Season of Sacrifice (8 page)

In fact, Maddock mused, that might be why Landon was making every step of this cursed journey so difficult. Maddock remembered the look in Alana Woodsinger’s eyes as she put the bavin in his care. Surely, no one could have blamed him for casting a triumphant glare toward the rival tracker.

After all, everyone knew that Landon had brought the woodsinger mistletoe berries as a pledge at winter solstice, and she had declined to accept his gift of intention. It wasn’t surprising—Landon should have made his move before Alana was called to be woodsinger, before she was sworn to the Tree. Even if he’d spoken up early enough, there was no guarantee that Alana would have accepted the tracker. Alana as comely as she was, and Landon with his awkward lope, his balding pate…Maybe if the man stood to his full height he wouldn’t make the girls run in fright. But instead, he stooped over, unsuccessfully masking his size and looking like one of the walking undead.

Now, though, Landon’s eyes looked nothing like the undead. Maddock watched bitter emotion flash across the other man’s face, but the tracker silently gathered up the lamb. One quick slash of his blade, and the animal was reduced to hot meat. The tracker’s steady hands held the little corpse upside down for a moment as blood pumped out of its severed arteries, and then he set to the messy job of skinning the beast.

Jobina’s face was impassive as she skewered the proffered meat and placed it over the flames. Landon rolled up the sodden pelt and strode into the woods, heading toward the shallow stream.

“You’re hard on him,” Jobina said.

“Don’t you start in, too, Jobina.”

“Start in?” She feigned innocence as he caught her green eyes, but two spots of color highlighted her pale cheeks, reflecting the glow of her flame-red hair.

“Aye. Sartain Fisherman made me the leader of this mission.”

“And who would challenge you, brave soldier? With your strong muscles and your voice of command?” She batted her long eyelashes, and he took an unplanned step closer to her.

He growled, “You mock me, Jobina, but can you sit there and say that your belly doesn’t want the lamb?” The aroma of the cooking meat was already heavy on the air, and juices flowed into his mouth as he spoke.

“I won’t tell you that, honored leader. I won’t lie to you.” She turned the roasting meat on the green sticks, but one of the pieces overbalanced and fell into the flames. Maddock reached for it without thinking and saved his dinner at the cost of singeing the hair on the back of his hand. He caught a flicker of a grin on Jobina’s lips before the woman managed to swallow her amusement. “Here, worthy soldier, you keep an eye on supper, while I get some salve from my bags.”

His hand didn’t hurt very much, but he let her go, following her swaying hips with his eyes. When she returned, she brandished a wooden box of green-tinged cream. She didn’t need to tuck his arm by her side as she massaged in the soothing ointment, and she certainly didn’t need to linger over the task for quite so long. Still, Maddock did not pull away until Landon crashed back from the stream, making an uncharacteristic amount of noise.

The three ate in silence, and rolled up in their blankets when they had finished. Maddock was closest to the fire, then Jobina, then the tracker. Maddock could hear the healer breathing beside him, and the sound might have been arousing, if not for Landon’s unnerving stillness at Jobina’s other side. Maddock’s last thought as he fell asleep was that the dispute with Landon had been worthwhile. For the first time in days, his belly felt full.

Perhaps that fullness kept him from moving quickly when they were discovered. A dog came crashing through the underbrush with a snarl on its black lips, foam flecking its bared teeth. The beast was as fierce as the gigantic hounds that Coren had summoned to the beach, and it commanded all of the mystical power that the People feared.

Reflexively, Maddock grabbed for his sword. For the first time in his life, he was using the weapon for something beyond the elaborate training rituals he had set for himself. His fingers closed on the hilt with grim determination, his muscles flowing into the fighting patterns with well-practiced ease.

The dog was attracted to Maddock’s sudden movement, or maybe to the smell of the lamb’s blood still soggy in the earth. The powerful muscles in the animal’s haunches bunched together, and Maddock saw the fur ruffle down its back. His own adrenaline surged in response. Then the mad creature was in the air, slathering jaws flinging foam into the fire.

Maddock forbade himself to imagine the damage those jagged teeth could inflict. He ordered himself not to picture the ravaged corpses of men, women, and children that had once littered the Headland of Slaughter. Instead, he instructed his body to stand firm, to transfer his energy through his shoulders, down his arms, into his locked wrists.

The sword connected with a sickening crunch. The animal’s trajectory was cut short, and the blade passed through the thickest part of its body. Blood sprayed from severed vessels. The canine corpse seemed to hang in the air for a moment, as if Maddock had cast a spell on it. Then, the body fell squarely in the fire, scattering half-burned logs and immediately yielding up the smell of scorched hair.

It took Maddock a long minute to realize that the roar in his ears was his own pounding heart. Somehow, he remembered to suck air into his aching lungs, and then he managed to kneel, to poke at the dog’s gruesome head until he was certain that no life remained in the bloody thing. He reached down and wiped his sword in the spring grass, stripping off the shimmering, magical blood.

Only then did he become aware of Landon, the tracker glaring at him accusingly from the edge of the clearing. “You bloody fool!” Landon hissed, and Maddock could only squawk his outrage at the unwarranted attack. “You stupid, bloody fool! Don’t you know some shepherd sent that dog? Some villager is waiting for him to come back, leading a new lamb home. You might as well have rung a cowbell to let them know we’re coming.”

“Sharks and fins, man! What was I supposed to do, let him eat me alive?”

“You might have thought with your brain instead of that cursed sword! He wasn’t going to attack you, not until he saw you move like that.” Landon swore. “Come on, let’s get back to the road before his owner comes and finds him.”

“Is that an order?” Maddock’s voice shook with fury.

“It’s a statement. I’m
telling
you that we should get back to the road. We’re going to have a cursed hard time explaining how we mean nothing but good if anyone finds us here—lamb bones in the fire and a sheepdog killed.”

“That dog was a threat to all three of us! I won’t go slinking about in the dark like a common thief.”

Landon’s voice was bitter as he surveyed the chaos of the clearing. “You were more than willing to act like one when your belly was empty. Let’s go.”

“Sartain said that
I
lead this party.”

“You’ll be leading a party of one, then.” Jobina’s voice was even as she sheathed her unblooded dagger. Maddock whirled to face her, exclamations about her betrayal rising in his throat. Jobina’s eyes were dark in the scattered firelight, but disapproval was patent on her pale face. “We are guests in a strange land. I’ll not stand by to explain this.”

Maddock almost bellowed his protest—the dog had been about to kill her! Jobina, though, ignored him as she gathered up her own meager belongings. Landon had already retrieved his horse’s tether from a low-hanging branch.

Maddock managed to hold his tongue, but it was more than he could bear when Landon started to lead the way back to the road. “Hold, man!” His voice was loud in the still night, driving away the chirrup of crickets. “You’re not the leader of this party.”

He shouldered past the ungrateful, too-tall oaf and mounted before the others had the chance, setting a fast pace through the night. Once, he thought he heard Landon admonish him to slow down, but then the tracker’s womanish concerns were lost in the darkness and the distance.

It was not long before Maddock realized that he was heading in the wrong direction. The ground they had traveled at twilight had been hard-packed, the only water the stream that had cut along the horizon. Now, there were little flows that cut across his path, and the earth had a spongy feel underfoot. The farther the horse galloped, the softer the land became, until Maddock was unable to say whether he rode across earth or water.

“Bogs and breakers!” he muttered over and over. Their gallop should have brought them to the road by now. Even in the moonless night, even if the mire were caused by some cursed inland dew, he should have felt hard-packed earth beneath the horse’s hooves long ago. He angled more to the left, intending to pick up the line of the road that way, but the changed course was no better.

Once, his gelding stumbled into watery mud up to its knees. As Maddock heaved impotently on the reins, the terrified beast scrambled for footing. Reaching out to grab onto saplings at the edge of the boggy sinkhole, Maddock bit back a curse as he realized that the narrow trunks were actually a cow’s crow-picked ribs.

Another sodden hour passed, and they were no nearer to their destination. As if the mire underfoot were not enough, the storm clouds that had been threatening at sunset loosed their attack. Maddock was drenched in seconds.

It was a gift of the Guardians when a flash of lightning illuminated a dilapidated shack just ahead. Maddock encouraged his weary horse onward, pulling up in the lee of the crumbling building to wipe his dripping hair out of his eyes. That movement gave his companions the opportunity to come even with him.

Jobina’s usual sultry pout was dissolved in the rainwater that streaked her pale skin. Landon sat tall and silent in his saddle, his eyes dark with condemnation as he stared at his leader. “What?” Maddock asked. “What would you have me do?”

“Whatever you desire,” Landon said.

Jobina spoke before Maddock could spit out a bitter reply. “Come. We’ll get no further tonight by arguing. Let’s wait in the shed until morning, and then we can find our way.”

The roof was half gone, and the walls stank of mildew, but the shack offered a semblance of dryness, at least in the back corner. The horses, though, had no hope of a gentler bed, and they whickered softly under the dripping ruins of the roof, protesting the injustice as their riders huddled beneath damp blankets.

Dawn came a few hours later, blowing away the worst of the rain and leaving behind a chill mist. Maddock rose before his companions and went to stand in the shack’s canted doorway.

Sharks and fins! He never should have let Jobina convince him to slaughter the Guardian-forsaken lamb. Even after that mistake, he should have stopped the foolishness there. The cursed nighttime plunge through the bog had given him ample time to replay the moment of shock when the blasted dog appeared in the clearing. Maybe he
could
have tamed the damned beast without killing it.

It was just that things were so different out here. Maddock closed his eyes, breathing a humble prayer to the Guardians that he might be back in Land’s End soon, back amid the familiar safety of the People, the Tree, and the woodsinger. Back home.

“It’s still raining?” Jobina’s whisper slipped into his thoughts, returning him to the misty field and the mission at hand. The woman passed dangerously near him as she gazed out at the field.

“More like mist,” he managed to say against the sudden swell of desire in his throat. The healer clutched her blanket about her shoulders, but Maddock could still make out the delicate lines of her bared throat. She was like a stone carving, and Maddock’s hand rose unbidden to trace the flawless curve of her flesh. He watched Jobina measure his intention, felt the woman’s pent energy as the tip of her tongue touched her lips.

What was it that made her so desirable? What was it that made Maddock’s blood heat over any of the village women? Maddock had reached his full man’s growth early, and he’d spent years practicing the rakish seduction that brought the village girls to his fisherman’s cottage. His desire was natural, he often reminded himself. It couldn’t be helped. No one was harmed by his games. He hadn’t offered mistletoe berries or black currants to any one of his conquests, and none of them had expected such a bond. They all knew the rules. They all knew that he was just a man, not a suitor. A healthy man. With healthy appetites.

Landon chose that moment to emerge from his dusty bed, groaning as he got to his feet and made a show of stretching his lanky limbs. Maddock bit back sharp words and ordered himself not to watch as Jobina turned away to her own corner of the hut, bending low to gather her few belongings. He told himself that there was no way for her to collect her comb and her boots without such stretching, but he doubted his assessment when he glimpsed her sly grin.

“Come along, Landon,” Maddock vented his irritation as the tracker was slow leaving the hut. “Sartain sent you to help us find our way. You might as well earn your keep.” Landon favored him with a penetrating stare before saddling his unhappy horse and setting out at an unlikely angle through the stream-crossed bog. As if by magic, the field dried as they rode, and it was only a matter of minutes before the road materialized on the horizon, a smooth snake rippling toward the east.

Only when Maddock saw the well-worn mile markers did he realize that his headlong dash from the stream had sent them traveling in the wrong direction,
toward
Land’s End. In fact, they spent the better part of a long morning working their way back to the fateful place where he had chosen to leave the road the night before.

Maddock did not trust himself to speak civilly to the tracker as he dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. Instead, he drove his companions hard all day, scarcely letting the horses catch their breath while the sun still hovered in the gloomy sky. It was just after sunset when they arrived at a small village, the first they had seen since leaving Land’s End.

Maddock should have been suspicious of the deserted street that crept along the feet of the dripping buildings. He knew enough to question the blind shutters that covered the houses’ windows. He should have been warned by the uneasy silence that rippled through the mist. He was tired, though, exhausted by the long day, and he was determined to show no further weakness to Landon. Or Jobina.