Cold Redemption by Nathan Hawke Page A

lived!
    ‘We crossed the mountains together. Is he hurt?’
    The rope snapped free. The Marroc woman shook her head. She kept glancing back at the farmhouse. The crashes and cries from inside had been muffled by the snow but now they’d fallen quiet.
The Lhosir hadn’t yet come out to chase her down but maybe that was because they didn’t think she’d get far in the dark. The need to run filled her eyes as she sawed at the rope
around his wrists. ‘Gallow. I’ve heard of you. Everyone has. Gallow the Foxbeard, who turned on the forkbeard prince and cut off his hand and stole away with the Sword of the Weeping
God. No wonder they have you all trussed up.’ She gave him a hard look. ‘How do I know you won’t cut off mine?’
    ‘You don’t. But I won’t.’
    ‘Forkbeards were everywhere looking for you a few years back. Murderous mad they were about what you did. Still are, I expect.’ The rope split and Gallow’s hands flew
apart.
    ‘I had my reasons.’
    She looked him up and down, the knife held between them, the point at his belly. ‘You can keep them. Forkbeards murdering forkbeards is good enough for me.’ She took a wary step
away. ‘Lead then, Gallow Foxbeard, and move fast. Don’t you worry about me following. I’ll be there, just not so close in case you lead me false.’
    ‘Why would I do that?’ Gallow picked himself out of the snow and set off at a run, following the Lhosir tracks back the way they’d come. The moon gave enough light; the woman
would have seen them easily enough without him.
    ‘Forkbeards are forkbeards, that’s why.’
    The horses were exactly where the Lhosir had left them, stamping their feet and snorting at the deepening cold. Gallow let them all loose and mounted one. He watched the Marroc woman throw
herself at the back of another and scrabble and pull herself up until she was sitting upright. She didn’t look like she’d ever been on a horse before. ‘If you can’t ride
then you should come up with me.’
    A derisive snort answered him. ‘We go our separate ways now, forkbeard.’
    Gallow shrugged. With a kick he urged his horse into the others, chasing them away and scattering them. Anything to make it harder for Beyard to follow. The Fateguard would, though. That was
what they did. When he looked around, the Marroc woman was lying in the snow.
    ‘
Nioingr!
’ A shout from the farm pierced the night. ‘Now we’re going to kill you, Foxbeard.’ The Lhosir had discovered his escape. They were coming. The
woman looked at him, brushing the snow off her. Gallow reached out a hand.
    ‘Get up behind me!’ She was shivering already. The shouts from the farmhouse were getting closer and quickly. They weren’t stupid. The horses were the first place to look.
    The woman hissed at him. ‘Go your own way, forkbeard!’
    ‘Then I thank you for setting me free. Go back to your house, woman.’ He turned his horse away from her. ‘You won’t escape these Lhosir on foot.’
    ‘So sure?’
    ‘They have a Fateguard with them. He’ll find you.’
    She ignored him, tried to mount her horse a second time and ended up flat on her back in the snow again. Gallow unwrapped his fur cloak and threw it at her. ‘Take this at least!
You’ll not last the night out here without it.’ And without it
he’d
likely freeze too. He’d have to kill the horse. Find a deep drift and dig in until the morning.
Kill the horse and climb inside its carcass like Hostjir had done in the old sagas. Was that even possible?
    The woman looked at the furs and then looked at him. ‘Damn you, forkbeard.’ She picked them up and threw them back at him and then stood beside his horse and held up her hand
expectantly. ‘Well, help me up then.’
    As soon as she was pressed up behind him and Gallow had wrapped the furs around them both, he felt a jab in his ribs through his mail. ‘I still have a knife, forkbeard. You might have
saved my brother Addic and you might have helped me