgivable.

The two circled slowly, they recognised the danger in each other now. They both knew if one tried to flee the other would strike them down, one of them must die.