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  VIII.

  ‘Take the bull by the horns. Or the goat in this case.’

  Goat-face scrambled backwards, putting Pig-nose between him and Draven. Draven ducked his head and charged, axe trailing a dusty plume through the dirt. Around him the air was filled with the buzzing of arrows, turning the forest into a hornet's nest of barbs and points.

  To his credit, Pig-nose stood his ground. But then again, Draven supposed that the fat outlaw couldn't have moved fast enough if he had chosen to. Axe to sword, Draven came upon Pig-nose, swinging from low to high in a murderous arc.

  "Stop!" This time the call came from somewhere behind Draven.

  'Again?'

  Ting!

  A kiss of iron, and that was that. Pig-nose all but dropped his sword as Draven tapped it with his axe. The outlaw looked as if he had loosed his bowels in terror.

  'Smells like it too.'

  But, Pig-nose wasn't looking at him. Draven, keeping his axe levelled, spared the treeline an eye. The arrows had stilled, the outlaws silent. Following Pig-Nose's wide-eyed gawp, Draven glanced over his shoulder.

  He couldn't help but smile.

  The men of the village came through the trees, boasting tools and whatever had been to hand. Looked more like a call to market rather than a call to arms. A motley bunch, but a bunch to outnumber the outlaws. A man with a scowl – the scowl of a bruised ego, as bruised as the flesh about his crooked nose – forged ahead of the other villages, shears in one hand, staff in the other. The man's broken nose had a fist-sized-target appeal to it, and Draven worked his fingers at the sight.

  Herdsman Raines held Draven's gaze, glare narrowed by puffy eyes. The Herdsman stopped in his tracks with the abruptness of a slammed door, and the other villages fell in around him.

  "Seems like you've got yourself into a spot o' trouble." The Herdsman hawked and spat. "It's a change to see that you're not the cause of it for once."

  Someone squawked within the crowd, and Draven caught a glimpse of Nicolas' colourful head of hair. The villages jostled forward from the back, and though no more than two dozen, they spread out into an impressive line of determined faces and brandished intent. McGowan the Blacksmith tilted a head to Draven, once which Draven was glad to return.

  'Maybe I have been making friends…'

  Draven turned for the outlaws. Goat-face was long gone, and the rustle of bushes signalled the others hot on his hooves. Squealing, Pig-nose made a sudden lunge for the coins scattered on the floor. An arrow glanced from the fat outlaw's sword, staggering him onto his hind.

  "Be off with you, before the butcher here sets to you for supper!" Shrike's voice rang clear from the forest.

  The villagers broke into raucous laughter as Pig-nose scampered for the treeline. Boasting and beaming, the men of the village set about retrieving the taxes.

  "Don't miss any!" Nicolas chirped, busying amongst them. "And don't try pocket a coin or two. I've counted them!"

  Herdsman Raines and McGowan met Draven, the first with a black-eyed blankness, the latter a smile.

  "T'ain't bad fer a day's work, aye?" The Blacksmith swung his hammer onto one shoulder. "You seemed to handle yourself."

  "Better than you did at my farm." Herdsman Raines' voice was unreadable as the look in his eyes. "Or at the tafarn, the stables, the carpenters'…"

  "I managed just fine with the fellers down at Splitter's Cross," Draven said.

  A grimace that looked like a pained smile crossed the Herdsman's lips, the upper one cracked and still swollen. "That you did. Though, you'd be wasted down there."

  "I'm not going back to my old life. I made a promise to my wife."

  "Never said you should go back. I think we can use a man like you around the village. We've had more than enough problems with outlaws around here. Dirty work seeing to them."

  McGowan puffed out his chest. "See, what did I tell you? I've got plenty o' work for you. Everyone's got a little dirty work. How about another job like-"

  "A job at the Smithy?" Herdsman Raines cut in.

  Shaking his head, Draven laughed. "I thought you'd never ask."

  The Blacksmith fumbled his hammer, and put out a soot-grained hand. "Of course, of course! You know your weapons after all. From man to man?"

  Draven seized the offering in a firm grip. "From man to man."

  'But what cut of man am I now?

  McGowan cleared his throat noisily. "But…if another job was to come up…"

  "Any coin's a coin."

  Read More of Draven's exploits in the Upcoming Novella,

  'It Began With Ashes'

  Turn the page for a sneak preview.

  It Began With Ashes.