DEBTS (Vinlanders' Saga Book 3) (10 page)

Benoia ran her hand down the mare’s neck, admiration in her gaze. “Lord Tholvar and Sveyn ride fine mounts, and Lord Fender had a fine horse, but the only others I’ve seen are draft animals.”

“Pinter has a smooth gait, Annikke, and I’ll be leading her. You’ll have nothing to fear,” Aren said, gently.

Annikke nodded stiffly. “I trust you.”

Something twisted deep within him. Aren wanted to look away, but he couldn’t break away from her clear blue gaze. She
trusted
him? He was here to take her foster-daughter to judgment. And while he’d sworn to bring her no harm or grief, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to keep his word. He nodded wordlessly and threaded his fingers together again.

Annikke put her foot into his hands. Trust or no, she squeaked as he tossed her into the shallow saddle, and Aren bit his lip to keep from laughing.

She grabbed for a handful of mane to balance herself, then looked down on him. Her eyes were wide with alarm, but they narrowed as she caught his expression. “Is my fear a source of merriment to you?”

There was no good answer to that. The honest answer wasn’t the best one. Aren shook his head, and gestured Benoia closer. The girl shared an amused glance with him, then closed her expression as she remembered he was her captor. Aren sighed, and he tossed her up behind Annikke. It was only right that the girl be wary of him, but he wished it could be otherwise.

Benoia put her arms around Annikke, and the older woman relaxed a little.

Aren tied their carry sacks to either side of the saddle, twitched the reins and led them toward Quartzholm.

Chapter Eleven

A few candlemarks later, Annikke’s aching arse told her she’d need the liniment she’d packed. Aren had spoken truth: the mare did have a steady gait, and although the ground still seemed to be quite far away, Annikke no longer feared the horse would shy and toss her and Benoia off. In fact, after she’d gotten used to the beast’s stride, she rather enjoyed the view from atop its broad back.

They’d turned back to travel up country along the Rift because following it was the shortest way to return to the road, but Aren chose a course well away from the crumbly edge. Despite the rough ground, they’d made decent progress.

The sun was westering when Aren halted the mare, cocking his head and listening. All Annikke heard was the breeze ruffling the new leaves.

“Why are we stopping?” Benoia asked.

Aren didn’t answer. He didn’t even seem to have heard the question.

Annikke felt Benoia draw breath for another query, but she put a finger to her lips and the girl remained quiet.

Several moments passed before Aren looked around him, almost as if scenting the wind. “Someone passed by here, not long ago.”

“Someone?” Annikke asked.

“One of Lord Tholvar’s men?” Benoia asked with a slight quaver in her voice.

Annikke squeezed Benoia’s hand trying to give some reassurance, though she really had none to offer.

Aren shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so.”

“Who else would be out here? We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Benoia argued.

Aren gazed at the ground, covered with leaf litter. “A stripling youth, I think. The stride is a bit short to be a grown man’s, but it’s longer than most women’s. The odd thing is, it wasn’t here a hundred paces ago.”

“Perhaps you missed it?” Annikke suggested.

Aren’s expression appeared somewhat affronted.

Annikke felt her face grow warm as she realized she’d just insulted his Talent. She opened her mouth to apologize, but stopped as Aren barked a laugh and shook his head.

“Indeed.” Aren dropped the reins and walked back the way they’d come several paces, then walked an arc, pausing in half a dozen places. He removed another hundred strides farther and followed a similar arc, then trailed another distance along a single line until he was almost out of sight among the trees.

A thought slithered into her mind. Aren was a good distance away and they had the horse.
We could escape.

She shoved the idea away as soon as it surfaced, ashamed she’d even thought it.
We gave our parole.

Before she could tempt herself again, she saw Aren striding toward them through the trees.

“A reasonable thought, Mistress Annikke,” he said as he took up the lead again, “but, thankfully, my Talent is not in question. The trail comes in at a slight angle.” He pointed along the way he’d examined. “There are signs that someone has tried to conceal their passing,”

“But your Talent still reveals it to you?”

“Yes. The trail vanishes completely, but it begins again abruptly, then stops again, and starts up again here.” Aren pointed to a spot on the ground. “As if someone was making great leaps.”

“I’ve never heard of such a Talent.”

“Nor have I. I’d guess this youth’s Talent is some kind of Concealment, and not yet well honed.”

“But why would he be
here
?” Benoia asked.

“My Talent only shows me that someone passed this way, not the why.”

“Do you think it’s someone looking for me?” she asked in a worried tone.

“Unlikely. This boy has been concealing his trail. I cannot think why someone searching for you would do that. He’s probably running from someone, just as you were.”

“Who would guess the forest would be so crowded?” Annikke muttered.

Aren grinned, and Annikke felt an unfamiliar flutter of pleasure, that he enjoyed her attempt at humor.

“Should we turn away from his path?” Benoia asked. “He might be a criminal. A real one. What if whoever is looking for him finds us, instead?”

Aren shook his head. “This youth seems to be alone, and more likely to avoid us than seek us out. And his pursuers, if there are any, have their own quarry. They won’t waste time on us.”

“What if he’s running from Oathbreakers? What if he
is
an Oathbreaker?” Benoia persisted.

Aren stiffened and his face took on a peculiar expression. “Not all Oathbreakers are bandits, girl.” His tone was sharp.

“But—”

“Enough! This is the shortest way. This is the way we’re going.” Aren turned and tugged on Pinter’s lead, clicking his tongue to encourage the horse to follow.

Annikke glared at Aren’s back, but didn’t waste her breath on a reproof.

*

I shouldn’t have been so hard on the girl,
Aren chided himself silently as he trudged along with Pinter and the women following. She’d only spoken a fear that many held. Anyone craven or feckless enough to break a sworn oath was only a step away from thievery or worse. So many believed. But though his father had brought disgrace on his family, Aren could no more imagine him turning to thievery than he would himself. Not all Oathbreakers were dangerous men.

Few saw beyond the dishonor, however. The fact that Oathbreakers were shunned and often had no honest way to fill their bellies, or satisfy the hunger of their loved ones, was a just consequence of their actions. No one looked closer than that.

Aren pushed away the bitter thoughts. His father’s actions had no bearing on today’s tasks.

Aren led them northwest, on a route calculated to intersect the road to Quartzholm late the next day. The ground rose, and gradually pines began to outnumber oaks and aspen. He took a lazy weaving pattern through the trees, watching for the intermittent trail they’d crossed earlier. The longer he followed, the more he became convinced that they followed someone whose Talent was either weak or poorly trained. Now that Aren knew what he was looking for, he easily found sign of a single person doing his best to leave no trail. Whoever it was had some woodcraft, but Aren’s skill as a hunter made it possible for him to follow.

Whoever was ahead of them wasn’t experienced at evading pursuit. The fool never changed direction when his Talent obscured the trail. Aren didn’t have to search for the track. He just continued on his own path, and soon he’d find the sign resumed several hundred paces onward. That, in addition to the length of the person’s stride, reinforced his belief that they were following a callow youth. Someone more experienced would have altered direction while their Talent hid their passage, requiring anyone hunting him to spend time casting about for a new track. Nor would a person serious about avoiding discovery have rested so often.

As the day waned, they gained ground on the other traveler. The sun was low in the sky when Aren called a halt.

“What about the fellow we’re following?” Benoia asked. “Shouldn’t we keep going? Find out who he is?”

“I don’t want to come upon him in the dark,” Aren said.
Certainly not with two women in tow.
“He’ll have to stop soon as well. We’ll catch up with him tomorrow—if we want to.”
Though it might be better to remain half a day behind.

Benoia nodded and jumped down from her perch behind Annikke. Aren reached up to help Annikke. She put her hands on his shoulders and swung a leg over Pinter’s withers, but when she hit the ground her legs threatened to give way. Aren tightened his hold. She colored and looked away, but Aren kept his hands on her waist until she steadied. Despite her long trek before he found them, she still smelled of the fragrant herbs that must have scented her bath water. In a flash his mind supplied him with an image of her submerged in a large soaking tub like those in Quartzholm, water lapping at the curve of her breasts.

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.”