Annikke dropped her hands from his shoulders, but didn’t step away. She couldn’t. The horse was at her back. “What are you smiling at?”
Aren cleared his throat and tried without much success to wipe the arousing picture from his imagination. “Just looking forward to the pleasures of a hot bath,” he said.
“A bath,” Benoia said with a sigh. “How long until we get to Quartzholm?”
A shriek echoed through the forest, silencing the birds and jolting Aren to alert. Whoever had voiced that cry was in trouble.
Aren marked the direction, then turned to his horse, quickly untying the women’s packs from the saddle and dropping them at their feet. Whatever this was, it wasn’t his business. He had his own responsibilities: to protect Annikke, to bring Benoia to Quartzholm. But he couldn’t ignore someone in distress.
“Stay here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He met Annikke’s eyes with a direct gaze.
She nodded. “We’ll be here.” They’d given their parole, after all.
Aren pulled himself into the saddle, then guided the horse toward what was probably going to be a complication he didn’t need.
Chapter Twelve
“Let’s build a fire,” Annikke said.
“A fire!” Benoia said with delight.
Annikke could sympathize with her foster-daughter’s pleasure. They’d clung to each other through the last few nights, fighting the chill of summer nights in the mountains. “We’re not hiding any longer. We might as well be warm.” Annikke cleared a space and gathered stones for a fire ring while Benoia collected deadfall. Neither one carried an axe to cut wood, nor would they use it on living trees if even if they had. All knew of how the tree-folk had come to Quartzholm’s aid.
The light was fading when Annikke heard the heavy sound of the horse’s walk muffled by fallen needles and long dead leaves. Aren came into sight soon after, leading Pinter through the evening shadows, with a young man barely clinging to the horse’s neck.
“Who is this?” Annikke stood as Aren tethered his horse to a tree.
“This, I believe, is the fellow who’s been leaving, and not leaving, the trail we encountered.” Aren said, as he pulled the youth from Pinter’s back.
He was halfway to manhood, at that gangly age before he put muscle on bone, which was a good thing since Aren was clearly taking most of his weight. Aren half carried him over to the blanket Annikke had been sitting on, and eased him down.
“What happened?” Benoia asked.
“I wasn’t able to get much from him,” Aren said. “His name is Vali. He may have hit his head when he slipped down the cliff. Lucky for him, a ledge stopped his descent. Otherwise he’d have fallen all the way down to the river below.”
Annikke knelt beside Vali and felt his scalp. “No bumps.” She lifted each eyelid. “His eyes appear normal as well.” She felt along all of his limbs. “I think his wrist is sprained.”
“I thought it looked broken,” Aren said.
He was right. The wrist was broken, but a “sprained” wrist wouldn’t draw as much attention when it healed unusually fast.
“What’s he doing out here?” Benoia asked as she covered Vali with another blanket.
“He didn’t say. I could barely rouse him enough to get a rope around him and haul him up the cliff face. If he didn’t hit his head, why won’t he wake?”
Annikke shared a look with Benoia as she laid a hand on the youth’s head. “I don’t know, but it’s for the best. I can tend his arm and he’ll not suffer.”
“I’ll help you unsaddle Pinter,” Benoia said brightly. “Then we’ll probably need to gather more wood.”
Annikke waited while Aren turned to tend his horse. She put her fingers over the young man’s arm and, with a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure Aren wasn’t watching, called on the Elven magic Gaelon had gifted her. Her hands grew warm as she murmured the beautiful Elven words.
A wave of vertigo made the earth tilt a bit, but it passed quickly since the bone hadn’t been displaced, and it didn’t take much to start it knitting. This was the price she paid for using the Elf’s gift. She hadn’t been able to stand for a candlemark after healing Lord Thorvald’s dairyman.
When the world stopped spinning she skimmed her palms over the lad’s body and soon understood his trouble. There was little her magic could do to help him, but she knew what would.
Several minutes later Aren and Benoia returned, having settled his horse for the night and gathered more wood.
“Do you know what ails the boy?” Aren asked.
“Vali’s in Exhaustion.”
Aren’s brows rose. “Exhaustion? Does that still happen?”
“It does when a Talent Emerges late and the person isn’t cared for properly. How old would you say he is? Fifteen summers?”
Aren tilted his head in thought, then nodded. “That makes sense. When the trace we encountered faded and returned I thought we followed a weak or untrained Talent. Apparently his is just a very new Talent.”
Annikke nodded her agreement.
“What can we do for him?” Benoia asked. “Exhaustion can kill, can’t it?”
“It can.” Annikke knew better than to hope that Aren had any stirkedrikk in his bags. He’d have had no reason to be packing the vilely sweet drink used for such a specific emergency. “We’ll need to grind what food we have into a paste so we can get it down his throat as easily as possible. Other than that, all we can do is keep him warm.”
She hoped it would be enough. Most such transitions, when a young person’s Talent Emerged, took place at the onset of puberty. This young man was coming to it late, and apparently no one had cared enough for him to make sure he was safe and well fed to weather the demands on his body. Emergence Exhaustion was rare, but it could kill if a new Talent was overused.
Benoia and Annikke chopped their dried fruit and nuts into small pieces, crumbled some of Aren’s journey-bread into the mix, then made a gruel with water warmed by their small fire. They fed Vali like a baby bird every candlemark. He never opened his eyes, but he knew enough to swallow and open his mouth for more. The moon was high when Annikke finally persuaded Benoia to get some rest.
“Wake me when you tire and I’ll spell you,” Benoia said as she curled up in one of the two blankets they hadn’t wrapped around the young man.
Annikke nodded. Doing what she was good at, caring for another, had eased some of the shadow in Benoia’s eyes. Harming someone with her magic had shaken the girl, even if she’d done it to protect herself, even if she’d done it without meaning to. Annikke wasn’t happy for Vali’s condition, but she couldn’t help but be glad his need had helped her foster-daughter forget what had happened to her, at least for a little while.
Aren sat a few feet away with his back to the fire, looking out into the forest, his bow unstrung but close at hand.
Benoia’s breath quickly settled into the rhythm of sleep. Annikke pulled the remaining blanket around her shoulders and stared at her daughter’s form, wrapped in flickering firelight. What would become of her? Calling on the Jarl for justice still seemed the best course, better than fleeing and always fearing pursuit. But what if Lord Dahleven found Benoia to be in the wrong? He might condemn her for the use of Elven magic alone. And her accuser was another lord. It wouldn’t be the first time a powerful man had taken the side of another man of power.
“She’s a good girl.” Aren spoke softly, his deep voice a comforting rumble.
Why should she think the man’s voice comforting? And yet it was.
“She is. Freya blessed me the day her father sold her into my care.”
“The goddess blessed you both.”
Annikke felt her color rise at the compliment, and was glad he gazed out at the dark forest instead of at her.
“She reminds me of my Tandra. Feisty and brave. They would like each other.”
Annikke looked over at him. He was half turned away from her and light from their small fire danced
over his broad shoulders. “How old is she, your daughter?”
“Fifteen summers. She came to me unlooked for, but she’s been a delight every day of her life.”
“Unlooked for?” Most parents knew well in advance that their family was growing.
Aren gazed into the forest and didn’t speak for a moment, and Annikke wondered what tail she’d stepped on.
When he spoke, Aren’s voice was flat. “Her mother didn’t want the raising of her, and gave her into my keeping. I can only be grateful that she and her parents decided they didn’t want my get until after the babe had quickened and ending her pregnancy would have been too dangerous.”
His get. “You and Tandra’s mother didn’t part on good terms.”
“We did not.”
“You were both young.”
“We were. But it wasn’t my youth that her family objected to.” His tone indicated that further questions wouldn’t be welcome.
What a sad beginning to the girl’s life. And yet, if Aren’s warmth when he spoke her was any indication, Tandra was well loved, and likely knew no lack.
Vali stirred and licked his lips. Annikke spooned more of the paste into his mouth until he turned his head away.
“Why do you suppose he’s out here on his own?”
“He’s late coming into his Talent. Perhaps he despaired of being Talentless, and fled his home rather than be seen as less than a man.”
Annikke nodded, and then realized Aren wouldn’t see. “I can understand that. I thought many times of leaving my village when I was younger, but there was no fleeing my hair. All who see me know I’m Fey-marked.”
“The smith spoke well of you. And others as well.”
Annikke smiled. “The smith and his wife are good people. Better than most. It has taken half my life to gain some acceptance by the others though. Most people judge quickly and on appearance. I hope the Jarl is able to look deeper.” She began chopping the rest of the fruit for another batch of gruel.
“Let me,” Aren said, holding out his hand for the knife. “You should rest. I’ll look after the boy.”
For a moment Annikke thought to protest. She was the healer, after all, even if her particular gifts didn’t extend to Emergence Exhaustion. Then common sense prevailed over her stubborn pride. The day had been a long one, beginning with the fear of capture by Lord Tholvar’s men, a rush through the forest, and then riding a horse for the first time. Her body ached in ways she hadn’t known possible. She handed him the knife handle first. “If he grows fevered or fails to take food, wake me.”
Aren nodded. “Rest easy, mistress. I’ll call you if there’s need.”
Annikke awoke as a dark dawn revealed skies that threatened rain. Although Aren had promised to wake Benoia for a turn at sitting with Vali, she saw that he’d let both of them rest. Annikke couldn’t find the energy to take him to task for his sacrifice; her eyes still felt gritty from scant sleep and Benoia’s face was more relaxed in slumber than Annikke had seen it since Sveyn had ruined their lives with his selfishness. Was it only five days ago? It seemed like half a lifetime.
When Annikke returned from seeing to her body’s demands, Aren said softly, “We haven’t enough food between us if he keeps eating like this. I’ll have to hunt today.”
“Fresh meat would be welcome.”
“I don’t welcome this delay, but—”
“We can’t move him, given his condition,” Annikke finished.
Aren’s mouth curled at the corner, acknowledging their accord. Annikke couldn’t help noticing that he had a fine mouth, with a full lower lip. He kept his beard trimmed short in the new fashion, and his dark hair braided back. A few wavy tendrils had worked themselves loose, and she wondered for just a moment what it would feel like to comb her fingers through his hair.
“Did someone say meat?”
Vali’s question shattered her foolish thoughts. Annikke blushed, hoping Aren couldn’t guess what she’d been thinking.
“A haunch of venison, or even a rabbit, would be welcome indeed.” Vali’s voice was unexpectedly deep given his lack of years, though weak.
“I did,” Annikke said. “But we are, in fact, lacking the same. How are you feeling?”
“Like a mountain fell on me. What happened?”
“You fell over a cliff,” Aren said. “And you’re in Emergence.”
Vali’s expression of surprise would have been amusing if Annikke hadn’t guessed how much it meant to the young man. In a tone that conveyed both his fear to hope and nascent elation, he asked, “Are you sure?”
Given his age, he and his parents, every person around him in fact, would have been wondering if he would take his full place in his family. Though it was rare for someone to not develop a Talent, those who didn’t were seen as less. Even a useless Talent was better than none.
“We’re sure,” Aren answered. “We followed your path for much of the afternoon yesterday. Your tracks faded in an out.”
“Oh. I was trying to do that. I’m pretty good at woodcraft.” Vali’s tone was equal parts disappointment and pride. “My uncle taught me.”
“So am I, boy, as well as being a Tracker. Be assured, I wouldn’t have lost your trail for a moment if your Talent hadn’t obscured it part of the time.”
Vali lifted himself on his elbows and searched Aren’s face intently. “Are you sure?”
“I am. It’s early days yet, but once you learn to use it, I expect your Talent will be a strong one.”
Vali’s eyes widened with hope and he released a deep breath. “I can go home.”
“And where is home?” Annikke asked.
The young man’s gaze slid away from hers. “Across the river.”
Annikke glanced at Aren, who lifted a brow. He’d noted the youth’s evasiveness, too.
“Forsvaremur?” Aren asked.
Vali nodded, his expression tight.
“How does your father serve Lady Solveig?”
Again Vali hesitated. “My father is dead. My uncle is a hunter. He’s teaching me.” He grimaced. “Though not well enough, if you found me. He taught me to track and to hide my own sign. I thought I’d done well, but it’s hard to move at speed and be careful.”
“Don’t blame your teacher, Vali. You failed to change direction when you hid your trail.”
Chagrin twisted the youth’s expression. “My uncle will have my hide for that beginner’s mistake.”
“Be glad of your oversight this time. Had I not stumbled upon your trail I might not have found you, and Exhaustion would have taken you.”
“I did so poorly?”
Aren gave young man half a smile. “No. Your uncle taught you well. It was probably just your Exhaustion that caused you to forget some of his lessons. I’m a Tracker Talent in service to Lord Dahleven.”
Vali swallowed hard and looked away.
Why does that make the boy uncomfortable?
“Why did you leave?” Annikke asked, when the silence had begun to stretch.
“Why do you think? I had no Talent.”
“Mind your tone, boy,” Aren growled.
Annikke turned a startled glance on Aren, then looked away. She wasn’t used to people standing up for her.
Vali turned to Aren, mouth open to argue, but then the youth swallowed the retort that clearly had been on the tip of his tongue. When he spoke again it was in a milder voice. “I had no Talent, and I’ve a brother coming up behind me. I didn’t want to burden my mother and uncle with the need to disinherit me.”
Annikke’s gaze sharpened. That probably meant Vali’s father had left something worth inheriting. Some parents wouldn’t have hesitated. Benoia’s father for one. Others though, would find such a decision wrenching. But a Talentless son couldn’t inherit, no matter how much he was loved, and to be no better than a dependent for the rest of his life could sour a man. Many would have seen him as less than a cripple. Vali was well spoken. Minor nobility, perhaps? Or a well-to-do merchant’s son? Oftentime
s the less there was, the more precious it was held.
Aren nodded, apparently satisfied with this explanation.
“I hope you at least left a note,” Benoia said, sitting up in her blankets and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “If your mother is anything like Annikke, she’ll have your skin for worrying her like this.”
Vali’s expression became sheepish.
Benoia snorted. “You didn’t did you?”
“I did. I told them I was out hunting.”
“That’s even worse,” Benoia said. “Now she thinks you could be lying in a ditch, eaten by wolves.”
“I didn’t want them looking for me too soon,” Vali protested.
“Enough,” Aren said. “What’s done is done. First we need to fill your belly and get you strong enough to travel. Then you can return home to face your family. In the meantime, rest.” He turned to Annikke. “I’ll gather more wood, then hunt us up something to eat.”
*
Aren Tracked a small herd of deer to a pretty little glade which their spoor had shown him was a favorite grazing area, and settled in to wait. There was no point in chasing them through the forest when they’d likely be returning here before dusk.
As the shadows lengthened his mind kept churning. He imagined Benoia, frightened and angry, struggling to stop a spoiled lordling from taking her against her will, and more often than not Benoia’s face became that of his daughter, Tandra. His stomach twisted. He was glad she’d stopped him, even if she’d used some kind of magic to do it. But would Lord Dahleven see it as he did? The Jarl had a daughter still in nappies, but he was also a leader who had to keep his lords’ support. Would placating Lord Tholvar take precedence over justice?
Aren’s hands tightened on his bow. Could he justify putting Benoia at risk? He owed a debt to Torlon, and he’d sworn not to bring grief to Annikke, or, by extension, Benoia. Yet he couldn’t fail to escort her to Quartzholm. He’d also sworn to serve Lord Fender and through him, the Jarl.
DEBTS (Vinlanders' Saga Book 3) Page 8
