Chapter I

Wren

The lulling sounds of midmorning in the forest outside the village were disrupted by shouts. My head ached as the man before me proclaimed his anger to the world. Headache days filled with pain regardless of all my efforts to stave it, but today was one of my worst in a long time. Dull throbbing at my temples demanded that I silence the man before me, but I couldn’t. At least, I couldn’t yet.

My quarry hung upside down from his tightly bound ankles, dreadlocked hair hanging at odd angles as it struggled to align with the pull of gravity. The scent of unwashed human wafted from him and turned my stomach as he bobbed before me. Yellow and brown teeth appeared from behind his lips as he spewed curses. With the increased pain and nausea, I was sorely temped to kick him in the face. It would not be wise move since he was still armed with a sorry looking sword and slashed at me as he spun.

I wearily watched him flap and flail. Obviously he was not the brightest of men, and I had yet to see why anyone was willing to part for twenty gold for this man’s life. It must be a pride thing. When the bounty was declared, the proclamation only made vague references to crimes against a steward’s property and a very cryptic mention of it being a matter of honor.

“Just wait until I get my hands on you,” he managed before lapsing into profanity again. A whole sentence, I noted with amusement; the first sentence that didn’t contain a foul word in nearly a minute.

I shall wait, I mused as he whipped violently, until the blood pooling to your head makes you more compliant. Then, we shall see who is going to do what.

Upon leaving home over a year ago, bounty hunting had seemed the logical choice for a career. I alone of all my siblings could track animals and people through just about any conditions. In the few situations that I had struggled to find prey, I could always use the aerial assistance of my falcons. They always found what I wanted once I managed to communicate my desires.

Well trained in physical defense and offensive weaponry, I did not fear men. I had four brothers after all, and growing up, I held my own against them in a fight. If I couldn’t defend myself, I knew how to run and hide. I could hide in obvious places, blending into the scenery and becoming one with the trees or brush. Yes, bounty hunting seemed perfectly suited for my skills.

Now, after spending over a year hounding desperate men, rightfully wanted by the law for their misdeeds and lack of respect for others, I was reconsidering my choice. A small part of me longed for home life. Waking for a few mornings in a row to the same roof, kneading bread at a great wooden table, listening to my sisters’ quiet movements and soft conversation, the images called to me. Homesickness crept through my stomach, adding ache to the nausea.

It wasn’t that I didn’t love my work. I did. I enjoyed the challenge of finding and capturing the criminals. Many of the dozen conquests of the past year and a half had been challenging, requiring tracking through all weather and over miles of terrain. This last one, however, had not been enough to keep my mind occupied as well as my body. The insolent, jabber-mouthed man hanging before me had been hiding with his family within twenty miles of where he committed the crimes. He still used his own name, bragged about his exploits, and generally made an obvious fool of himself. Finding him had taken only a few inquiries.

A wind rustled the trees, bowing the branches beneath its path. It smelled of fall. Winter was coming and for the first time since leaving home, I was strongly considering finding a fireside to warm me and a roof to shelter under the whole season.

Brone, my dark brown stallion, nickered, calling for attention. After all he was the one to holding the man in the air with the heavy rope suspended over the branch and still tied to his saddle. He stayed in place, but eyed me with his soft brown eyes, asking for me to come closer. He didn’t like this new prize because it made too much noise. I found I agreed. To soothe my discomfort, I reminded myself of the twenty gold that would soon join my little stash of savings.

I crossed to touch Brone’s silken brown nose. He greeted me with a huff of air and nuzzled my face. I spent a few moments leaning against his neck with my cheek to his gleaming coat as the man behind me continued his diatribe.

Then suddenly the ruffian ceased speaking. I lifted my head from Brone’s warmth as a disturbance in the air above announced the arrival of one of my falcons. Shea, a grey-brown gyr female, descended toward us. Landing gracefully on the limb supporting my dangling conquest, she cocked head so she could see me with one bright eye.

My gaze went to her bare leg and fear rose in my chest. There should have been a message from Arnan attached to her leg.

“That bird yours?” the thief asked. He looked up his length at the underside of Shea’s belly. “Is she going to relieve herself on me?” Apparently the bird’s appearance was more interesting than insulting me. I was grateful for the break in his verbal assault.

I didn’t reply. Reaching into my saddle bags, I withdrew a heavy leather glove. I slipped it on and then signaled for Shea to approach. She obeyed with a lazy flap and a short glide, gripping my fist with her sharp talons as she landed. I almost laughed as she ruffled her feathers and then lay them down again with a smooth flap of her wings. She knew she had a new audience. A beautiful bird, though not as remarkable as Gavin or Iolani with their white plumage, she liked to show off for new audiences.

“A trained bird,” my captive surmised. I ignored him. Instead I turned my attention to finding out why my bird had returned without my message or a message from my brother. Of all of my siblings, I was the most worried about him and his last messages had given me nothing to comfort my fears for his life.

With no mark or clue on Shea, I wasn’t even sure that my letter had reached Arnan. If she had lost it, it was quite possible that she simply returned to me for another. The other option was that she had lost Arnan’s letter. Either way, there was no way of me knowing. Finally satisfied that she was unharmed and I could gain no more information from her, I released her with an upward throw. In a flurry of wings, she took to the sky and disappeared. She would hunt down a meal for herself and then return to me later this evening. By then, I would have a replacement letter for her to carry to my brother.

“Don’t you speak?” my prisoner demanded.

I spoke, just not to the likes of him. He wasn’t worth making small talk with; I would say something when I needed to, but not before. Instead, I took a length of stout cord from my saddle bags.

When I turned to face him, he looked slightly frightened. “What are you going to do?”

He waved his rusted weapon toward me, but the movement was slow and sloppy. Face scrunched in concentration, he tried to keep the weapon between me and him. But his grip was lax from lack of circulation, making it easy to kick his blade away and knocking it from his numbing fingers. Once it was out of his reach, I picked it up. A cheap weapon, off-balance and badly made, it wasn’t worth saving. I tossed it into the bushes.

“Hey,” he protested. “That was mine.”

“Not anymore. Present your hands,” I ordered.

A sneer crossed his face. “You know, you aren’t a bad looking woman. Maybe we can come to an arrangement. You must get pretty lonely wandering about on your own.”

I didn’t honor his comment with a reply. “Present your hands.” Drawing one of my throwing daggers, I met his gaze with a cold glare. Understanding the threat, he meekly presented his hands. I swiftly tied them. Then retrieving the bounty collar from the ground where I had thrown it when removing the rope, I latched the heavy leather around his helpless neck. Its presence declared my claim on the bounty.

“I will refuse to walk.”

“You won’t need to,” I replied.

After wrapping a rope around his body so that his upper arms were strapped to the sides of his chest and then binding his ankles, I returned to Brone. Together, we lowered him to the ground. I noted with mild pleasure that he ended up laying face first in the dirt. He protested loudly as I wound up the rope that had snared him. He flopped in the dirt like a snared fish. Then after stowing it in the saddlebags, I led Brone over to stand beside the thief. Lifting him onto my stallion’s back took some work, but after a few minutes of complaining and groaning on his part, I got him settled.

Brone didn’t like his new burden. He kept looking back at me with pleading eyes.

“It is only until we reach town,” I assured him, rubbing his neck. “Then we will be rid of him for good and I will treat you to a night in a real stable, with a carrot and everything.”

Brone liked the idea. He tossed his head, which caused our captive to unleash a whole new flavor of foul words, taking God’s name in vain. I suddenly had my fill.

“Enough,” I said. Reaching over, I grabbed his head by the disgustingly matted hair that covered it. Yanking his chin up so his throat was exposed and his neck hurt, I drew my knife again. “Be thankful that the price on your head is for your living body. Now, cease the venom or I shall gag you.” I wouldn’t have killed him, but he didn’t need to know that.

An abrupt silence followed. I heaved a sigh of relief. Hopefully that was enough to guarantee a quiet walk into town. If not, I would gag him with the smelliest rag I could find.

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“Fifteen gold,” the steward managed around a full mouth of stew without bothering to keep his lips closed.

My stomach turned. I really needed to get out of this line of work for awhile. Characters like Steward Farley were far too common. And they always hung out in slums like this tavern. Dim with smoke from a badly vented chimney, the rushes on the floor stunk of rotting food, sour ale, and things much worse.

“The bounty was for twenty, steward,” I replied to the shining oil on his balding scalp. “I am willing to call any of these fine men as witnesses to it. The bounty was twenty gold for the return of your thief.” I rested my hand on my first dagger, but he didn’t even notice.

The steward cursed, spewing bits of half eaten turnip across the already filmy surface of his table. “If a woman managed to catch him, he wasn’t worth the bounty set. Now take the fifteen and be thankful I am paying you at all.”

“You will pay me twenty.” Planting the tip of my first throwing knife in the table top next to his left hand, I reached for my second. Before he could do more than jump slightly in his seat, it was ready. “If you don’t, I shall take him with me.”

Again the man cursed as the pain behind my eyes grew. The stench was getting to my stomach. If I didn’t resolve this soon, I was going to heave in the man’s lap. I didn’t really feel up to this argument, but if it was going to get me the money, argue I must.

“Are you threatening me, wench?” he asked rising half out of his chair. The mild sound of conversation around us died suddenly and the tension rose.

“No.” Calmly flicking my second knife under his nose, I met his gaze evenly. “I only want what is rightfully mine. My twenty gold, if you please, or I shall speak to the local Enforcer.” It was an idle threat, but he didn’t know it. As the blood washed from his face, I almost regretted using it. The Enforcer was the king’s representative in the area and the local one was exceptionally nasty.

“Why didn’t you say that you knew the Enforcer?” He gasped and began fumbling in his pockets. Within moments he had plunked down a small pile of gold and hurried away and out the back door without paying for his meal or asking where my prize was waiting.

I picked them up with a sigh. It had been a low move on my part but effective. I counted out the full twenty as I dropped them into the small bag at my waist. It was a comforting weight. Retrieving my knife from the tabletop, I turned to survey the room. At least four men returned my scrutiny with a varying degrees of wariness. I doubted that I would be able to find a decent meal in the kitchens and the company was less than savory like the dozens of taverns where I had done business before.

After the steward’s hasty retreat, the other occupants hastily avoided my gaze when I looked around. A tavern wench in a low cut bodice that sagged dangerously wove through the tables to my side.

“Can I get you anything, miss?” She simpered, holding the greasy tray before her like a shield.

“No, thank you. I have some unfinished business to attend to.” As I met the girl’s fearful eyes, I couldn’t help the twinge of pity. If Deus hadn’t provided me with the talents to earn my living another way, I might well be in this woman’s place. I dropped a silver coin onto her tray. “Take this for the steward’s meal and keep the remainder for yourself.” Then, before she had a chance to thank me, I strode toward the door and out into the noon sunlight.

Filling my lungs with a deep draw of breath, I closed my eyes and lifted my face to the sun. The light made my head throb, but the clean scent of fresh air more than made up for the pain. That and the lightened feeling I always felt after finishing a bounty brought me to the decision. I had delivered my last bounty. Never again would I enter a slum like the one behind me looking for a man to hunt for profit. I had other skills and I would use them.

Straightening my shoulders, I opened my eyes and set off in the direction of the more pleasant part of town. Surely someone would be looking for a falconer, hunter, or even a stable hand, anything to keep my hands busy and guarantee me a place by a fire and a meal in my belly for the winter.

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It took me most of the afternoon to find a decent-looking inn and a meal. After settling Brone down in the stable with the promised carrot, I procured myself a bed for the night and sought out the common room.

A large room full of tables and benches, it offered a welcome, well-worn atmosphere. Since it was still early for the dinner crowd, the only occupant was a stooped old man tending the fire. From his silver hair and toothless grin, I guessed that he was aged beyond his usefulness in the fields.

“How are you, old father, on this day?”

His grin widened. “Fair enough, my lass. Are you a looking for someone?”

I shook my head. “Simply a meal, father. I have had a long journey and I hoped to find something to fill my belly before I go looking for work.”

The wizened blue eyes scanned my attire: tunic, leather jerkin, and worn leather leggings. “And what kind of work are ya seeking, child. You don’t look like the serving wench type. I don’t know of what else a lass like yourself would be good at though.”

I smiled and slid onto a nearby bench. “I hunt well, know how to care for falcons or other birds of prey, and am not afraid of mucking a stall or caring for a horse.”

The old man’s eyebrows rose. “Surely ya don’t mean man’s work.”

“Surely I do, Father. You wouldn’t know of a lord or noble who might be interested in hiring an experienced hunter or stable hand, would you?”

He studied me. “Nay, there t’isn’t anything the likes of that about except His Honour, the Enforcer’s estate, but I suspect ye wouldn’t find a place there. At least not a place ye’d want. He don’t have a hankering for bird sport. Now if Lord Mynth were around, it t’would be a different tale.”

Just then the innkeeper approached and inquired if I would like to eat.

“The stew is mighty good and the ale is the best in the valley.” The old man winked at me. “I like to take a nip of it myself every once in a while.”

Taking his hint, I ordered a trencher of stew and two tankards of ale, one for me and one for him. The innkeeper nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

“So, who is this Lord Mynth?” I asked, indicating the seat across from me.

“Ah, now he was a good man,” he declared as he reached for his cane. Pulling himself to his feet, he hobbled over to the bench and sat with a heavy sigh. “Yes, he was a good master. He oversaw the whole valley, ya know.”

I shook my head. No, I didn’t know. On the way into the valley, I had passed a ruin high on one of the mountainsides guarding the pass. It looked as though it had once been a great fortress, but it seemed abandoned, the fields overgrown and the outer wall decaying. And in my dealings with the town folk, none had mentioned a Lord Mynth. “I haven’t heard of a Lord Mynth in these parts.”

“Nor shall ye,” the old man informed me. Leaning forward as though he thought to be overheard, he whispered, “He is dead, poor man. Dead at the command of Orac the Usurper.” He spat in the rushes and then looked at me apologetically. “Sorry, miss, there is no love lost between he and me.”

I nodded. I wasn’t of the area, but I knew of Orac. Only a few years before, he had overthrown the rightful king by military coup and declared himself the rightful ruler of Trathlay. He then proceeded to milk the resources of his people to feed his own outrageous habits. The rumors ran free about the new king’s tastes in women, wine, and entertainment. I rarely listened to rumor and speculation, but I suspected that at least half of the ones I heard about Orac were true.

“Why would he kill one of his own nobles?”

“Ah, but Mynth wasn’t one of his. He was loyal to Sigmon the Just and the old ways of overseeing the land. When Lord Mynth objected to the new tax demanded of his lands, Orac sent an army to raze the land and kill the noble. They came in the night, and by subterfuge, entered Iselyn. Seeking out Mynth and his wife in their bedchamber, they slit their throats while they slept before setting fire to the bedclothes. It was too late to save the keep when the night watch finally noticed the flames. As everyone ran for water, the alarm was sounded from the village, but it was too late. The harvest burned in the fields while Mynth and his wife burned in their bed. It was a hard winter that year.”

“Shame on you, Alec,” the innkeeper scolded. “You know that the walls themselves listen for Orac’s Enforcer.” He slid a heavy trencher full of thick stew with a floating slab of bread across the table. A waft of beef and turnips flooded my senses and my mouth watered. A mug of ale followed, liquid sloshing over the edges and covering the table as he thumped it down. Plunking down the second before my companion, he shook his head. “Don’t fill the lass’ head with tales.”

“Othon Nartin, you know as well as I that these aren’t false tales I am telling her.”

“Aye, but the telling is dangerous nonetheless.”

“I haven’t told her anything to fear,” old Alec insisted and lifted his tankard to his mouth. Draining the whole in three long gulps, he set the mug down with a thud. Sending a sly glance at the innkeeper’s retreating back, he leaned in close. “Old Lord Mynth had a son. He still lives in the ruins of his father’s house. They might be interested in exchanging a share of their meat and their roof with someone who can contribute to the stores for the winter. Tell him that old Alec sent ya and he will hear yar case.”

Then quickly sitting back on the bench, he belched loudly. “I thank ya, lass, for the ale. It will warm me on my way home. My daughter-in-law will be looking for me to entertain the children while she sees to supper.” Gripping his cane, he rose from the bench and hobbled toward the door. “I hope to be seeing ya about,” he called over his shoulder, and then he was gone.

I studied the door in his wake. He was a strange old man and his message about Lord Mynth’s son was stranger yet.

I frowned down at my dinner. If there was no likely place for a falconer, hunter, or stable hand nearby, I was not going to be able to afford a meal like this any time soon. I took a mouthful. The turnips were well cooked and the meat tender. I closed my eyes and let the thick gravy coat my throat

On the trail, I rarely had time to cook. Most meals were bread and cheese, or salted jerky. Occasionally, after a capture, I would treat myself to a stew, but it never was this good. This taste could only be produced by cooking it all day over a low fire. I was hardly ever in one place that long.

Now there wasn’t a chance of finding a place before the frost. I worked on breaking up the chunk of bread. I couldn’t help wondering about Lord Mynth’s son. Even if the roof was meager, it would be more roof than I had. I was certain that I could definitely earn my keep by contributing to the communal pot, if that was the only price. As I loaded my spoon for another bite, I decided that I would ride by the ruins on my way out of the valley. If it didn’t work out, I would keep riding. I had spent one winter on the road; I could survive another.

Shoveling the stew into my mouth, I savored the taste and relaxed. No matter what, Deus always provided for me in some way. He had done wonders in the past, I didn’t expect Him to start failing now.

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Wren Romany - © 2006 Rachel Rossano