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• CHAPTER ONE •
Hunting and an Unexpected Encounter

The sound of a twig cracking underfoot made the deer’s head jerk upright from grazing, its ears moving as it looked around, seeking the source of the noise. Its nostrils flared as it tested the wind.

Hava froze, her bow halfway to a ready position, not wishing to startle the young buck. After a moment of sniffing the air, the deer started to wander away. Hava stole a glance at Molly Bowman, who looked back at Hava and with an inclination of her head indicated she would move off to her right, then with her lifted chin communicated that Hava should keep stalking the deer.

All this was new to the girl from Coaltachin: her home islands had no forests like this. Here the trees were so much bigger; the boles were massive compared to the smaller pines, balsams, and fir trees that littered the relatively small mountains on the islands. The lowlands had been cleared centuries earlier for farms and orchards.

She wended her way between massive oaks, while avoiding the sprawling beech trees and their multiple roots and low-hanging branches. Hava understood how easy it would be to get lost in this forest. This area, with its interlinked forests, woodlands, small hills with dells and dead-end canyons, was called the Wildlands and had once been a haven to savage tribes and outlaws. While the western half of the region was relatively peaceful, due to the Dumarch family’s pacification of their demesne over generations, it was still a very wild place to navigate. To a girl raised in tiny villages and schools on small islands, it was a veritable maze filled with potentially lethal traps. Navigating was hard: she couldn’t see the sun, and the shadows were confusing. All the tricks she knew for how to find her way from place to place in cities were useless in the densest forest she’d ever encountered.

Even the smells were different. There was a damp earthiness overlaid with something that was almost familiar, something like sandalwood, but not. Another note, more floral, teased her, almost apple or pear, but not. The alien quality of this place both intrigued and intimidated her.

The deer started to drift away and Hava glanced over to see that Molly was already moving. Hava tried to follow the deer as silently as possible, painfully aware that compared to Molly she was making enough noise to scare away half the wildlife in the forest.

Hava liked Molly. Of all the young women she had met since arriving at Beran’s Hill, Molly was by far the most interesting. The others were much as she expected from her own experiences with town girls while travelling, as well as the girls she had known at home, people caught up in their day-to-day tedium, living predictable lives. They served their families, then got married, moved out, and served their husbands. Or served many men as barmaids, shop girls, or whores.

Though Hava was not yet twenty years of age, she’d travelled, learned to sail, killed a man with a rock, and had seen things these women couldn’t dream of, let alone attempt. She had observed their relationships over the years, but they had no meaning to her personally. The hardest thing for Hava to understand was their blind acceptance of such an ordinary existence.

Since leaving her father’s house and joining the class at Master Facaria’s school, Hava had been just another student, one who excelled, but unlike the town and farm girls she had met she was her own person, not someone’s daughter or wife.

Molly, too, was different, and she knew some things better than Hava did. Hava might be able to negotiate a dark alley and remain unseen, or enter a house without noise, but she was little more than an awkward child in this forest. She wasn’t even certain how she would get back to the town if Molly wasn’t there.

Then Hava realized Molly wasn’t there. A tiny pang of concern twinged in the pit of her stomach: the first hint of fear. It needed to be ignored, lest it lead to panic. Immediately she employed part of her childhood training to prevent her imagination running wild and leading her into poor choices.

She took stock of her position. What would she do in a city? She started looking for anything that made this location unique. All she saw were trees! A chiding voice from her memory echoed, from a crew boss named Hilsbek, ‘You look, but you do not see. Learn to see!’

Again she surveyed her surroundings and saw there was one tree with deep scratches in the bark at chest-height, as if someone had used a blade or saw on it, and then stopped. To the left of that tree was a stump, perhaps from timber felling, or a diseased tree falling, she didn’t know, but it was old, covered in some sort of vine.

Quickly she inventoried more details: a small outcropping of rocks to her right; a half-broken bough hanging from a large spread of branches forming a sort of canopy behind her. After a moment, she had confidence that should she return, she’d recognize this spot.

She turned around, and was making every detail indelible in her mind, when she heard Molly say, ‘You coming?’

Looking towards the source of the voice, she could barely make out Molly between two trees growing close together. Hava jogged forward, circling the trees, then saw a hint of movement behind Molly.

Without hesitation, Hava drew and shot, sending a shaft past Molly’s neck. The sound of the arrow striking and a slight grunt was followed by silence. Molly didn’t flinch or even show surprise, but turned to see what Hava had loosed at.

Molly looked back at Hava. ‘I hope what you saw was a deer and not some fool wearing a deerskin jerkin!’

Hava smiled. ‘Hadn’t thought of that.’

She moved purposefully through the trees, pausing a couple of times to circumnavigate barriers of brush and tree trunks. Reaching the fallen animal, she knelt and saw it was still alive but motionless in shock, breathing rapidly and shallowly.

Molly knelt next to Hava and with a quick movement slit the deer’s throat. ‘Best to put it out of its misery.’ Sitting back on her heels, she added, ‘Good shot.’ She glanced back. ‘You had maybe a foot of sight, through five, six trees?’

‘I saw movement and took the shot,’ Hava said with a shrug.

Molly slid her pack off her shoulder and took out a large sack. ‘Waste nothing,’ she said to Hava, unfolding the sack. Then she drew a light rope out of the pack and in moments had the deer hanging from a branch. Gutting the animal, she gathered the offal into the sack and tied it off. She handed the bag to Hava. ‘Someone might want the liver or kidneys for pie, and Jarman will give me a few coppers for the rest for his hogs.’

‘What about skinning it?’ asked Hava.

‘When we get back to town.’ Molly cut down the deer and with Hava’s help – though Hava thought Molly hardly needed it – she shouldered the carcass easily.

As Hava picked up the bag, Molly said, ‘Where did you learn to shoot like that?’

Falling into the almost unthinking default of lying about her past, Hava said, ‘My father taught us all. I was the oldest, so I had more time to learn.’ She paused, then added, ‘We all learned.’

Molly said nothing for a few paces then asked, ‘You didn’t hunt much, did you?’

‘A bit,’ replied Hava quickly, seeing where the conversation was heading. ‘It’s different where I’m from. We don’t have forests like these.’

‘Oh?’ Molly sounded curious.

‘My family lived on an island …’ Hava let the thought trail off as she quickly realized she didn’t know if Molly had met Master Bodai when he passed through Beran’s Hill in the role of a horse trader. That had been before Hava and Hatu returned to purchase the burned-out inn Hatu was working at restoring while Hava hunted with Molly. The story then was that her ‘father’ was a horse trader.

Hava resumed her story, making a mental note to speak with Hatu when they were alone so they could reconcile their false past history. ‘The island was small but pirates and raiders came close sometimes. We had little of worth, so they rarely troubled us, but occasionally they would take food and, if they could, prisoners they could rape or sell to slavers.

‘So we all learned the bow. We’d grab what we could and head up into the hills, leaving behind enough for the raiders so they wouldn’t risk following us. Everyone in my village did this.’

Molly glanced at Hava. ‘I was curious, because you’re a very good – or lucky – archer, but you seem completely lost in the forest.’

‘We left the island when I was young,’ said Hava, which was close to the truth. She had been barely seven years of age when she was sent to Facaria’s school. ‘Trading horses … you need to be able to defend yourself. Father didn’t like paying for guards …’ She shrugged as she let the explanation drop. One thing she had been taught in her training was not to volunteer too much information; it made keeping a false story consistent more difficult. She switched topics. ‘I admit I had just lost sight of you for a moment and was wondering how to get back to town.’

‘Most girls from town would get lost quickly … and a fair number of the boys, too.

‘I was an only child, so my father took me hunting, despite my mother being furious. I tried to learn the things my mother wanted to teach me, cooking, baking, and all that.’

Hava fell into stride with her as Molly went on, ‘I learned some of it. I can bake simple bread, cook a bit. I can’t make … whatever they call that fruit … preserves, yes; I can’t get that right. I recently opened a jar I’d stored away and it was nasty.’ She chuckled ruefully. ‘I never realized how much my mother knew until after she died.’

Hava reflected on that for a moment, realizing she’d never thought much about her own mother, a woman constantly beset by the demands of four younger siblings when Hava left. As a child, Hava had taken her mother’s efforts for granted. Then when she was at the school, those needs were met by the matrons, from wiping noses and bottoms to tending cuts and bruises, and occasionally comforting a crying child, until such time as the children learned not to cry.

Hava said, ‘My mother … I lost her before I was seven years old. I really don’t remember too much about her …’

Molly turned slightly so she could glance at Hava, then returned her attention to where they were going. ‘See that dip ahead?’

‘Yes.’

‘Follow me,’ she instructed, seemingly unburdened by the heavy deer she was carrying across her shoulders. When they reached the dip, Molly said, ‘This little rill here has been cut by run-off when it rains. Check and you’ll see which end is lower. If you get lost up here, look for a stream and follow it downhill. There’s a river on the other side of a road the baron’s family cut through here years ago, and if you follow any of them it will lead you to that road. Turn west and in less than an hour you’re back at Beran’s Hill.’

‘If there’s a road nearby, why aren’t we taking it?’

Molly chuckled. ‘Roads mean people. People mean that animals only cross at night when people aren’t around.’ She lifted her chin to her left and added, ‘That’s a game trail. See how it’s packed earth and rocks?’

Hava nodded.

‘You follow those to find game or water.’ Molly grinned. ‘You’re very good with a bow. We’ll hunt again soon and I’ll teach you some woodlore.’

‘I’d like that,’ Hava replied.

Molly took a step, then froze. Hava became motionless a second later, her training instinctively taking over so that she was ready for whatever came next. She put down the bag of entrails, silently drew an arrow from her hip quiver and nocked it to her bowstring.

Molly unloaded the deer carcass onto a small flat rock outcropping, letting her shoulder pack drop next to it; then she pulled an arrow from her quiver and nodded approval at Hava already being ready for trouble.

Hava remained motionless and silent, waiting for Molly’s instruction. Molly lifted her chin to show the direction she wished to move. Hava fell in behind her, glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone was following, an old city habit.

Molly moved with purpose and Hava could tell from her posture and economy of motion that she was ready for a fight, though her quiet caution also told Hava that Molly wasn’t looking for one.

Then Hava heard what had alerted Molly. Riders approaching: the sound of them growing noticeably louder. Molly headed down a slope, then knelt low.

Hava knelt beside her and saw there was a break in the trees a dozen yards or so ahead, and beyond that, the road. Within moments the party of riders came into view, moving at an easy canter, a gait designed to cover long distances quickly without ruining the horses. As they passed, the man in front raised his arm and reined in a bit, and the horses slowed to a trot.

As they rode out of view, Molly stood up and said, ‘Come on.’

‘We’re going to follow them?’ asked Hava. ‘What about the deer?’

Molly shouldered her bow. ‘Scavengers are already on it. There are more deer to hunt.’ She pointed up the road. ‘This is more interesting.’

‘A company of mercenaries on their way to Port Colos is interesting?’

‘Did you see how they reined in on command?’ Molly asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Not mercenaries. Soldiers dressed like mercenaries. They rode in formation and reined in on a hand signal. Well-trained cavalry.’

Hava chided herself; she should have noticed that. ‘The baron’s?’

‘If they turn south, they’re the baron’s.’

‘If they don’t, they’re someone else’s.’

‘Interesting?’

Hava nodded, her expression conceding Molly’s point. ‘Very.’

Molly started to move up the road at a fast walk, and as Hava caught up they both broke into a jogging run.

THEY MANAGED TO STAY CLOSE enough to the riders to keep them in earshot, as the soldiers disguised as mercenaries were travelling at a modest trot and the women were alternately running and jogging. Finally, when the sound of hoofbeats stopped, Molly glanced at Hava and gestured that they should move into the trees and keep following out of sight.

After skirting the road for a few minutes, Hava glimpsed the riders through the trees. The two young women retreated upslope a little more, staying low behind brush and fallen tree trunks. When the baron had had the road cleared, most of the timber not harvested – mainly mounds of branches and an occasional diseased bole – had simply been dragged uphill on either side, providing several convenient places for an ambush, or to spy.

Molly crouched, put her cheek next to Hava’s and asked, ‘What do you think?’

Hava observed how the riders organized themselves: two feeding horses out of nosebags while four others stood in a circle in discussion. One walked a short distance back down the road, apparently to see if they were being followed. Hava said, ‘They’re meeting someone.’

‘How do you know?’

‘If they were just pausing to rest the horses they’d walk them slowly and then feed them once they reached town. They don’t know how long they have to wait for whoever is meeting them, and don’t want the horses hungry and restless if they have to linger. If it was anything else, they’d be riding into town, or finding a place to let them graze.’

Molly raised a questioning eyebrow.

Hava grinned. ‘My father, horse trader?’

Molly returned the smile. ‘Now?’

‘We wait,’ said Hava, and Molly nodded.

Hava had endured enough stints of observation as part of her training that she ignored the urge to drift off into random thoughts: the many unanswered questions about the choices that would come, if not soon, eventually. About her loyalty to the Council on Coaltachin and her years spent with Hatu – and their lost friend Donte – coming into conflict. She wrestled with that occasionally, electing to push it aside most times, content that when the time came for her to choose between a lifetime of friendship and love, and a sense of duty instilled since childhood, she would make that choice.

Instead she turned her attention to the soldiers waiting at the verge of the road below, attempting to see as much as she could without being seen. Molly had been correct; these men were a poor excuse for a mercenary company. She’d seen a number of those in her travels, and they were at best a scruffy lot, given to all manner of choices in armour, weapons, saddles, and mounts. The men below had chosen to wear some unlike garments, but they were all too clean, not in need of mending, obviously little worn. More revealing, they all wore the same boots, and the horses had identical tack. She was convinced if she got closer the swords and any bows would be alike. This was a company of soldiers, should anyone take a few moments to study them, and not just any soldiers – for garrison soldiers had variations in armour, weapons, and boots. These were castellans: personal soldiers of a noble, the best of his army, whichever army that might be.

‘Why are there so many of them?’ Molly whispered.

Hava shrugged. ‘Maybe we’ll find out.’

The two young women waited in silence while the men stood idly rotating every so often to ensure the horses didn’t wander off the road now that the feeding was over. Hava knew that sooner or later the horses would need water and softly asked Molly, ‘How far to water?’

Molly pointed to the road and then beyond it. ‘That way. Not far.’

Hava murmured, ‘They’ll have to water the horses soon.’

Molly nodded.

As Hava had predicted, two of the soldiers led half the horses off towards the small river that ran to the north of the road, and after a short while, returned and led off the other mounts.

Minutes passed slowly. As the sun lowered in the sky, the last of the freshly watered horses returned.

Hava leaned over and whispered, ‘See those two men, standing a little way off?’

Molly turned her attention to the indicated pair. One stood tall, a soldier by his bearing, but the other was a short man, apparently slender under his heavy cloak. Hava whispered, ‘The shorter one is not a soldier, but the tall one – their leader – seems respectful of him.’

‘How do you know?’

Hava again returned to the fabricated history she had concocted. ‘My father taught me early to study people; horse traders need to know whom they are bargaining with, even if they’re strangers. You look at who jumps to follow instructions, or their faces when they’re told something.’ As if to punctuate her observation, the tall man nodded and said something to the other soldiers, who immediately started inspecting the horses and making ready to ride soon.

‘Someone is coming,’ said Molly.

As soon as she spoke, Hava heard hoofbeats and a rider came into view, followed by the soldier who had been stationed down the road. The rider jumped down from his mount and nodded a greeting to the two men Hava had observed. The tall man moved away, leaving the short fellow and the newcomer alone to speak.

Hava said suddenly, ‘I’ve seen him before.’

‘Keep your voice down!’

Hava silently chided herself for letting a moment of surprise break her discipline.

Molly asked, ‘Who?’

‘The man who just arrived was at the inn two days ago seeking a room. Hatu said the repairs were not quite finished and sent him off.’

Since the Inn of the Three Stars was still under repair, travellers were often referred to other quarters, to smaller inns and several farmers’ barns. Their inn should be in a good enough state to allow travellers a place to stay by tomorrow, Hatu had told her.

‘Do you know him?’ whispered Molly.

‘Just a traveller. I didn’t pay attention after he asked about a room.’

Molly said, ‘They’re getting ready.’

‘Yes, but for what?’

‘To leave, look.’ She pointed to where the riders were inspecting their horses, tightening girths, checking bridles, ensuring saddle packs were secure, before starting their return journey.

Hava said, ‘We should go,’ and began to creep upslope.

Molly moved in beside her and after they’d crested a ridge and were heading towards Beran’s Hill down a gentle slope, Molly said, ‘What do you suppose all that was?’

‘Nothing good,’ said Hava.

‘Should we tell Declan?’

‘Tell him what? That a man escorted by soldiers disguised as mercenaries met a man who came into town a couple of days ago and has been …’ Hava shrugged. ‘What? Sneaking around town?’

Almost as one, they both said, ‘We should tell Declan.’

Hava said, ‘You tell him when we get back. He knows you better and I need to …’ She almost said ‘warn Hatu’ but caught herself. ‘… let Hatu know to be careful with those two should they come by the inn.’

They continued on until Hava realized she knew where they were, just as sound from the town drifted to them on the afternoon wind. As they neared, Hava made out the sounds of a hammer and smiled.

HATUSHALY PAUSED TO WIPE PERSPIRATION off his forehead and then resumed hammering another hardwood shingle into the supporting board. Summer was approaching and the days were getting hotter, especially when spent up on the roof of the inn. He and two workers he had hired were finishing all the repairs started by Declan Smith after raiders had tried to burn down the Inn of the Three Stars.

He’d purchased it from Gwen, the previous owner’s daughter, the week before. He and Hava had discussed it at length before they made the offer. Hava had grown to like Gwen, who was to wed Declan, the smith. He had become Hatu’s first ‘friend’ in this town.

Hatu leaned back and caught his breath. The work was not exhausting, but it had been a week of very long days, up before dawn, engaging in tasks that challenged what he knew of several crafts; like most students from Coaltachin, he had spent time being exposed to many skills, for the most part to provide believable stories while acting as an agent for Coaltachin, but he was a master of none of them. This restoration had taught Hatu just how much he didn’t know about carpentry, masonry, and other building trades.

He surveyed the town of Beran’s Hill, taking the time to actually look at the sprawling, growing community. It still felt new to him, as the longest he had lived in any one place had been the school where he had first met Hava and their lost friend Donte, and he sensed his perspective on this place and the people who lived here was changing.

He was playing the part of a new husband and innkeeper, a first as either. He had trained all his life to be a member of the Quelli Nascosti, the secret assassins of Coaltachin, but in fact all of that had been a front contrived to keep him hidden from his true family’s enemies.

Hatu’s real name was Sefan Langene, so Baron Daylon’s body servant Balven had told him. He was the son of a dead king. That made Hatu king in name as well, except there was no kingdom, save one of ashes and ruin on the far side of this continent. As a baby, Hatu had been given over to Master Facaria to be raised as ‘one of his own’, and the baron hadn’t realized that didn’t mean raised in the relative safety of a castle somewhere, surrounded by guards and retainers. One of the older masters, a one-time member of the Council of Masters of Coaltachin, Facaria had indeed raised Hatu as if he had been one of his own children. It had been a difficult, violent and dangerous upbringing. Hatushaly had been reared to become a warrior, crew boss, even master assassin and spy for the Kingdom of Night, as Coaltachin was known. The irony of the dangers he’d faced growing up were not lost on him. Still, it all made sense in a convoluted way; Hatu considered himself as safe as he was ever likely to be, as there were few better students in combat than he.

He almost laughed at his situation, for if he remained a simple innkeeper and kept his hair coloured as a precaution, he was probably as safe as any man in the Barony of Marquensas. Short of being overcome by some mad desire to reclaim his lost heritage, he could spend the rest of his life in relative peace, assuming that his former masters didn’t order his ‘wife’ to kill him. That did cause him to laugh aloud and wonder what more convoluted fate awaited him as he returned to work.

He loved Hava more than he could say, for his schooling had taught little about matters of the heart. He had loved her his whole life but had only recognized that recently. She had always been there for him, a calming presence at the worst times in his childhood, an anchor to keep him from spinning off in rages, the one person who understood him, perhaps better than he understood himself. He also knew she loved him, but the question was: did she love him enough to ignore orders from her masters to leave him or, worse, to kill him? Only time would tell.

He finished a section of the roof and stood up to regard his work and found it apparently sufficient – at least until the next rain, at which time his mistakes would reveal themselves. Then he lifted his eyes and saw Hava and Molly emerging from the woods on the other side of a field. Neither seemed burdened with game, so he wondered if they’d simply not found any, or had used hunting as an excuse for Hava not working.

He doubted the latter, for avoiding work wasn’t in her nature, though he knew she disliked carpentry and the general clean-up the inn required. As game was reputedly plentiful this time of year in the forest nearby, he assumed something else had arisen and that made him curious. He stepped higher up the roof ridge and waved as Hava and Molly cut across the fallow field. Hava spied him and returned the wave.

By the time he had climbed down the ladder, Hava had reached the back gate to the stabling yard. ‘Anyone inside?’ she asked.

‘No,’ answered Hatu. ‘Samuel is on his way to Declan’s to get another bucket of nails.’ He wiped his forehead. ‘And we’re almost done.’

She motioned him to follow her inside. ‘Where’s Roary?’

‘Something to do with helping his mother do something at her shop. He’ll be back in an hour.’

Hava glanced around the now-restored common room of the Inn of the Three Stars. The day before they’d moved casks of ale, barrels of wine, bottles of wine, and whisky, into storage. They had also stocked the kitchen, which was why the roof was not quite finished. Hatu was determined that by tomorrow they would once again be open for business.

‘You know that fellow who came around the day before yesterday – dark hair, tall, looking for a room? The one you sent over to Jacob’s barn?’

‘Yes. Why?’

Hava recounted what she and Molly had observed, and when she finished Hatu said, ‘Sounds like something we may need to report to the masters.’

‘Almost certainly. Who will go?’

Hatu said, ‘It will have to be me.’

Hava’s frown indicated that she didn’t understand why that was the case, so Hatu continued, ‘Haven’t you noticed? None of the women here, except for Molly Bowman, travel alone.’

‘Odd, isn’t it?’ asked Hava.

‘I gave up trying to understand why people do a lot of things since we started travelling with the masters,’ said Hatu softly.

Hava nodded. ‘What will you tell them?’

By ‘them’, she meant the masters who would receive his report.

‘I think I’ll wait a day or two and see if that fellow and the man you said he met reveal anything.’ He glanced around the almost-finished common room and said, ‘I think we were fortunate to have chosen this business. I can’t imagine a better place in Beran’s Hill to have information come to us.’

Hava nodded. ‘I’m not sure how we’ll do as an innkeeper and wife, but if those are the roles we need to play, so be it.’

Hatu smiled, slipped his arm around her, and gave her a slight hug. ‘I’m enjoying the wife part.’

She pushed him away with mock disdain. ‘None of that until you’ve bathed. You reek.’

He laughed. ‘It was hot up on that roof.’ With a sigh, he added, ‘But I’m not quite done yet, and those shingles will not attach themselves.’

‘Off you go then,’ Hava said with a smile. ‘And do bathe before tonight.’ She looked him up and down slowly. ‘You still need more practice in bed.’

He raised his eyebrows in mock shock. ‘Practice?’

‘You’re almost competent as a lover but your technique needs work,’ she said, turning her back and disappearing into the kitchen before he could respond.

Chuckling to himself, Hatu climbed back up the ladder. This roof would be finished before the evening meal. Then all that was left was to hang the sign above the door. He returned to where he had been, knelt and picked up a shingle, hammer, and nails, and resumed his labour.

MOLLY FINISHED SHARING WHAT SHE and Hava had seen with Declan, who silently listened. For a long moment he considered what she had told him and then said, ‘That does sound like something to fret over.’

Molly nodded. ‘They weren’t ordinary soldiers. They were guardsmen or something like that.’

Declan nodded. He had seen enough men-at-arms pass through Oncon, the village where he had been raised, to appreciate what Molly meant. Household, honour guards, castellans, all tended to be the most accomplished of soldiers, and to see a company of such dispatched on an escort mission indicated that the person they escorted was of some consequence.

‘Where can I get a glimpse of these fellows?’

‘I think Jacob’s barn is where the one fellow who was here slept, or maybe one of the other inns? Though Hava’s inn is supposed to open again tomorrow. Maybe there?’

‘I’ll ask Gwen. She’s over there now inspecting the place for Hatu and Hava …’ He let the words trail off. Staring out of the large open door of his blacksmith shop, he finally said, ‘She’s still in mourning. She holds it in well, maybe too well. The tears were there at first, but …’ He looked concerned. ‘I think perhaps she’s trying too hard to be strong, you know?’