by Kara Jaynes
“What do you mean?” Isabelle asked, shifting uncomfortably.
“Rudolf said your horse got spooked and bolted,” Tyro said flatly, crossing his arms. “That’s a very different thing from giving chase.”
Isabelle shrugged, looking away. “Honey might have been spooked a little. I don’t see a problem. It’s kind of the same thing, right?”
“The problem is that you lied again.” Tyro’s voice was filled with disapproval, and Isabelle cringed inwardly. “A Hunter is compelled to tell the truth in all things, Isabelle. Something you seem to have a hard time with.”
“I’m just trying to—”
“I don’t care what your reasons are,” Tyro said firmly. “It’s never right, and it’s not the Hunter’s way.” His gaze rooted Isabelle to the spot. “If I catch you in another lie, big or small, there will be consequences attached to it. Am I clear?”
Isabelle nodded miserably, and Tyro’s face softened. “Did you kill any nixies, or was that a lie as well?”
“Three, sir. Maybe more.” She felt her face warm with embarrassment. “By the end of it, I was shooting without aiming much.”
“Anything else?”
Isabelle grimaced. She didn’t want to mention the fact that she got caught under the nixies spell and how something or someone saved her, but under Tyro’s scrutiny, she didn’t have a choice. She told him.
“Hmm.” Tyro rubbed his chin with a gloved hand, his brow furrowed in thought. “Dragons are practically extinct at this point. But I don’t know what else it could be.” He shrugged. “I’ll mention it to the others, though. We’ll take extra careful watch tonight.” He strode back to camp, and Isabelle followed.
Barking orders, Tyro soon had everyone except Aviina in a flurry of activity, preparing the camp for the night. Isabelle was set to cooking. Using flint and tinder, she got a fire going and was able to make a thin soup with dried meat and some greens she had in her supplies. She wasn’t a very good cook, but Tyro insisted she prepare dinner every evening on their trip. “It’s a vital skill to have as a Fabled Hunter,” he’d told her the first night on their travels. “Not just for nourishment, but for keeping up the morale of everyone traveling with you.” Isabelle felt her cooking was hardly inspiring, but didn’t dare disobey the Head Hunter. If there was anything she’d learned in the few months under Tyro’s training is that one didn’t cross him without a good reason. He demanded strict obedience. He was adamant that one couldn’t properly serve the king if they weren’t humble enough.
Isabelle’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. She wasn’t allowed to even leave the area to relieve herself unless she asked Aviina. It was like being a child again. Her training had continued, and she could barely remember not having sore muscles. It’s worth it, she told herself. This is what I wanted.
Later that evening, after dinner, Isabelle was set to scrubbing dishes. She glanced over her shoulder at Tyro and Aviina, the couple snuggling close to the fire. The tall Hunter had an arm wrapped protectively around the slim woman, their heads together in quiet conversation. Isabelle felt a stab of jealousy and set to washing dishes with renewed vigor. She wasn’t in love with Tyro, but she envied what they had.
You could have had that too, a voice whispered in her mind, and Isabelle shook her head. Even as the lowest ranked Hunter, she was one of the highest ranked individuals in all of the Four Provinces. She wasn’t a commoner anymore, she was Isabelle Aryn, the Hunter.
“This is what I wanted,” she whispered.
5
“Who were the first Fabled Hunters, sir?” Isabelle asked, urging Honey up closer to Tyro’s steed.
“Hmm?” Tyro glanced over at her. It was the day after their journey through the swamp, but Aviina was still riding with Tyro. The tall Hunter had been whispering something in Aviina’s ear that’d made her blush scarlet.
Isabelle felt her own face redden as she realized she’d interrupted whatever conversation they’d been having, but the couple didn’t seem angry, and the two other Hunters were riding up ahead, scouting the area.
“How did the Fabled Hunters come to be?” she asked.
Aviina leaned back a little, putting her head on her fiancé’s chest. The scratches on her face didn’t look too bad now, and Isabelle suspected that she was milking Tyro’s sympathy for all he was worth.
“Ah.” The tall Hunter smiled. “It’s a famous legend. I’m surprised you haven’t heard it, though it’s usually only told among the Hunters.”
“Everyone knows it.” Aviina snorted. “Everyone who’s anyone.”
“Aviina,” Tyro admonished, patting her head good-naturedly. The small woman blushed, glaring at nothing. Isabelle eyed her thoughtfully. Even Aviina obeyed Tyro, and Aviina didn’t take orders from anyone. Isabelle wondered if it was simply his position as Head Hunter or if there was something about him she didn't know yet.
“Legend has it that the very first Hunters came into being before even the first king,” Tyro said. His reddish brown hair was pulled back in a tail, but looked messy, as if he’d hadn't bothered to smooth it that morning. “Good and evil have always existed, so people say, since the very world came into being. One was never stronger than the other. But the evil began to grow, throwing the good out of balance. It was then that two humans stepped forward, a man and a woman. The legend says they were lovers, though who really knows?”
“They were,” Aviina said confidently, and Tyro smiled down at her a moment before continuing.
“They began to fight ogres, trolls, witches, and anything else that stood in their way. And they were winning, turning the tide of darkness.” The admiration was evident in his tone. Isabelle listened to him, feeling skeptical. How could two humans easily do what an entire force of Fabled Hunters struggled to achieve?
“They became famous,” Tyro continued. “Everyone knew of them the world over. They were called the Two Hunters. And while they disappeared as time wore on, their legend never died. Three hundred years ago, the first king who united the land into what we call the Four Provinces, did honor to their legend, creating the protectors of the realm, the Fabled Hunters.”
“What happened to them?” Isabelle asked.
“No one knows,” Aviina said. “None of the legends say. They had to die at some point.”
“Some of the stories say they were immortal,” Tyro said, ignoring Aviina’s snort of disbelief. “Admittedly, that doesn’t seem very likely. Though many mages and witches have searched, there are no spells for immortality.”
Isabelle nodded thoughtfully, riding next to the Hunters. The story sparked a memory of her father, telling her bedtime stories. “Was the woman an enchantress?”
Tyro glanced at her. “So maybe you have heard the tale. Yes, it’s said both the woman and man were magic users. The male was supposedly a shapeshifter of sorts, and the woman could control the elements.” He chuckled. “If the rumors are true, then we could definitely be encountering a mage or enchantress with elemental abilities.”
Isabelle fell silent, mulling over the story she’d heard. She remembered it now. A tale of two lovers, forever fighting against evil, upholding the light. She smiled. That was what she was doing now. Just without the lover.
She thought of Jack and lowered her brow in a frown. This had been the first tournament to only allow one victor. Why? Why had the king made it harder for the commoners to become Hunters? She knew the answer she’d be given if she asked: the nobility was made of better stuff than everyone else, she should know this. She’d heard that the king had allowed commoners to compete to test their grit and ability. Isabelle was a test subject, in a way.
Jack should be riding here next to me. It was so unfair.
“If my memory serves me correctly,” Tyro said, flicking the reins to urge his horse forward at a quicker pace, “we should only be twenty miles north of Telbion. It’s not the northernmost city in the Southern Province, but on our route, it’s the closest.” He glanced around them. The forest was spars
ely wooded here, the trees becoming less piney. The few trees that were here were aspens, the leaves an emerald green. The tall Hunter pointed to where the trees grew a little thicker. “There. Let’s set up camp and continue travel tomorrow. We have to take a short detour to Caerdon, but we will be in Telbion within the next two or three days.”
Isabelle and the other Hunters hurried with camp duties and the evening passed uneventfully. Isabelle had first watch that night. Sitting with her back against an aspen, Isabelle looked up at the velvet-dark sky, its surface studded with countless stars. Their silver faces winked with flashes of color: blue, red, pink and green.
Silver. The color made her think of her mysterious friend with the silver hair. Silvan. She wondered where he was and if he was all right. He’d said he was hoping to find something in the city Illyminatym, but had remained cryptic about the matter when Isabelle had asked.
“I miss you, Silvan,” she whispered, and jumped at the sound of a snapping branch, not too far from where she sat. Heartbeat quickening, Isabelle slowly stood, peering into the inky blackness of the wood.
Nothing. Isabelle sat back again but kept a firm grip on her bow. She had two more hours before her watch was over.
6
“Why are we here?” Isabelle asked, riding beside Tyro. They were in the large town of Caerdon. Tyro had taken a short detour here, moving from the main road earlier that morning, rather than traveling on to Telbion.
“That’s for me to worry about, Isabelle,” Tyro said shortly. He kept his eyes straight ahead, watchful and alert. “This is the king’s business, and I’m acting under his direct orders.”
Isabelle fell silent, watching him out of the corner of her eye. Usually amiable, Tyro had been tense and short with everyone all day. Even Aviina had given him a hurtful glance that had gone unnoticed by her fiancé. Something was wrong, but Tyro wouldn’t say what.
The town’s passersby watched them warily, some with open terror. Isabelle frowned. They knew what Hunters were. Why were they afraid?
They’d ridden through most of the town when they came to a large building. “Ah.” Tyro’s tone was conversational. “Mayor Tidby’s house.”
He halted his horse and dismounted, handing the reins to Aviina. “You and Isabelle wait here.”
He turned to the door just as a man walked out.
Isabelle stared. The man was a Hunter. He wore the same garb as Tyro and the others, his dragon medallion hanging around his neck on full display. He started in surprise when he saw them. “Tyro?” Stark fear showed in the man’s eyes before he quickly masked it. He smiled, spread his arms wide in a gesture of friendship. “Tyro, well met. It’s been a long time.”
“You’ve been a busy man, Garrett.” There was no humor in Tyro’s face, and his tone had gone icy cold. “Too busy, from the sound of it.”
Rudolf and Doon stood by Tyro’s shoulder. They watched quietly, but were tense, like a couple of hounds that smelled blood.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tyro,” said Garrett, but he swallowed, his gaze flickering away from Tyro. He wiped his brow; he was afraid. “I’m just doing my job, serving the king.”
“Where’s the mayor?” Tyro asked.
Garrett didn’t answer, and Tyro turned to the two Hunters standing behind him.
“Take him,” Tyro said. His voice was clipped, almost businesslike.
Doon and Rudolf leaped forward, quickly disarming the man. He struggled, but fear made him weak. He shuddered, sagging to his knees.
Isabelle shifted uneasily as she looked at the man. The stranger had cropped brown hair and piercing gray eyes—eyes that watered as he looked up at Tyro.
“Please . . .”
“I never expected it’d come to this.” Tyro’s voice was cold, distant, as he glared down at his prisoner. “You were a Fabled Hunter, Garrett. What happened? Why did you betray us? Our king?”
The man looked up at him, his face contorted. “Everything that I’ve done was for the king. For the Provinces!”
Tyro laughed humorlessly. This was a darker side of Tyro that Isabelle had never seen. He sneered at the man. “Stealing and lying from the people? Abusing your power in the name of the king? Taking women, in the name of the king? Killing innocents?” He stood there, back straight, head tilted as he looked down at the prisoner. His hair was pulled back in his customary sleek tail. He radiated power.
“I—the people in the Southern Province were growing lax in their loyalty,” Garrett stammered. “I did what I had to!” Sweat trickled down the man’s face and his breath came in ragged gasps. “Tyro, I don’t know what kind of reports you’ve heard, but they’re lies.”
Tyro whipped out a scroll from his belt pouch, opening it. “I have the signature of six different mayors, as well as that of Baron Faedir, condemning you.” His eyes narrowed. “You are a traitor, and I find you guilty of treason, Garrett.”
The man looked pleadingly at Tyro. Isabelle glanced over at Aviina, feeling sick. “What is he going to do?”
Tyro unsheathed his sword, his jaw clenched. Isabelle gasped. No.
Garrett struggled under the grip of the two Hunters. “Tyro, please. Please don’t do this!”
Tyro jumped forward, his sword a blinding arc of steel.
It was over.
Garrett’s body slumped to the ground, lifeless. Tyro wiped his sword on the grass before sheathing it. He turned to the remaining Hunters, and the crowd of townsfolk who’d gathered.
“Let this be a lesson to all who are here,” he said, raising his voice so everyone could hear him. “Garrett was a trusted servant of the king, higher in station than most people can dream of, yet he allowed greed and deceit to enter his heart, and turned his back on the king and his laws.” His gaze shifted from person to person, until it rested on Isabelle. Was it her imagination, or did he stare at her a little longer than most? She suddenly recalled her time in the city of Erum with Jack, when she’d freed Silvan. She felt a sliver of fear in her stomach. Surely Tyro didn’t know, did he?
His gaze passed on, and Isabelle heaved a sigh of relief. He didn’t know.
“No one is above the law,” Tyro continued. “No one! Not you, not me. We are all subjects of our good King Ruald, and we are bound to his laws, compelled to obey.” He fingered the hilt of his sword. “I hope this has reminded all of us to try a little harder to be more devoted servants to the king, and to make the Four Provinces a better place to live.”
There was a murmur of assent among the crowd, and Tyro dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “Remove the body,” he ordered Rudolf and Doon, and the two Hunters leaped to obey.
“Was that really necessary?” Isabelle whispered to Aviina. The smaller woman shot her a startled look.
“Tyro never hurts or kills unless it’s necessary. I would think you knew that by now.” She hurried after her fiancé who’d walked over to speak with some of the men from the town.
Isabelle glanced to where the man had been killed. There was a streak of red in the dirt. She took a deep breath, inhaling through her mouth. She felt ill. Would she be required to kill some day? She’d sort of killed Lady Ebony. That was different, though. The jealous baroness had attacked her, and had fallen through a window. Isabelle had only been defending herself. This was different. It almost felt like murder. From what she’d heard, Garrett probably deserved death, but that didn’t mean she had to rejoice in his dying. She scrubbed her palms on her trousers, eager to be gone from this town.
“Isabelle.” She jumped at Tyro’s voice. She hastily ran over. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Look sharp. The people look to you as their protector.”
“Yes, sir.” She tried to do just that, while Tyro finished discussing matters at hand with a few men who had stepped in as village leaders. She didn’t see the mayor and had a sneaking suspicion that Garrett had had something to do with that. Most of the people had drifted away, but a few still lingered, talking with each other in lowered voices. Isabelle
gripped the handle of her bow, lifting her chin. She hoped she looked half as confident as Aviina who, despite her petite size, looked like a warrior. Aviina glared at the women who stood close by, and Isabelle bit her lip, trying to stifle a smirk. Isabelle would never act like that over a man.
They soon left the town of Caerdon behind them, continuing to travel down the main road that would take them to Telbion, and hopefully from there, find some news of what was going on and discover who was causing the damage talked of in the reports.
Isabelle caught Tyro looking at her, and she suppressed a shiver, looking away. If she’d learned anything today, it was to never cross the Head Hunter. Ever.
7
The next day by late morning, the Hunters had reached Telbion. It was technically a city but had the feel of a large, sprawling village to it. Isabelle liked it immediately. It reminded her of Seabound. The people were friendly and loud, the locals exchanging friendly gossip, the atmosphere more relaxed than the typical city Isabelle had come to expect.
The Fabled Hunters all followed Tyro, who led the way through the streets confidently, making his way to the mayor’s residence, their horses’ hooves clopping on the cobblestones. It would be the local leader they visited. Telbion wasn’t the Southern Province capital, and the baron, Lord Faedir, didn’t live here.
Isabelle wiped her brow as she looked around. It had gotten steadily warmer since she’d come farther south. It was now just past the heart of summer, and the Province couldn’t expect cooler weather for another month or so.
The mayor’s house was in the center of the city. It was large but unpretentious, its size the only thing that set it apart from the rest of the red brick buildings. If his house was anything to go by, Mayor Hilder didn’t have an inflated view of himself, unlike many nobles.
A stable boy stood nearby, ready to take the reins. When he saw the amount of horses that needed attending to, he whistled loudly, and a moment later another boy scrambled from behind the house, ready to help.
