THIRTEEN. ACCORD

The woods were silent.

Asayaga, bow raised and partially drawn, waited. The stag was half-concealed behind a fallen log, only its antlers and the upper arc of its back visible. It had been there for some minutes, peeling bark from a low-hanging branch, head down.

Asayaga remained motionless, barely daring to breathe, a slight trickle of sweat creasing down his forehead.

The stag raised its head, seemed to look straight at him. Don't look in its eyes, Asayaga remembered, they can sense that. He let his gaze drift away. A moment later the stag stepped out from behind the overturned log. With a steady, fluid motion, as relaxed as if he were a branch stirring in the breeze, Asayaga drew back, sighted down the shaft and let his fingers slip off the string.

The arrow winged in, the stag leapt into the air and then collapsed.

Asayaga started forward.

'Don't move.'

Asayaga froze and looked over his shoulder. Dennis was leaning against the tree beside him, bow in one hand.

'Remember, I told you this before. The sound of your shooting, the impact of the arrow, the death struggle of the animal -' and as he spoke he nodded to the stag which was feebly thrashing on the ground, '- if anyone else is near, it will draw them. I told you, if you are in hostile woods, after you shoot you should draw back in to your cover and wait a moment.'

'But the animal?'

'If you didn't make a clean kill, that is your own damn fault. But you must wait. Look around you, listen carefully. Usually if someone who is unskilled hears the shot he'll immediately start towards you, expecting to catch you off-guard butchering your kill, and you get an arrow in the back.'

He smiled, a smile that held no warmth.

'I know, I've done it more than once.'

'To Tsurani?'

'Do you want to know?'

Asayaga did not reply, his gaze going past Dennis to the snow-covered glade and the stag struggling in its death agony. It was something he had never quite understood about himself. He had seen thousands of men die in nearly ten years of war and could look on it at times with a near-total detachment, but an animal suffering – be it a horse or needra injured in battle, or the stag now dying – moved him deeply. He tried to shut out the look in the animal's eyes.

So strange to be out here like this with Hartraft, he thought. They had taken to the habit of going for a walk together each morning.

For the first few days the walks had clearly been defined as a meeting to discuss what had to be done that day.

Dennis always went forth with his bow and more often than not returned with something for the pot, and finally Asayaga had borrowed a bow from Wolfgar.

Dennis had first met Asayaga's efforts with barely-concealed disdain, but after several days, he announced that if Asayaga was to hunt by his side he had to learn to do it right or leave the bow behind.

Now, at last, Asayaga had made his first kill and he felt a touch of bitterness. The Tsurani had accepted Dennis's lessons and admonishments in silence. He was willing to defer to Hartraft's superior skills, and besides, he was learning, how Hartraft worked in the woods: a valuable lesson worth the humiliations. At this moment, however, he half-expected a nod, an acknowledgment of a difficult shot through the woods on game they had stalked for nearly an hour.

The mere fact that he expected some sort of praise from Hartraft made him angry with himself. He now did as ordered, carefully scanning the woods, watching as the branches slowly swayed in the afternoon breeze, trying to catch a movement that was not in rhythm, listening for a sound that was out of the ordinary. He caught the distant sound of a horse, and looked back to Dennis, who had heard it as well and simply shook his head. Of course it was all an exercise, for they were still safe in the valley, but he played out the game.

'Nothing.'

'Are you certain?'

'Why? Is this still a drill or do you have someone hidden in the woods waiting to kill me?'

Dennis's features clouded. 'Some day soon it will again be real between us, but until then, you are safe in my company. But while marching with my command in the woods I expect you to be of some help, at least.'

'Who held the centre of the trail in our final retreat, Hartraft?'

'The next fight might be different – a running battle through the forest – and there it's archery and stealth that counts.'

Asayaga held up his hand motioning Dennis to silence. 'This argument is ridiculous,' he hissed. Drawing his blade, he turned and went to the stag, which was still kicking weakly, and knelt by its side.

He lowered his head, whispered a prayer and then drew the blade across the dying beast's throat. Its kicking weakened and then finally stopped.

'A dumb beast suffering needlessly tends to divert me,' Asayaga said coldly, looking up at Dennis.

Dennis knelt beside Asayaga without comment, and started to gut the animal.

'Why have you taught me this?' Asayaga asked.

'What?'

'How to hunt.'

'We need food, and also, when we face the Dark Brotherhood again, I need you to understand our tactics.'

'No. I see it as foolish of you.'

'Why?'

'I am your enemy, Hartraft. In the month that we've been here I've observed you. You have taught me skills I never knew before. It makes me even more dangerous to you now.'

Dennis leaned back, his hands covered in blood, and laughed.

'You, dangerous? I'll give you a half hour to go hide, then we can have our fight. You'll be dead before the hour is finished.'

'When we fight it will be in challenge, as you agreed, in the open, before our men.'

'Why? That gives you the advantage. Let's do it in the woods instead.'

'And give you the advantage?' Asayaga replied with a laugh. 'We agreed to an open challenge, blade on blade.'

'I don't quite remember it that way.'

'Are you calling me a liar?' Asayaga barked, and he stood up, reaching to his side, but his sword was back in the long house, with all the rest.

Dennis shook his head. 'No, I am not calling you a liar, Asayaga.' He motioned for the Tsurani to sit back down. 'We have to settle how this will be fought.'

'Our pledge is binding, it is to be a duel in the open.'

'All right then,' Dennis replied wearily, 'let it be swords, in the open, witnessed by all our men.'

Asayaga, gave an angry grunt. He watched as Dennis effortlessly gutted the animal. 'You've lived all your life in the woods, haven't you?' he asked at last.

Dennis nodded, saying nothing.

Asayaga leaned back, looking past him. It had been clear for over a week and there was even a hint of warmth in the afternoon air, sunlight sparkling though the trees, catching the snow still clinging to the branches so that it seemed as if the trees were garlanded with baskets of diamonds. 'Where I lived the woods were dank jungle. I always hated them, they seemed so dangerous, foreboding. The sunlight never shone there, and deadly serpents and stalkers lurked within.'

'Stalkers lurk here too,' said Dennis.

'Such as you.'

'Yes.'

Asayaga nodded. 'Yes, but it's different. If there was no war, this would be a good place. Sheltered in winter, the fields look fertile, the game is rich. It could be a good life here.'

'If there was no war…' Dennis hesitated. 'Yes, it could be.'

'Was your home like this before the war?'

'Don't ask me about my home, Asayaga.'

'Sorry. I did not mean to bring the return of unpleasant memories.'

There was silence for several minutes as Dennis finished his job, putting the heart and liver back inside the hollowed-out carcass, then washed his blade and hands with snow. 'It was like this place,' he said softly, almost as if speaking to himself. 'Our valley had good land, by midsummer the grain stood waist-high and there was more than enough for all: even the poorest of my father's tenants ate well, had a dry roof over his head, and a warm fire in the winter.' He sat back, absently wiping his hands on his stained trousers. 'The great forest was thick with game. My father – and when he still was able, my grandfather as well – we would go hunting together and when we returned there would be a feast and all in the keep joined us. The feasting would last for days, especially the great Midwinter festival like the one we celebrated two weeks ago. My grandfather had an old retainer named Jocomo who would dress up as Father Winter and come riding into the courtyard with a bag of sweets for the children.' With a faint smile Dennis added, 'He always said that the wolves who pulled his sleigh were ill, which is why he had to borrow one of grandfather's horses and each year when I was a child I would believe him. Anyone who came to our door was given a place at our table and my grandfather would insist that before we of title ate, those who served or were visitors must eat first.'