Brille Covella's Arc

Chapter 11 of 13

They rode until dusk. Brille kept her horse three lengths behind Cassian's and watched the way his lizard cocked its head at every sound in the trees. The lizard heard what its owner pretended not to. Twice she caught Cassian glance back down the road, not at her, past her. Something was following them again. At the next rest, she slid off and walked to Siobhan. "We're being trailed. Not a beast this time. Men." Siobhan didn't look up from her girth strap. "How many?" "I don't know yet. Give me an hour before we make camp. Let me ride the back trail." Siobhan's green eyes moved to Cassian, then back. "One hour. Bring me a number." Brille turned her horse and cut into the pines above the cobblestones. The old road ran below her, dark stones patched with newer ones, a thin stream cutting down the middle where the drainage had failed. She tied off and climbed a rise where she could see two bends at once. She strung her bow and waited. They came inside the hour. Six on foot, spaced wide, moving quiet. Then a seventh behind them, and he was not quiet, because he did not have to be. He was taller than any orc, scaled orange and red, a crest of spines down his skull. He carried an axe the size of a wagon wheel. Grok Ironjaw. She had heard the name at the inn under the east bridge, spoken like a joke that stopped being funny. She counted again. Seven. She marked the lead scout's belt. A purse fat with coin. The same type of purse the dead man on the ridge had carried. She backed off the rise, mounted, and rode hard. She found Siobhan at the picket line with Rhyme beside her, tall and lean, one hand already on his blade hilt. "Seven," Brille said. "Six scouts and Grok Ironjaw behind them. An hour out." Rhyme whistled low. "Seven come creeping, and one comes tall. Best we don't camp here at all." Siobhan was already moving. "Break the fire. Wagons up. We push to the stone culvert and hold the narrow." She caught Brille's sleeve. "You saw them first. That's the second time. Don't lose the habit." They moved before full dark. Brille rode drag and watched the road behind. The company reached the culvert and set the wagons across it. When the muggers came at moonrise they came into arrows and Rhyme's blade and Siobhan's knives in a killing lane no wider than a door. Four fell on the stones. Two ran. Grok did not come into the lane. He stood at the edge of the torchlight, watched his men die, and walked back into the trees. Maybe Grok was not as dumb as tales had told. His legend was one of raw power and no tact. Tonight laid the myth a lie, it was calculated. Either Grok was smarter than he was known to be, or someone was using him as a puppet. Brille lowered her bow. She had bought the camp. She had also shown Grok her face, and Cassian was still riding with them.