“Well…” Learned Lewko signed them both. “It is finished.” His voice grew more gentle. “Will you not come in out of the cold, my lord and lady?”
“Soon,” sighed Ingrey. “Moonset over the Birchbeck is worth a shiver or two.”
“If you say so.” Lewko smiled and, with a nod of farewell, clutched his coat about himself and made his way down the steps, careful now on the ice.
Ingrey stepped behind Ijada and rested his chin on her shoulder, the both of them staring out over the valley.
“I know this was not what you’d hoped, with Lord Ingalef,” said Ijada after a time. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it wasn’t. But it was better than nothing, and vastly better than never knowing. At least all is concluded, here. I can go and not look back.”
“This was your childhood home.”
“It was. But I am not a child anymore.” He hugged her a little fiercely, squeezing a breath of a laugh from her belly. “My home has a new name, and she is called Ijada. There will I abide.”
Her warm laugh now was voiced, enough to make moon-mist before her lips.
“Besides,” he said, “I expect Badgerbridge is warmer in the winter than Birchgrove, am I not right?”
“In the valleys, yes. There is snow enough on the upper slopes, should you miss it.”
“Very good.”
After a dozen slowing breaths, he added, “He did not seem to be in any great pain or torment. So. I have seen my fate. I will not fear it.”
Ijada said thoughtfully, “Mine and Fara’s, too, if you do not outlive us to cleanse our souls in turn.”
“I scarcely know which order dismays me more.” He turned her to face him, and stared in worry into her eyes, wide and dark with a faint amber rim in the blue shadows. “I must pray I may go last, mourning and unmourned. I don’t know how I’ll bear it.”
“Ingrey.” She placed her chilled hands on either side of his face, and brought it directly before her intent gaze. “A year ago, could you even have imagined, let alone predicted, standing here being what you now are?”
“No.”
“Neither could I have imagined me. So perhaps we should not be so sure of our future fate, either. What we don’t know of it is vastly larger than what we do, and will surely not stop surprising us.”
His thoughts sped back to that night in Oxmeade, where the black fit had come upon him and he had so nearly cut his own throat. He still was not sure if that had been Horseriver’s doing, or all his own. I would have missed all this. “I met four thousand unexpected souls who would agree with you, banner-carrier.”
“Then let their vote rule your mind in this, as well.”
“Ah.” The bleak midnight mood was losing its hold upon him, in favor of her wool-wrapped warmth.
She added, “It is premature to call yourself the last shaman, too, I think. You yourself could make more great beasts and spirit mages.”
“I would not send any other into this state unless I knew they could find a way out again.”
“Indeed. And do you think the Temple must always oppose the old forest magics? If they came in some fresh version, reformed to our new days?”
“That would take much thought. Five gods know we’ve seen the troubles the old ways can cause.”
“Yet the Temple manages its sorcerers, and not perfectly. Look at poor Cumril, for one. But they manage well enough to go on with. And we both know divines who are capable of much thought, now.”
“Huh.” His eyes narrowed in a hint of hope.
“You are very arrogant, wolf-lord.” Her hands gave his head a tiny, reproving shake.
“Ah? What now, sweet cat?”
“How can you say that multitudes yet unborn shall not mourn you greatly? It is not yours to dictate their hearts.”
“Do you prophesy, lady?” he inquired lightly, but even as he spoke a shiver ran through his belly, as though he had heard a weirding voice.
She shrugged. “Let us agree to endure our fates, and find out.”
Her lips were warm, like rising sunlight chasing an icy moon. She rubbed her face against his, sighing contentedly. But then added, “Your nose is cold, wolfling. You are not so hairy that I take this as a sign of health in you. If we are ever to be ancestors and not just descendants, perhaps we should return to that feather bed your cousin promised us.”
He snickered and released her. “Aye, to bed then, for the sake of our posterity!”
“And I can thaw my feet on your back,” she added practically.
Ingrey yipped in mock-dismay, and was graced with her fairest laugh yet. The sound lifted his heart like a promise of dawn, in this longest night of the year.
Arm in arm, they descended the snowy steps.
About the Author
Lois McMaster Bujold burst upon the science fiction scene in 1986 with the first of the “Vorkosigan Saga” novels, Shards of Honor, closely followed by The Warrior’s Apprentice. She has won the Nebula Award for Best Novel for Falling Free, and she won the Hugo award for Best Novel four times (for The Vor Game, Barrayar, Mirror Dance, and, most recently, Paladin of Souls) as well as the Hugo and Nebula Awards for Best Novella with “The Mountains of Mourning.” Her short story, “Labyrinth” won first place in Analog Magazine’s annual awards. Her epic fantasy novel The Curse of Chalion was on the final ballots of both the Hugo and the World Fantasy Awards. The mother of two, Bujold lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota.
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Also by
LOIS MCMASTER BUJOLD
The Spirit Ring
Falling Free
Shards of Honor
Barrayar
The Warrior’s Apprentice
The Vor Game
Cetaganda
Ethan of Athos
Borders of Infinity
Brothers in Arms
Mirror Dance
Memory
Komarr
A Civil Campaign
Diplomatic Immunity
The Curse of Chalion
Paladin of Souls
Credits
Cover artist: David Bowers
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE HALLOWED HUNT. Copyright © 2005 by Lois McMaster Bujold. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of PerfectBound™.
PerfectBound™ and the PerfectBound™ logo are trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
Mobipocket Reader May 2005 ISBN 0-06-079632-4
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bujold, Lois McMaster.
The hallowed hunt: a novel / Lois McMaster Bujold.—1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-06-057462-3
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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The Hallowed Hunt (Curse of Chalion) Page 43
