Vengeance of the Hunter

by Angela Highland

  His gaze, along with everyone else’s, turned to Semai. The Tantiu man had taken the chair offered him, though he’d declined to remove his korfi to partake of any of the mugs of strong black tea that had been set out for all. No sign of displeasure was visible along his frame or in his eyes. Censure came through clearly, however, in his voice.

  “I have spoken as clearly as I know how of the akresha Nobi’s last words to me. How you act upon them is your decision. But act you must.”

  “He advised Faanshi that we must find both Kestar and Julian,” Alarrah told Gerren.

  The leader of the elves was in no better a mood than he’d been the day before, and he alternated between pacing the room and standing tall in the center of their gathering, shifting his attention from face to face. He neither raised his voice nor made any threatening motion, yet to Faanshi, his anger was clear. It glittered in his eyes, turning them as hard and bright as jewels. “Akreshi,” he said to Semai, pronouncing the Tantiu title with no trace of awkwardness, “you’ve told us the why. But you haven’t told us how we must turn two men back from the paths they freely chose. Nor, for that matter, what their presences can do for Faanshi that we ourselves cannot.”

  “Visions don’t work like that. Not when they came from Djashtet as they did for my okinya, anyway.” Faanshi couldn’t remain silent, not when the others were discussing her own fate around her, and not when her own freedom to choose her life’s path was so new and dear. “Ulima always told me that the Lady of Time is seldom plain in showing Her will to Her children.”

  Gerren looked at her long enough to listen, and then swung back to Semai when she’d finished. “Did your Nobi see anything pertaining to whether any of us must actually leave this place to recover the two we’re discussing? I’ll tell you now that I see no reason to risk any of us beyond the Wards on an errand that could be accomplished with a few well-launched birds. You must know that Faanshi is being hunted.”

  “She is,” Semai agreed. “Rab and I avoided the Hawks that prowl this province on the way to find this place, but other Hawks seek her. The guards of Lomhannor Hall and the watch of Camden seek her as well on the Duchess Khamsin’s orders, because she escaped slavery against this land’s laws.” His black gaze went flat. “And there are public notices posted in the streets of Shalridan telling the people to take word of her to the Church.”

  “My point is made. For that matter, Alarrah and Kirinil, you’ve now reminded the humans of your faces and your power.” Gerren snapped his glittering stare in their direction. “I am particularly disinclined to risk you again so soon after that.”

  “I was the one who found the Rook in the first place so that Tembriel, Jannyn and I could hire him and his partner. I could find them again,” Alarrah said. “But it would be more effective to do it in person. Messages can be intercepted, and one arrow can take down a bird.”

  “One arrow can also take down an elf—especially if shot by a Hawk with an amulet that announces your proximity!” Now, at last, Gerren did finally shout.

  “Everyone...please.” Faanshi had to try twice before she could speak up loudly enough to claim the attention of the room, and even then, she had to wrestle back the habits of submission and silence that she hadn’t yet fully conquered. I have a right to this, she reminded herself. I have a place and a voice. And though she blushed to have to say it, she was determined to speak. “The akreshi Semai hasn’t said that Julian and Kestar must be with us. He said only that those who would defend me must do so as one. Couldn’t that mean of one purpose, as well as in one place?”

  His graying brows rising, their visitor blinked at her. “The Nobi didn’t specify,” he allowed. “And I’m but an old warrior—if the young akresha has experience with the visions of Djashtet, I must defer to her.”

  “Faanshi,” Gerren asked, “what would you have us do?”

  “Be safe. I don’t want anyone to have to defend me. And I don’t want anyone to die, including Kestar and Julian.” Her voice roughened on the latter name, but she could do nothing for that, and so she spoke on. “If it’ll mean that they’ll be safe, I would like them to be here with us. But I don’t see how they’ll believe they should do that unless someone tells them about my okinya’s vision.”

  Alarrah came to her, reaching for her shoulder. “By someone, do you actually mean you?”

  Faanshi’s blush deepened, though she nodded nonetheless. “I think they would believe it best from me. And I don’t think I could explain it properly in a message for a bird.”

  “Damn it all,” Kirinil said, “She’s right. Oh, don’t look so shocked, valannè. Alarrah and I were both there when we found your Hawk. We’ve seen how they both look at you. And no, I don’t believe either that we could explain a vision by bird.”

  “But if we called them back—if I called them back—they could come to us. And then I could tell them why they should stay.”

  “And when that fails?” Gerren said.

  Before anyone else could answer him, Semai mused, “In days past I’d have drawn my sword upon those who conspired to kill a lord I’ve served. But Djashtet’s service has already superseded that, or else I wouldn’t be here now. It seems the Lady of Time calls me further, for if Faanshi must go seek these men, I must be the one to take her.”

  Shocked outbursts were his instant reply, and only by almost shouting herself could Faanshi make herself heard. “You, akreshi? Forgive my surprise, but why?”

  “The Hidden Ones are vulnerable to the amulets of the Hawks. I am not.” So deep and rough a voice as his couldn’t be said to gentle; it did, however, grow slightly less harsh. “The akresha Nobi spoke for you, and now that I’ve seen you with my own eyes and I know that you follow Djashtet, that is enough. If you know your ridahs, child, you know that this is so.”

  Her heart had taken two rapid blows, and Faanshi hurt from each in ways she had only barely begun to grasp—but to hear this now, from so unexpected a source, called up the tears she’d been fighting ever since Julian’s leaving. Unwilling to give them free rein even now, she blinked them away as fast as she could. What words she managed were hoarse nonetheless, though her hands were sure as she bowed over to them to the warrior. “I do, and you honor me, akreshi. Thank you. I only pray to the Lady of Time that you won’t have to risk yourself for me either.”

  Silence fell upon the room, until Gerren let out a heavy, angry breath. “We’ll try the birds first,” he said, his gaze taking in Kirinil, Alarrah and Faanshi at once. “Hawks are already hunting far too close to the Wards. Worse yet, the Anreulag has been sighted, and She nearly killed you. Understanding what happened then, for the safety of all, is our highest goal. If we need the assassin and Faanshi’s Hawk among our number, so be it, but I won’t risk Her appearing again to smite any or all of us unless we have absolutely no other choice. Akreshi Semai, as you’ve volunteered to escort Faanshi, you’re welcome to bide with us as you will, but if you change your mind we’ll have to lead you out the same way you came in.”

  “As Almighty Djashtet wills it,” the Tantiu said.

  “Alarrah, you found the Rook once before. Find him again with the birds if you can. Send one to the rag-and-bone man—he may be able to relay word.”

  Alarrah inclined her head. “Kirinil and I will also need to spend time training Faanshi.”

  “Do it. Faanshi...”

  She’d seen very little of the elven leader thus far, and to see him issuing his orders reminded her all at once that Gerren was now her leader too. It took much effort to keep from dropping her eyes before him, or giving him the akreshi his station demanded. “Yes?” she said instead, and had to hope that the respect in her tone was enough.

  It seemed to be. “Alarrah’s right. Work with her and Kirinil. But help her choose where to send the birds as well, if you know anything at all about where Julian and his partner may have gone. Do you know how to find your Hawk?”

  “She actually reached out to him before,” Kirinil noted. “But t
hat was before the both of them began to practice shielding. And it’s been days since we left the abbey.”

  Alarrah began to smile. “But given her power, that might not matter. What do you think, enorrè? Could you reach him again?”

  “I must,” Faanshi said. “Because we must try everything. There is no other choice.”

  Chapter Ten

  The royal palace, Dareli, Jomhas 22, AC 1876

  There was no challenging the Bhandreid, not in the working halls of the great palace she commanded in Dareli, and certainly not before the eyes of all in court. Margaine might have married into the royal line, might even have borne the next heir to the throne, but next to the queen of the realm she might as well have been the lowest of servants for all the power she had to act without detection.

  But once Padraig’s body was laid to rest in the tombs of his family line, she’d have no opportunity to see if the note she’d received in darkness had spoken the truth.

  The thought of entrusting the baby to anyone’s care but her own frightened her deeply—yet she was a princess, by marriage if not by blood, and she grudgingly allowed that she couldn’t be seen to behave too far beyond the bounds of normality. A princess of Dareli was not after all a wet nurse, even for her own child. Yet she could and did choose one of her own most trusted servants, a young woman who’d come from Margaine’s own family estate, with attending to little Padraiga’s needs.

  And she took grim comfort in how that liberated her to seek an audience with the queen. Even in this, though, she had to be on her guard, for Ealasaid sought her out first.

  They met in one of the palace greenhouses, filled from wall to wall with exquisite orchids from all over the world. Many specimens from Tantiulo were represented, each in shades of fiery sunset; next to those, in striking contrast, were snow orchids from Vreyland. A dozen other species Margaine couldn’t name met her eye in every direction as she and her dead husband’s grandmother strolled through the place. Gardeners snapped to attention at the Bhandreid’s approach, but each one promptly delivered the answers she demanded as she questioned them in depth about the health and welfare of the plants under their care.

  Margaine dutifully walked with her, biding her time until the older woman saw fit to begin their conversation in earnest. She had to wait until Ealasaid finally dismissed the last of the gardeners from her presence and beckoned Margaine to join her upon an elegant bench that faced one of the greenhouse’s outermost walls, affording a view of the city beyond the palace.

  “It has come to my attention,” Ealasaid said without preamble, “that you’ve been demanding to see my grandson’s body.”

  Margaine’s cheeks flushed with a fierceness she was sure was visible—such was the curse of a redhead’s fair complexion—but she held the Bhandreid’s gaze nevertheless. “Fruitlessly. Why have I been denied a widow’s rights? My lady, you know I hadn’t seen him since he fell ill!”

  “You were with child. Would you have preferred we risk the baby?” The Bhandreid’s tone was mild, yet a slight upward quirk of her thinning brows conveyed a warning echoed in her eyes.

  “Of course not,” Margaine said, just barely refraining from snapping. “But Padraiga is born now. And still I’m barred from making my last goodbyes to her father! Has it been so long since you lost your own husband that you’ve forgotten what that’s like?”

  For an instant the older woman glanced away, and her expression changed, letting through a glimmer of—what? Worry? Grief? It was gone so quickly that Margaine wasn’t at all sure of what she’d seen, and the gaze Ealasaid turned back to her was chill enough to banish any softer sentiment from her countenance.

  “Do not presume to lecture me, girl. I knew loss and pain before you were old enough to learn such things existed, and I’m not convinced you understand it now. Do you think I don’t know the bitterness of outliving my spouse, my son and his son after him?”

  “Then why won’t you let me see his body?” The effort to keep from shouting almost undid Margaine, and never mind that the gardeners had been sent out of the greenhouse; they wouldn’t have gone far. She couldn’t risk them overhearing her. And even less could she risk the ire of the Bhandreid. “Mother’s Mercy! It’s been three days!”

  They stared at each other, the young woman and the old, until Ealasaid replied, “There is no body for you to see. I ordered it burned, along with his clothing and the bed where he died, to keep his infection from spreading.”

  A white flash of shock blanked out any possible reply Margaine might have made; she’d come prepared to argue her case, had rehearsed and honed her words. But she hadn’t anticipated this. It took her a long moment of struggling through the sudden cold knot in her belly before she could rasp, “My lady, you should have told me. I’m not one of these hothouse blooms that I’d have wilted at the sight of death.” Her hand snapped out to gesture to the nearest of the orchids. “You should have let me say goodbye.” It was foolish in the extreme, and the princess flushed anew at her own words—but she didn’t retract them.

  Ealasaid’s eyes narrowed. “No, I should not. Not when the health of everyone in this palace was at stake, including yours and your child’s. The good of the realm always comes first. If you expect to raise the next Bhandreid of Adalonia, you had best learn that lesson now.” With that, she resettled herself on the bench, sitting ramrod straight with her hands crossed upon the head of her ebony cane, and turned her attention out to the view beyond the glass walls. “And you may go learn it somewhere else. Leave me.”

  Stung, far more deeply than she dared let show, Margaine rose stiffly from the bench and made the proper curtsey. “Yes, my lady. Good day.”

  There was no other reply, and she expected none as she took her leave. Yet as she left the greenhouse, the princess glanced back once at the monarch upon her bench. Ealasaid sat in sunlight, surrounded by the beauty of the orchids, yet none of it seemed to touch her. For all that she’d joined Margaine in dressing in mourning for Prince Padraig’s death, no further hint of grief displayed itself upon her face. Her eyes had gone cold and remote, and her features might well have been carved from alabaster.

  It was nothing conclusive, yet nonetheless Margaine starred herself on the way out of the greenhouse, certain she’d seen something dead behind her sovereign’s eyes—as if Ealasaid had died along with her grandson.

  Or worse, been the instrument of his destruction.

  * * *

  Marriham, Kilmerry Province, Jomhas 28, AC 1876

  There was at least one crumb of consolation in their fellow Hawks arresting them: the youngest of the three, Bron Wulsten, had been in their class when they were ordained into the Order at Hawksvale. Bron hadn’t been one of the bolder members of their number, but he’d been kind then, and he was willing now to share with them small scraps of news that gave them some idea of Captain Amarsaed’s plans.

  But that was small consolation indeed, for those plans included a tribunal.

  The very notion left Kestar cold, for he understood their Order’s dictates all too well. He himself was condemned by the light of all their amulets, including his own—and oh yes, any who’d aided and abetted him would be sentenced right along with him. For himself, it meant a Cleansing. Celoren would be spared that, but his freedom if not his life would be forfeit nonetheless.

  He’d likely never see his mother again, unless the Hawks arrested her too. Both possibilities made him sick at heart, and both were beyond his ability to contemplate with any easy thought.

  I should have gone with Faanshi when I had the chance, he told himself miserably when they stopped in the town of Marriham for the night. The place rattled him deeply as they arrived, for though its church wasn’t as big and grand as the one in Camden, it was enough to warrant a priestess of the Son. And she’d already posted notices in the public square of individuals wanted for aiding and abetting the escape of an elven slave, and the attempted murder of her master, the Duke of Shalridan. Likenesses were included, ha
sty charcoal sketches of one young woman and four men. The artist’s hand wasn’t skilled; there was little difference between the faces of the men, despite the eye patch on the one clearly intended to be the Rook.

  But they were enough to send unease winging through Kestar nonetheless, as the folk on the streets looked long at him and Cel and the quiet Father Enverly. The notices posted of the Duke of Shalridan’s death only made it worse. Soon enough someone would assume they’d killed Holvirr Kilmerredes. Amarsaed had made no such accusations, but that was no comfort; all that meant was that the Hawk captain already had plenty with which to charge them. And plenty with which to commandeer Marriham’s tiny jailhouse, where he ordered his prisoners locked up for the night.

  And there in the silence of the cell where he and his partner had settled in for what sleep they could achieve, a premonition struck him.

  The sunlight behind the trees grew abruptly brighter, instantly drawing his eye—only to dim sharply behind gathering storm clouds. He smelled rain and ozone on the wind, warning him to hurry toward the sunlight for shelter, for low and distant thunder was already beginning to growl. Then came the lightning, twin strikes that kindled fire and power where they fell—

  “Kes? Kes! Mother’s love, talk to me!”

  Celoren’s voice snapped him back. Kestar found he’d rolled off the narrow bunk where he’d been lying, and that Cel had leaped up from his own to come to his side.

  “I’m...here,” Kestar croaked. “I think.”

  At the sound of his voice Celoren’s expression relaxed, but he didn’t move, not yet. “What happened?”

  “Premonition.” His voice returned before his hands finished shaking. For a moment, Kestar could do nothing but stare down at his own fingers. They’d fumbled by instinct for the amulet he now no longer wore, for Captain Amarsaed had confiscated his and Celoren’s alike. “Worst one I’ve ever had.” Then, abruptly, he jerked his attention to his partner’s face. “Oh gods. Someone’s died. Not just Kilmerredes. Someone else.”