Hunter's Legend_A Baylore High Fantasy
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“Thank you.” I ducked my head in gratitude and slipped away to join my parents.
Before I could speak, my mother swept me into a fierce hug. “Thank the founders. I didn’t trust that reporter. I can’t believe you made it out of that.”
“Pelton’s brilliant,” I said, my voice muffled against her shoulder. “And completely obnoxious.”
“They would have been mad to sentence you,” my father said, squeezing my arm. “That diary is still on the desk, by the way. Did you want it?”
I broke away from my mother’s embrace and fetched the journal. It was more precious than ever for what it had helped me accomplish. I thought Hunter would be proud.
At home that night, my mother cooked my favorite dinner—pasta with a creamy rosemary sauce and roasted beetroots—and my father set the table as though we were entertaining guests, with candles at each end and an embroidered table-runner.
“We have something for you,” my mother said just as we were finishing the meal. “I—we—well, I understand if you’re angry.” She reached for a bundle on the table behind her; it was a pale deerskin cloth tied closed with a leather string. “We found it after our dear neighbor vanished. Now we know what happened to him, I hardly think he would have minded…”
I undid the tie and let the cloth fall open before me.
There, tidy and sleek as the day I had lost it, lay a chunk of my silver hair.
My stomach lurched. I stood and excused myself, trying to hide how fast I was breathing. Though I had not stayed there for years, my feet led me back to my childhood bedroom. Apart from a few bolts of cloth and a toolbox, the room was exactly as I had left it. I sank onto my old quilt, surprised at how low the bed was, and stared at the bundle of hair in my hands. It was shorter than my thumb, tied with a length of twine, and it lacked any of the luster I would have expected.
Everything I had lost amounted to one sad bundle of hair. Such a paltry gift to exchange for a mother’s life. And yet—had my parents sold the hair to pay Taldo, or had they merely given it to him? If that was true, why had it sat untouched for more than twenty years?
And if Taldo had known what that sacrifice would cost me, would he have accepted the payment?
But none of that mattered now. I had to put that behind me and view the silver hair as what it had become—a way for me to reclaim my Weaver heritage. I was grateful for everything my parents had done for me. If I had grown up safely enfolded in the Weaver’s Guild, I would never have found a reason to leave. I would never have ventured to the far corners of Itrea; I would never have seen how bright and clear the stars could be with the city far behind. I would have been denied a span living beside the ocean, its salty air fluttering my curtains every morning and the barking of seals punctuating every wave. And I would never have fallen so deeply, so recklessly, in love.
At last my breathing evened out. I returned to the kitchen, confident in my future.
“Thank you for this,” I said, wrapping the deerskin around my silver hair once more. “I cannot tell you how much it means to me.”
***
Sixteen days passed—nearly half a span—before I was ready to leave my parents’ home and return to the University. I weighed many options in that time, though my hunger to learn trumped the rest. I was not merely interested in creating marketable objects with my magic; I wished to use it for higher purposes. Could I, for instance, enchant an object to sense whether one spoke truth or falsehoods? And could I create a device that would instantly translate our language into the tongue of the Drifters? Theirs was still such a mysterious race.
Ten days after the trial, Lieman and Adalia paid me a visit. Though I was embarrassed for them to see my parents’ humble home, Lieman exclaimed in delight over the enchanted lights and the self-cleaning tablecloth. My parents were downstairs in the shop, so we were alone in the kitchen.
“How are you?” Lieman asked, taking a seat as I poured a cup of tea.
“Doing well. And why have you made the trek all the way across town to visit me?”
Lieman smiled. “I wish I could say it was merely a social call. I do hope you’ll visit us from time to time.” He drew a folded parchment from his coat pocket. “This has just been verified by the courts.”
I frowned, wondering if I was still in trouble.
“Hunter’s will. He visited before Midsummer, and asked me to act as his executor.”
I gasped. “No. It’s not true.”
“You have been named as the sole inheritor of Hunter’s fortune.” Lieman handed me the parchment; when I unfolded it, I recognized Hunter’s handwriting at once.
I felt faint. I took a sip of my lukewarm tea, and the cup clattered against the saucer when I set it down.
“You deserve a bit of good luck at last,” Adalia said, squeezing my hand sympathetically.
“Thank you.” My voice was hoarse. “And what do I do now?”
“Hunter’s account has been transferred into your name,” Lieman said. “You can go about life as usual, with the option to withdraw his funds whenever you require. You could even set up residence in the Gilded Quarter again, if you so choose.”
I laughed, though I was still stunned. “Never! If I had to choose between leaving Baylore and living in the Gilded Quarter, I’d leave. No question.” Quickly I added, “No offense meant, of course.”
Lieman chuckled. “I don’t blame you. Now, my wife and I have a long walk home, and we ought to start before it gets too late. Please join us for dinner soon—if I send an invitation to the University, will it find you?”
“Yes, of course.”
The summer term was almost finished by the time I returned, so I took a leisurely ten days to move my belongings into the dormitory and begin reading my new course-books. Never before had I properly appreciated the full library at my disposal; there were volumes on every subject I could imagine: on Itrean history and the nine Kinship Thrones; on Drifters and Icewraiths and even the forbidden races; and on the theory behind everything from the origins of magic to the likelihood of achieving any number of supposedly impossible feats, including raising the dead.
On those mornings I breakfasted early in the dining hall before taking a mug of tea and finding a cushioned window seat in the library to continue my studies. It was there that the most unlikely person appeared.
Samara had returned.
“Is this seat taken?”
Before I could answer, she set aside my stack of books and perched on the edge of the chair opposite my window seat.
“Is it done, then?” I asked.
She smiled fiercely. “Ras Jakor will wish for death every second of every day for the rest of his life.”
“I’m surprised you came back here. Didn’t you want to stay with your people?”
Samara folded her hands over her knees. “I hardly know them. It was a long time ago.” The bruises on her face had faded, but the gash that split one eyebrow had puckered into an ugly scar. She would never lose the marks of Jakor’s abuse.
“Are you studying, then? Or just visiting?”
“Studying.” After a moment she said, “You should come around for dinner sometime. I moved in with Elden yesterday, just after I returned. My baby girl will have to get used to sharing her father.”
“Thank you. I would love to.”
“I’m sorry about what happened to Hunter. He was brave to turn his back on Ras.”
I took her hand and squeezed it. “You were brave to come to the trial.”
Smiling faintly, she stood and returned my books to the chair. She opened her mouth to say something more; then she shook her head and turned to go. I watched her confident stride, still amazed that she had not lost her vivacity in the face of Jakor’s abuse. She was free now—and so, in a way, was I.
Hunter’s journal still lay at the bottom of my book bag, yet his words no longer held power over me. No more was I defined by his games of deception or his reckless quest. If I set out on another equally reckl
ess quest, it would be mine and mine alone.
If you loved Hunter’s Legend, don’t miss The Fall of Lostport! Set in the remote fjord kingdom of Lostport, just across the sea from Itrea, this is an epic tale of the kingdom’s struggle for independence.
Also by R.J. Vickers
The Kinship Thrones World
The Fall of Lostport
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The Natural Order Series
The Natural Order
Rogue Magic
Lost Magic
The Final Order
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Beauty’s Songbook
About the Author
R.J. Vickers is the author of The Fall of Lostport, as well as the Natural Order series; Beauty’s Songbook, a Beauty and the Beast retelling; and College Can Wait!, a gap year guidebook for reluctant students.
When she’s not writing, you can find her hiking, traveling, taking photos, and crocheting.
Though she grew up in Colorado, she now lives with her husband in New Zealand.
You can find her online at rjvickers.com.