The cat twitched its tail and backed away. Underneath black fur its muscles rippled with power. It was lithe and strong, even if it was used to more docile prey. Even with her magical protection, Hope felt the power of its emotion deadening aura. A road of pilgrim given up hope was the perfect place for it to stalk. But she would never give up against army, assassin or even the stalking hunger of this beast. She waved her light-blade slowly, like a twitching mouse. The cat jolted but kept its focus on her eyes, watching her. It had some intelligence.

It scampered up, trying to get above her on the slope. She shifted up after it. It twisted and pounced back, the great front paws came diving down on her in surprise attack. She thrust her blade up, but the full force of its pounce hit her chest and winded her. She fell to her back, stabbing repeatedly. Light flashed, claws tore at her dress, sharp teeth scraped her collarbone. Then suddenly it fell dead, like an exhausted lover its head dropped against her neck.

She rolled it off and lay there, panting with pain and exhaustion. Warm blood spilt from her shoulder and neck, she pressed her hand there and whispered words of healing. Thin strands like spiderwebs spread across the wound, she felt the horrible tightness of them pulling the wound closed. The bleeding stopped but the pain did not. Her halo faded. With her magical charge spent she felt more than naked lying there under the dark sky. She rolled onto her side, but the agony forced her to fall onto her back again. She could only wait for her strength to return.

In their camp, a warrior’s sense for danger had woken Brunhilde. She ran up the slope with her lantern. The light revealed the cat lying still and then higher up the hill Hope, lying above a streak of blood that was still seeping into the earth. Brunhilde knelt and checked Hope. She moaned in pain, but could not say anything.

“How do you do that?” Brunhilde said as she looked at the filigree of Hope’s healing magic across her neck and shoulder.

Hope opened her mouth, but could only gasp. Brunhilde squeezed her hand and then turned to the cat. She lifted its eyelid, and seeing blank eyes left it there.

“Rest, it’s dead. Well fought,” Brunhilde said.

Hope tried to sit up, but her head was light. Brunhilde helped her to sit up and let her lean against her. The roar of battle slowly left Hope’s ears as she sat. Leaning against Brunhilde, she felt supported by the warmth and steadiness of her.

“Some of these hunt in packs, some are loners,” Brunhilde said.

“It’s a loner, a solitary hunter.”

“If you say so. I’ll keep watch until dawn, it won’t be long.”

“It’s still my watch.”

Brunhilde’s full throated laugh sounded from her belly, Hope felt it bounce from the barbarian’s belly and chest.

“I fulfil my responsibilities,” Hope said.

“Stay awake then,” Brunhilde said. She went to stand up but Hope put her hand out.

“Wait. I need a little more rest.” The pain throbbing in her neck sent sharp daggers of pain into her head. Brunhilde was like a solid tree trunk to rest on.

“As you wish,” Brunhilde said.

They sat together under the night sky. Hope dozed off, Brunhilde let the princess sleep, cradled against her.

Hope awoke when the sun rose. The lines of magic scribed on her skin drinking in the energy of the sun gave her pins and needles. Her left shoulder ached a little from the wound, but her magic had sealed her skin so that only a dark bruise was left. There was a heavy feeling on her right shoulder. Brunhilde was asleep, her head was resting on Hope and she felt her warm breath as the barbarian snoozed.

“Wake up,” Hope said. She shrugged her shoulder to dislodge Brunhilde. The barbarian shot awake. Hope stood up and stretched her arms out to the sun.

Brunhilde rose and stretched. Whilst Hope stripped to recharge herself, Brunhilde studied the cat. It looked like a mountain jaguar, dark sleek fur, large padded feet that let it slink silently across the rocky hills.

“What is this magic it had?” Brunhilde said.

“A shadowy smell. It clouds your mind, makes you weak and feeble. I resisted it of course, but a warrior like you might become so defeated in spirit you throw yourself into its jaws,” Hope said. Glittering lines shimmered across her, from her hands along her arms and down her body and legs to her ankles. Against her dark skin the arcane patterns were like the roads of a city seen from a distance. A city hiding strange magical secrets in plain sight.

Brunhilde stroked the fur. “This is good skin, shame I have no way to keep it,” Brunhilde said.

“That’s my kill,” Hope said.

“You want the fur?” Brunhilde said.

“No. I don’t keep trophies. If I did, I’d have enough to fill a city.”

Brunhilde snorted with laughter, but she could believe it to be true. Short-tempered arrogance always found trouble. “The tail, though,” she wondered aloud.

When the pilgrims awoke and made ready to leave, they saw Brunhilde cleaning the long tail of the cat.

“What happened?” the Comtessa said in a panic.

“Nothing to worry about. We stopped a hungry hunter from taking one of you,” Brunhilde said.

“It would have been me probably, hnmp,” Zorzio said.

“I wish,” Baram said under his breath.

Hope came down from the hillside, dressed and ready to travel.

“Let’s go, time to continue your pilgrimage,” she said. She clapped her hands and shooed the waking twins and Zorzio to hurry. They grumbled and asked for time to eat.

“No. There are dangerous things around here. The faster we get there the faster I can continue with more interesting things, hurry up,” Hope said.

They grumbled more, but could only follow her orders.

On the road they travelled with a good pace, the hunger in their bellies forced them to walk faster, anticipating reaching their goal. Even Zorzio’s struggling with his chest kept up with them.

Around mid-day, their road from the valley sidled up to a larger one, worn out by the hundreds of pilgrims that had travelled on it. Pilgrims were scattered along the large road, all headed north. They joined this straggling procession. Each group kept to themselves, but there was a shared atmosphere of purpose to the road. They were all headed to the same destination.

Later on, the road came to a large camp, spread over a vast area like barnacles scattered across a shoreline. Amongst the dust there were tents large and small, wooden structures like huts, and other strange shapes in the desert. The road continued onwards through the camp, but men and women stood by the side of the road watching the new arrivals. Some approached and offered trade for food or water. Others called out offers of drinking houses or places to rest. Scattered amongst them were those that just sat or lay by the road, watching with dead eyes for something that had not come yet.

They made their way through the throng of newcomers to find a quiet place away from the buzz of greeters. Brunhilde shooed away the more persistent, and eventually the sight of a giant red-head pushing away stubborn camp-dwellers deterred any more from approaching them. They headed off the road to find a place to sit.

“You, where is the Sponsor?” Hope called out to an older man leaning against a wooden pole.

“Keep going north,” he replied.

“Why are you all here?” Hope said.

“This is the last stop. Those who can’t bear to see the Sponsor wait here to muster their courage,” he said.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m no coward. On arrival I considered that perhaps my misfortune is not so bad that I should throw myself into oblivion.”

“So?”

“Then again perhaps it is. I leave my fate up to the spirits of the wind and wood. When this pole falls under my weight, I shall visit the Sponsor. Until then it is not my time,” he said. He shifted his body slightly, now his back was against the pole.

Hope eyed the wooden post. It was thrust deep into the ground and steady, she considered booting it to see his response. His eyes widened and he threw his hands out to her.

“Don’t interfere in the workings of wind and wood! Leave my fate up to them,” he said.

They left him to his fate to find a place to rest. The camp was filled with gaggles of pilgrims, resting or mustering their courage. Some sat in circles and prayed with bowed heads.

There were other groups carousing and cheering, singing happy songs. Further out they saw a tree with fruit that glowed like the sunrise, surrounded by bowing worshippers. They passed a group standing around a deep trench. From the trench came the sound of a creature thrashing in water. The onlookers chattered to each other, discussing the thing in the pit, leaning over and peering at it.

“We should leave here as soon as possible,” Hope said. She eyed the mass of pilgrims wandering and sitting in groups distastefully. There was no order or hierarchy here, only the lost, huddling together in fear.

“There’s a bit of life here, why not join in a party?” Brunhilde said.

Baram and the other pilgrims huddled together, looking even more confused and lost.

“This is disrespectful. How can people celebrate and cheer so?” the Comtessa said.

“You owe me a wine-skin,” Brunhilde said to Hope. In response to the princess’ confusion she added, “I wagered there was a settlement here.”

Hope strode off to find some wine and get away from the pilgrims. There was an air of desperation even amongst the carousing. The drunken laughter sounded hollow and forced. She found a merchant selling wine and ale, flanked by two heavy bruisers. A gaggle of pilgrims waited around to barter with her. Hope pushed through them to the front.

“Are you here to see the Sponsor?” Hope asked.

“No, I come here once a season to sell our wares,” the merchant replied. She was curt and business-like, covered in dust from the desert. Her bodyguards eyed Hope menacingly.

“You sell a lot of ales here?”

“Of course. They do nothing but drink and moan. Some of ‘em pray and head on, even fewer turn around and go back home. Most of ‘em stay here and drink,” she said.

Hope purchased a wineskin from her and took it back to Brunhilde.

She was eating cold meats with the pilgrims, and clapping and singing along to a bard that had joined the group. He sat with a battered and stained lute, singing to the group.

“What are you doing?” Hope said. The bard stopped his song with a start and stared up at Hope.

“One song for a copper coin,” Brunhilde said, with a nod to the bard. “He’s good. Carry on!” She threw a copper coin to him. He caught it in the air and secreted in his tunic, then strummed his lute, considering his next song.
Hope dropped the wineskin into Brunhilde’s lap and sat down to meditate. The bard started again.

“Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;”

Another female voice joined his for the next lines.

“Or leave a kiss within the cup,
And I'll not ask for wine.”

Hope opened her eyes. The Comtessa, with tears shining, was singing along with the bard. They finished the song together. Her voice was strong and flute-like, though it cracked from the emotion of this revealed memory.

“The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of love's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.”

“Well sung milady! Do you know any duets you would care to sing?” the bard asked.

“Where did you learn this song?” the Comtessa said. She was pale and quivered slightly, but she was more alert than they had seen her be on the road. “I know it, this song is in my bones. Where did you learn it?” She sat upright and leant forward, with a hungry look on her face.