Opening Acts

by SFnovelists

  *** ***

  The Hunt

  Smoke crept to a vantage along a curve in the road. Peering past a veil of late summer leaves, he watched the woman approach. She carried a sack over one shoulder and held a staff in her hand. She walked south with great haste, until she was stopped at the curve by a puddle of rainwater and ox dung that stretched clear across the road. She hesitated, staring at the mire with a distressed gaze. The gush of her breath was the loudest sound in the forest. "Rot it," she whispered. "I am not getting my boots wet."

  Using the staff to balance, she edged carefully around the puddle, brushing up against the leafy screen where Smoke was hidden.

  He smiled.

  By her ugly clothes he knew she was Binthy-a tribe of sheep herders and farmers who lived in the plains north of the Wild Wood. Binthy women were well known for their poor taste. They dressed like boys as often as not, in breeches and tunic with a shapeless wool poncho to keep warm, and so it was with this woman-though she was a pretty thing, despite it.

  Smoke admired her youthful face, tanned brown from a summer in the sun, flushed now, and glistening with exertion. Her black hair was bobbed just past her shoulders. She showed little care for it, having tied it crudely with a braided string behind her neck. She had a sweet mouth and a graceful nose, but as he studied her it was her eyes that captivated him. They were a deep-dark black, framed by heavy lashes and full of heat.

  As she arrived on the other side of the puddle she stopped and turned, using those exquisite eyes to search the forest shadows on both sides of the road. She stared directly at Smoke's hiding place, but still she didn't see him.

  Next, she looked back the way she'd come. She held her breath, the better to listen. Smoke held his breath and listened too, but there was only the sound of a breeze rustling the tree tops. Her pursuers were drawing close, but they had not caught her yet.

  She set out again, renewing her frantic pace, but she had not gone ten paces when Smoke stepped out onto the path behind her. He allowed the leaves to rustle, and she whirled around as if she'd heard the growling of a wolf.

  Smoke grinned. She was a pretty thing. "Here you are alone," he observed.

  Her mouth fell open. Her eyes went wide. But she was a shepherd girl accustomed to guarding the sheep from marauding wolves and in a moment she had her staff raised in a defensive pose.

  He cocked an eyebrow. "Are you afraid of me?"

  She lied to him from the first. "No!"

  Her defiance excited him. "Then you are the only one. All the other women, they feared me at the start. There is no help for it. I have a fearsome aspect."

  She actually had the temerity to look him up and down. What she saw was a tall, lean, youth, with handsome features and laughing eyes that glittered green as if with their own light. His honey-brown hair was tied in a tail on top of his head so that it cascaded in a plume down his back. His only flaw was a three-inch, sunken scar that ran from the left side of his throat down to his shoulder, spoiling the curve of his neck. He was dressed in tailored breeches and a green silk tunic, both badly worn, and over all, a long, brown, leather coat. On his back he carried a sword and a bow, and at his waist, two knives. Brown leather gloves protected his hands. His tall boots were mud stained, and scuffed with wear.

  He took a step closer to her. "It's a wonder that you're here in the forest, all alone."

  She lied to him a second time. "I am not alone."

  "No longer," he conceded, "now that I'm here. Tell me your plan. Where is it you're going?"

  She raised her chin in brave defiance. "I am going with my kin to Nefion. It's only that my brother annoyed me, so I ran ahead to escape his teasing. He'll be here soon, though, along with my father and-"

  Smoke took another step toward her. This time her knuckles whitened around the staff and she stepped back two. "Come no closer!"

  He shrugged. "So what have you brought to sell?"

  "What?"

  "Nefion is a merchant town. What have you brought to sell there?"

  As she pondered an answer, Smoke took his turn to look her up and down. He imagined the pretty figure that was surely hidden beneath her dirty poncho and dowdy clothes, and for the first time he noticed that she had a sweet scent, a feral perfume that stirred his desire. By the time his gaze returned to her face his mouth felt oddly dry and his heart was beating faster than need required. Never before had he felt so drawn to any woman.

  When he spoke again his voice had gone soft and husky. "I am taken suddenly with a fancy for you."

  "Oh, no!" Her eyes narrowed and she raised her staff higher, ready to strike.

  He scowled in indignant surprise. "But why not? I like the look of you. And besides"-(it had only just occurred to him)-"I am in need of a wife."

  She should have been impressed with his willingness to do right by her, but it wasn't so.

  Her mouth opened, and then closed again in confusion. A glint of desperation lit her eyes. "I-I don't think so!" she stammered, backing slowly away. "If you had me for a wife, it would be a very sad thing for you. You are a good man, I can see it. So I will tell you in all truth, I would make you a terrible wife. Terrible! I am like a boy in almost all things. Likely I would poison you with my cooking, and rats would run through my house. The chickens would not be put away, and the children would be dirty and ill-mannered and I would forget to keep an eye on them and they would fall in a well or be eaten by wolves. If you want a wife, you should make your way to Nefion. As you say, it is a merchant city and so there must be many young women there better suited than me."

  By this time she had opened a considerable gap between them. Smoke felt her readiness. He knew that in another moment she would turn and flee. "You give too much credit to the women of Nefion. I've seen them. They're not like you. I've never seen anyone else like you. You're a wild thing, silly as a wolf cub, but very pretty, and you smell very nice. It's you I fancy. Come, say you'll be my wife."

  "No! Stay away from me! I don't even know your name. You are some crazed forest spirit, I think."

  He scowled, annoyed at her resistance. "Crazed? Me? What have I done that's crazed? You, on the other hand, have shown no hint of good judgment, fleeing to Nefion as if you will find sheep to tend there. I warn you there are no sheep, and if you go there you'll soon discover that all you have to sell is yourself."

  She blinked in doubt, but then resolve came over her again. "No, I am going. I will not go home."

  He rolled his eyes in exasperation.

  She seized that moment. While his gaze was turned imploringly skyward toward the Dread Hammer, she fled, racing away south along the road.

  Smoke laughed in delight at her daring. Then he slipped again into the trees and he pursued her in utter silence, with a speed she could not hope to match.