Hunter and Fox (9 page)

The air burst with heat all around and the blackness dissolved with it. Talyn shook her head. The Witch was gone, but dead or not she couldn't tell.

“I dismissed her.” The Caisah, who hadn't even risen from his seat, shook his head in dismay. “I grew tired of it all.”

“Did you arrange this?” Talyn asked in what she hoped was a steady voice.

He stared at her hard while remaining silent. The guards shook off their panic first. Pale with embarrassment, they began to restore order. The Court straggled back, laughing nervously, unsure if the interlude had been part of the games. The Caisah chose not to give them a sign. Instead, he waved for the last of the afternoon's combatants to take the stage.

Only when the gladiators and the crowd had returned to their previous activities did he lean across to her and whisper, “You'd best hope your next bounty is not a Phaerkorn, my hawk. I was not quite sure how that was going to end.”

He still had not answered her question, and left Talyn with the distinct impression she had been tested and found wanting.

F
inn wasn't there when the Phaerkorn attacked—he had long ago had his fill of blood and sand—but he was nearly trampled by people fleeing.

He heard the screaming which heralded the approach of the mob, but not from inside the arena. He was wandering in the markets just outside the gate to the arena, and saw the sellers, who had seen this sort of thing before, nimbly leap up onto the stalls. Taking his cue from them, Finn clambered quickly onto a nearby wagon.

The panicked crowd poured out from the gates. They passed around the stalls, the roads surrounding the arena being thankfully wide. Behind could be felt the trailing edge of some magical horror that had caused this whole thing. Only Phaerkorn were trained in such befuddlements. Finn had studied his myths well but had never encountered the actual effect before. It was impressive and definitely terrifying this close up.

For a while it was utter chaos, but then it became apparent that the mob had outrun the source and the effects dissipated quickly. Everyone abruptly stopped running and stood about baffled—like people waking from a terrifying nightmare. Many people were sobbing and plenty of others looked abashed.

Finn hopped down to help with a couple of wounded who had not been as lucky as he. Surprisingly, most avoided serious injury, but a few bruises and cuts were being nursed. An old lady had been pushed into a stack of barrels, and as Finn pulled her out all she could mutter was, “I had a good seat.” Her voice was full of accusation as if he had a part in the whole thing. He dusted her down, and she quickly found her anxious family.

With a few well-placed questions, he was able to ascertain that he had been right. A Phaerkorn had attacked the Caisah himself right in the middle of the arena. The crowd milled around without a purpose until a Rutilian guard appeared on the balcony overlooking the main gate. “The assassin has been dealt with. The Caisah has commanded the games not be disrupted.”

They cheered at that and eagerly turned around to go in once more. The crowd would not miss out on the last of the games.

Finn swallowed his disappointment. The Caisah knew how to entertain his people, and they ate it up. The storyteller would not go with them; instead he found himself an inn. Seated in something once more resembling civilization, he sipped a cider and tried to make sense of the day he'd had.

He had used his minor power to avoid detection and got into the games early. He still wasn't sure if the Caisah's guards were hunting him here or not, but he'd risked it for a chance to see her again. Talyn. In the aftermath of the panic, he acknowledged it was like poking a dragon with a stick. No one actually stared at the Hunter, and the way her eyes had narrowed indicated she certainly wasn't used to it.

He wanted her to remember him even if it wasn't for their encounter of years gone by. He certainly hadn't been able to forget and thought of it often. Like now. It might have been his imagination, a wish fulfillment, but he could have sworn that he had seen softness in the Hunter that night. Near tears were in her eyes. He was not quite prideful enough to think his lovemaking had put them there.

Taking a deep draught of cider, Finn put himself in her place back then. It was an easy thing for a talespinner to do. Vaerli with the Second Gift would have been wrapped in each other's thoughts—closer than any other being could imagine sharing with another. To have such closeness and then have it denied would be a great loss. He felt terrible sorrow for her, but back then he hadn't understood.

Finn laughed into the dregs of his drink. Surely he was the only person in all of Conhaero who had sympathy for the Hunter. He could also imagine what the dreaded Talyn the Dark would do with these emotions.

It had been easy to get into the games, but getting into the masque could be far more difficult. Since coming to Perilous, he had felt the weight of despair lift, and he now viewed spitting in the eye of the Caisah as a worthy challenge—if he got to see Talyn, that would be icing on an already-tasty cake.

“There you are!” Varlesh plumped himself down in the opposite seat, breaking the direction of Finn's thoughts. At first his visitor appeared to be alone, but a glance out the inn's window showed Si and Equo helping pick up some poor basket seller's wares.

“Pure One's backside,” Varlesh swore easily, before crooking a finger at the serving girl for his own pint, “that's quite a ruckus.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” Finn insisted.

“Well you might not, but things seem to happen around you, boyo. Not your fault, mind, but it is a disturbing fact.”

Before his friend could fully dissect his fault, Finn changed the subject. “Have you found a way into the Citadel yet?”

Varlesh accepted his beer with relish, and Finn had to wait until he had gulped down the top half. He leaned over and pressed a tiny piece of paper into the talespinner's hand. “The good thing about an old city is that there's always a back door or two. So we got you this for your night out.” Varlesh drew an exquisitely painted and carved full head mask out from inside his coat.

Finn took it in his hands. It was black and red with feathers around the top, beautiful in a reptilian way. He looked sideways at his friend. “Where did you get this?”

Downing the last of his beer, Varlesh wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Picked it up on our travels. Now, be careful with it. The folk I got it from said it was old—maybe even Vaerli.”

“Thank you, Varlesh.” Finn clasped his hand as he made to get up. “You've all been good friends to me, despite everything I've put you through.”

He flicked some coins onto the table, enough to cover both their drinks, and left before they could try to dissuade him.

Varlesh stared after Finn for a moment. Then he downed the dregs of his beer and went outside. The crowds of Perilous had already swallowed his friend up, but Si and Equo were there waiting for him. They tipped their hats to the woman they'd been assisting and wandered over to join him.

“Is he really going?” Equo asked, brushing stray strands of willow from his cloak.

“Course he is,” Varlesh replied gruffly, “but if he thinks it has anything to do with the Caisah and not that she-devil of a Hunter then he's lying to himself.”

“Nothing we can do about it?” Equo shrugged.

“Not a thing,” Varlesh muttered. “The Crone's whiskers, he's always had a pining for that creature. It'll get him killed someday, for sure.”

Equo slapped Varlesh on the back a couple of times, and then both of them turned toward the food market in search of their dinner.

Si stood there a moment longer, looking back the way Finn had gone. “But not today.” He smiled. “Most definitely not today.”

Oriconion was where Ungro's route ended. Byre peered out cautiously from the back of the wagon, rubbing gingerly his newly acquired bruises. He smelt salt and fish, and heard water lapping against the shore. This small seaside town had a reputation that far exceeded its appearance. He had heard tell that it was the most rebellious town in the Caisah's empire. The Vaerli thought he just might like it here.

They had made good time reaching the port, but he would still have to find his own way farther south. He would have little time here to explore.

The wagon creaked as Ungro got down. He hobbled around to the back. The gruff man's arm was wrapped and hanging in a sling. Byre might not know much of the ways of the Vaerli, but he knew well how to do a field dressing.

Ungro couldn't meet his eyes, though. “I'm grateful to you for saving my life, lad, and for patching me up, but I hope you don't take offence if I stay at a different establishment than you.” He looked embarrassed about his own cowardice, but Byre understood. Traveling with Vaerli when all they wielded was a stick was one thing, but seeing them converse with the stark elements of the earth itself was another story.

“Let no one say that Ungro is a mean man.” The driver dipped into the hanging purse at his waist and held out a few bronze coins to Byre.

“No, there is really no need for thanks.”

The driver closed Byre's fingers on the money. “You're a good lad, but don't be foolish. This run is a well-paying one, and you saved the cargo and me with it.” He clapped him on the back before taking Old Clopper by the bridle and leading his team up the street.

Byre hopped down as the wagon rolled off. Barely had his feet touched the ground when a familiar sensation ran up his spine. He felt immediately that he was not the only Vaerli in the area. It was an odd discomfort, like a burning tingle at the tips of his fingers. She was very close but not near enough to cause deep pain.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the sensation and felt along the connection. It was Nyree the Seer-to-be. They were family in a distant sort of way. His mother had been a second cousin to hers, and he remembered being awed by her as a little boy. An aura of expectancy hung about her shoulders, and she followed Putorae the Born Seer everywhere with a mysterious look on her face—as if she could already see into the future. She had not yet taken the marks of her profession back then. Later there would be no chance to.

He would have liked to talk, to find what had been happening to her in this town. Instead, he decided to find the message she would have left, most likely near the city gate. After the sheer horror of the Harrowing had subsided, the Vaerli still needed to communicate. So they reverted back to the Wyrde, a system of tracking signals that had previously only been used for hunting. Now it was the only way left to communicate. The Wyrde remained a code only the Vaerli could read.

Backtracking a little, he circled around the town gates, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. He found Nyree's Wyrde marked on the back of the nearest shop. Her small precise knife cuts into the wood were typical of the would-be Seer's neatness.

A circle sharply bisected with two lines.
This one does not want to meet
.

That was good, Nyree was still hanging on.

A series of intersecting slashes.
Unsafe town. Get out quickly.

A semicircle with a suspended dot.
Rutilian Guard active.

That was bad. The Rutilian were the enforcers for the Caisah, making sure no Vaerli had an edged weapon of a certain length or was out on the street at night. Often, though, they carried vigilance much further, killing Vaerli merely for sport.

Checking over his shoulder, Byre used his eating knife to quickly cut his moniker in below Nyree's. Now others would know he was alive.

Then he slipped away, determined to find a wagon heading south as quickly as possible. His stomach was rumbling, though; the last food he'd had was Ungro's morsel of bread the night before. No matter how bad the situation, he still needed to eat. As long as he was out of the town by nightfall, he should be all right.

Byre looked around. All he could see were wagons and guards—no sign of immediate danger. That was the trouble with some Vaerli; they became overly paranoid. Most times he had seen that Wyrde, it had come to nothing.

Not quite knowing where to find sustenance, Byre took a different direction to the one Ungro had. After an hour or so of aimless wandering he soon worked out that there was something very different about this town. A high wall divided it, and the only people he saw on this side of it were the tribes of Manesto. He couldn't have stuck out much more if he had painted himself purple.