Ludo

“I don’t know that I can surely say,” said Al-Makir. “I only joined the Iron Company when they came to Al-Haikk, in the service of the Emir. I understand they had many adventures before they crossed the sea… perhaps Father Barbaro could tell you the stories.” He shrugged. “In Araby, we are not so afraid of spirits as they are in the north. When we fought against Othman of the Muktarhin, the sheikh had two sorcerers in his service who knew how to bind djinns. And when we were in the city I believe the Captain himself had some dealings with a very famous magician, the learned Al-Khadir. The Iron Company provided some service to him, and in return received thirty-eight jars of alchemical fire.” He looked carefully at Ludo. “But I’m not sure this is what you are asking.”

Sieghard & Urgrim

Searching beneath the tree where the man’s body hung, Urgrim soon found the spot where three sets of prints became two. There were clear signs of a fight - following the tracks a little further, he found a ragged black feather the length of his arm, one end singed as if by the close discharge of a gun.

From there, the tracks headed south, the two survivors clearly moving quickly as they sought the denser cover of the canopy. Following the trail, they passed along a stony gulley to the foot of a dead oak, where Gustaf spotted a dark bloodstain against the bleached wood. There were more signs of struggle here - Urgrim counted more footprints than could possibly have been made by two people. On the other side of the tree were the clear marks of heavy objects - bodies? - being dragged away to the east.

Following this new trail, they soon caught the scent of woodsmoke on the breeze. These were the same wooded foothills where they had rested after their retreat from Nath, and the Thorns huddled close together as they followed Urgrim and Gustaf through the trees. After a short while, they came to the edge of a rocky hollow, where a thin dribble of a stream splashed down into a shallow, leaf-choked pool.

Down in the hollow was a crowded camp, with a large campfire burning in its centre. Bellying up to the edge of the rocks, Sieghard recognised the man standing beside the fire immediately - it was Armin, ladling out wooden bowls of brown stew to a grateful line of hungry-looking followers. Around the edge of the camp were a good number of men and women in ragged black, carrying a variety of improvised weapons. Their faces were smeared with white chalk markings, mostly the crude likeness of a hound. The blackened wolf’s-skull totem that Armin had been carrying with him in the Downs stood tall beside the fire.

It was difficult to make an accurate count, but Urgrim reckoned there might have been sixty-odd people in the hollow, with twenty or so being Armin’s zealots. The trail led down into their camp, but there was no sign of Gunda or the Falcons.