by Devri Walls
“I know, but it’s just so difficult to do.”
She finally laughed, displaying that genuine smile he didn’t see nearly enough. The smile that lit up her face in a way that made his heart sing.
Auriella took flint from her pocket and scraped her knife against it, flicking tiny crimson embers into the tender. It took only a little coaxing before flames erupted, announcing their arrival with faint crackling. She stood and brushed off her knees. “I’m going to get dinner.”
“Try to find something tasty, will you?” Tybolt said.
“Of course. I’ll see if I can’t locate some bacon growing on a tree,” she called back. “Or perhaps if we’re lucky, I might find some puff pastries in little baskets just waiting for us.”
“That would be wonderful!” he shouted after her, taking the final swing with his ax. “Maybe even some chocolate cake if you can find some.”
He smiled to himself and gathered an armful of wood, tossing the logs one by one onto the platforms he’d already made. Tybolt leapt fifteen feet straight up, grabbed the nearest branch, and spun himself around it. A few leaps between the platform and the place he’d chosen, a few lashings, and the third platform was finished.
Tybolt glanced down and caught the eyes of the wizard, something he tried to avoid. The worst part of hunting, the very worst part, was the look in the wizards’ eyes once they’d been caught. Their eyes brimmed with terror and occasionally anger. Every emotion that poured from their eyes left an inexplicable river of guilt running though his soul.
Today was different. This wizard’s eyes were full of curiosity.
Tybolt sat next to the fire with his back to the wizard while he carved a piece of wood into a little brown bear. He looked up as Auriella emerged from the trees. Four rabbits dangled from her hand. “Rabbit? I tell you to bring back something tasty, and you bring back rabbit?”
“It was either that or a huge chocolate cake that someone left in the middle of the woods. I found its presence suspicious and thought it may have been poisoned, so I went with the rabbits.”
“Mmmm.” Tybolt tapped the tip of his knife to his temple. “Very wise. Rabbit it is.”
Auriella sat next to him and handed him two of the rabbits before beginning to skin hers. “Did you make skewers to roast these on? Or did you waste all your time carving animals?”
“I was hoping for chocolate cake or bacon, neither of which need a skewer, but yes—I made a few just in case I was destined for disappointment. My luck never was that great.” Tybolt sighed with enough dramatic emphasis that he couldn’t keep a straight face.
Auriella shook her head. “I don’t know where you came from, Tybolt. I really don’t.”
“Why? Because Hunters are bitter, angry people who waste their time grunting obscenities and having pissing matches with each other?”
“Yes. That’s why.”
He smiled as he slit the rabbit’s belly and removed the entrails. “I don’t know what there is to be so angry about.”
Auriella’s face darkened, and the mirth Tybolt had worked so hard to unearth was sucked out of the camp. “I have a lot to be angry about.”
He looked thoughtfully down at his rabbit before skewering it. “I would say you had a lot to be angry about. Now you live in the lap of luxury while others starve.”
Auriella roughly skewered the second rabbit.
“I meant you as Hunters,” he hurriedly corrected, “not you specifically.”
Auriella scoffed and placed her rabbit over the flames. “You meant me just as specifically as you meant anyone. Despite what you think, not much has changed for me.” She stuck her second rabbit over the fire and stood, wiping her bloody hands on her pants. Without another glance Auriella leapt, swung around a branch, and settled onto her sleeping platform.
Tybolt sighed. He glanced up to find the wizard’s blue eyes still watching him through the slats in the wood. He returned to his carving, mulling over the wizard’s strange lack of fear and Auriella’s ever-growing list of confusing comments that she refused to expound upon.
Tired of running himself in mental circles, he gave his full attention to the tiny bear in his hand. He focused on each movement of his knife, ensuring every line of fur was so meticulously cut that the bear would take on a life-like appearance.
He’d carved the image of his mother and sister once, but he’d left them behind in the woods because they were too painful to look at. Tybolt was so engrossed in his work that he failed to notice the rabbits had passed done some time ago.
Feet hit the ground behind him. Tybolt yelped in surprise.
“Was that your plan to get me out of the tree?” Auriella demanded, yanking the skewers out of the fire. “Burn dinner so I would be forced to come retrieve it?”
He dropped his carving to the ground and jerked the other two rabbits out. He poked at the blackened skin. “Blast.” There would be no moist rabbit with dripping fat tonight. In its place they’d be having shoe leather. “Sorry.”
“For what? Telling me I had nothing to be mad about, or burning dinner?” She sat down across from him and, with some effort, tore off a chunk of charred rabbit.
“Burning dinner.”
Auriella huffed in aggravation, muttering something about demon spawn.
Tybolt lay on his sleeping platform in the trees and stared up at the stars through the pine canopy. He shifted to the side to relieve the pain from a knot that was digging into his back—just as it had last night. He was sore, tired, filthy, and looking forward to a bed and a hot bath.
A breeze picked up and blew strands of dark hair across his face. He closed his eyes and breathed in. The smell of pine was thick, overlaid with the scent of the ocean and rain. He sat straight up. Rain.
He leapt to his feet and climbed. The bark was rough and flaked off in pieces as he pulled himself up. The higher he climbed, the thinner the branches became. He took his time, carefully placing his hands and feet until he could go no higher. Straightening, he wrapped one arm around the nearest branch for stability and looked over the pointy tops of the trees to the west.
Inky storm clouds painted the horizon and blocked out the stars. Lightning flashed, illuminating the ocean for a moment before the distant rumble of thunder confirmed the incoming storm.
The clouds moved closer and Tybolt held his breath, daring to hope, but the storm hit an invisible wall. The clouds smashed against it and billowed upwards. His heart dropped.
“No,” he whispered. The clouds hung there in the distance, climbing upwards before they slid sideways and headed south. The life-giving storm wrapped around the horn of this rocky island they called home and moved back out to sea.
After the Fracture the storms had still come inland, watering the broken and parched earth and allowing the farmers to replant and recover from the complete loss. The storms were few, as they’d been in the days before the wizards had interfered and brought unnatural amounts of water to this desolate rock of an island, but they’d come…until three years ago.
The storms that now rolled in, taunting them with needed moisture, were not wizard-made. But whatever blocked them was. It was powerful magic, and the only wizard not already in the Hold known to possess that amount of power was Aja’s brother, Alistair. Although Hunters searched for all wizards, first and foremost they sought Alistair.
Without rain to grow crops, the people were starving. A few select villagers had both the means and a boat sturdy enough to travel to the nearest island for trade, but the rest were at the mercy of the few—they charged for their goods, and steeply. Disheartened, Tybolt made his way back to his sleeping platform.
Auriella’s voice came from the next tree over. “It didn’t make it through, did it?”
“No.”
“I don’t suppose your secret source knows where Alistair is?”
“Not that he’s told me.” His “source” was an old drunk named Gamel who’d followed him around since he arrived at the castle eight years ago
. Every once in a while he would tell Tybolt the location of a wizard or two. How he knew, Tybolt had no idea. But Gamel was never wrong.
“Are you going to visit your family after festival?” Auriella asked. The words were rushed, as if she’d just found the courage to ask and had forced it out before changing her mind.
Tybolt froze. Auriella never asked, or answered, anything personal—ever. He cleared his throat and vocalized what he’d kept to himself for the last eight years. “I don’t have any family. They were lost in the Fracture.” When she didn’t reply he gently prodded, trying to hold onto whatever moment they were having. “What?” he asked.
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“What about you?” he asked. “Do you have family to visit?”
It was a risk, turning the question around like that. For a moment he thought he’d lost her. Then her voice came, quiet amongst the humming insect life of the forest. “My father lives outside the village.”
He smiled in the dark. Auriella Doshire had just told him something personal.
It was half a day’s ride to get back to Eriroc. Tybolt rode in front of the group on Widow Maker, a willful and spiteful horse that took joy in unseating his rider. Tybolt was the only person the horse seemed to like, and for that, Tybolt loved him.
The wizard rode a pack pony with his arms cuffed behind him and a rope that ran from his waist to the saddle horn. Auriella brought up the rear on a dapple beauty named Fire Dancer, her horse of choice.
Tybolt carefully traversed the downhill slope, watching for crooked pine. He’d aptly named the tree because its trunk bent nearly ninety degrees, growing straight to the side, before it turned and headed up. Crooked pine announced what they must avoid, Desolate Drop. As soon as Tybolt saw it, he pulled the reigns back and kept them taunt, forcing Widow Maker to mince his way through the thick growth of dry and dead undergrowth and once-mighty pines.
The land before him vanished from view, and Tybolt pulled Widow Maker hard to the right. Behind him the pack pony and Auriella followed his lead. The first slide of dirt and rocks gave way beneath the horse’s hoofs and tumbled down the steep sides of the crevice in a chorus of pings and rattles.
Desolate Drop was split so deep Tybolt couldn’t see the bottom through the shadows from the towering walls. It was shaped like a canoe, skinny at the ends with a yawning mouth in the middle. The trees and bushes were dense, thriving in the shade and leaving nothing else visible.
Auriella leaned to the side and peered into the depths. “Why did you insist on going this way?”
“Careful,” Tybolt warned. “The rim isn’t as stable as it looks.”
Auriella steered her horse closer to the trees.
“Nobody goes this way,” Tybolt answered.
“For obvious reasons.”
“Which means we won’t have to fight anyone to keep our catch.”
“Worried about Terric?” Auriella said, a hint of a smile in her words.
“Of course I am. He’s unstable on his best days.”
She snorted a quick laugh. “He hasn’t had a catch in weeks.”
“Which is why I prefer to risk Desolate Drop. It’s more predictable.”
It took several minutes of careful plodding before they cleared the danger of the crevice. Tybolt had just relaxed when the sharp whinny of the pack pony broke the air. Auriella yelled out as the pony, wizard astride, ran past him.
Widow Maker reared.
“What is wrong with that horse?” Tybolt shouted. He leaned forward to keep from falling.
“That idiot wizard kneed him,” Auriella yelled. “You take one side, I’ll take the other.” She dug her heels into Fire Dancer’s side.
The pack pony was running through the woods while the wizard continued to mercilessly kick her. The animal was panicked, turning this way and that, nostrils flaring and eyes wide.
The two Hunters tore through the forest, splitting to flank the wizard. The trees were a consistent problem, seeming to sprout up at each possible opportunity to catch their escaped wizard. A fat partridge nesting on the forest floor was startled by the pounding hoofs and flew up in front of Fire Dancer, squawking and flapping. The horse jerked to the side. A tree branch caught Auriella in the shoulder and nearly unseated her.
“Are you all right?” Tybolt yelled back.
“Go,” she grunted, pulling herself back on the saddle. “Catch him before I shoot him.”
She wasn’t kidding.
Tybolt spurred Widow Maker. He ran side by side with the wizard, looking for an opening. A break in the trees was just ahead and Tybolt waited, timing his move. He threw himself from the saddle, slammed into the wizard, and pulled him to the ground. Auriella thundered past. Without a rider the pony slowed, and Auriella leapt off her horse to grab the reins.
Tybolt was fuming. He shoved the wizard’s face into the forest floor before jerking him to his feet. “Try it again,” he seethed. “There are worse things than the Hold.”
That was a lie.
He yanked the wizard back towards his ride. Tybolt picked him up and threw him over the saddle on his stomach. He tied his legs together at the knees and ankle, then lashed the wizard down.
“I’d like to see you kick that horse now,” Auriella said. She shoved her hair out of her face and found a mess of pine needles stuck in her tresses. She growled and plucked them out, throwing them at the wizard. “Bloody. Spawn. Of Aja!”
“Come on,” Tybolt said. “Let’s get him back to Eriroc. This one’s more trouble than he’s worth.”
The wizard lay there limply and made no more attempts at escape.
The creak of wagon wheels caught Tybolt’s attention and he pulled up short. He looked behind him. Auriella had heard it too and turned her head one way then the other to pinpoint the location. By the sounds of it, the wagon was close. Widow Maker whinnied and snorted—another horse answered.
A few moments later the cart came into view, bumbling along a well-worn path commonly used by thieves. Tybolt pulled his sword and Auriella readied an arrow.
“Tybolt,” a voice called.
Tybolt squinted. “Griffon?” He sheathed his sword. “What are you doing out here? This is thieves’ territory.” Griffon was a tall man with broad shoulders. His brown hair had started to grey around the temples and the lines on his face spoke of years lived. He was firm but level headed and Tybolt couldn’t help but like him.
Griffon reined his horse in and glanced at Auriella. “My lady.” He inclined his head. “I was picking up a new batch of spirits. My distillery is not far from here.”
“Really?” Auriella scowled at him, not lowering her arrow. “We’re quite familiar with this area and have not come across any distilleries.”
“As Tybolt said, my lady, this is the thieves’ forest. I would hate to return and find my livelihood vanished. It’s well hidden.”
“Headed back to the city?” Tybolt glanced over the barrels in his cart.
“The docks. I’m in need of some trade goods.”
“I’ve tasted your spirits, Griffon.” Tybolt said. “What ship would be crazy enough to trade for that?”
“I see you’ve found another traitor for the Hold.” Griffon motioned towards the wizard.
“We did,” Tybolt said, aware of the change of topic.
“Well done.” Griffon tipped his hat. “With your leave.”
“Of course.” Tybolt motioned in front of them. “Lead on.”
Griffon slapped the reins. The liquid in the barrels sloshed and the wagon wheels squealed and groaned as the thin horse struggled to pull the weight. Tybolt waited until the wagon was out of sight before looking at Auriella. She was scowling.
“No way he has a distillery hidden in there,” she said.
Tybolt nudged his horse forward.
“Have you ever seen him out here before?”
“No.”
The trees thinned as they dropped into the valley. Below them Eriroc came into view, surrou
nded by rough-hewn brick walls forty feet high. Years ago the walls had been covered with climbing vines that flowered in the spring and turned Eriroc into a riot of color. Now even the dead remnants of the vines had turned to dust and crumbled away.
Two large oak doors were the only way into the city and were always manned by at least one guard. Tybolt found it ridiculous. Although wizards always had blue eyes, just as Hunters had green, villagers had blue eyes as well. You never knew for sure who was a wizard until you witnessed them doing magic. Considering that no wizard in his right mind would go anywhere near Eriroc, the guard was nothing more than show.
The horses leaned back on their haunches and half slid down the steep path. They passed by plots of land that had once grown a variety of fruits and vegetables but were now empty. The ground was parched, barren, and spider-webbed with deep cracks. A few plots closer to the city held fragile and sunburnt bean plants—one of the few crops this land had been able to support before the wizards’ arrival and had, thus far, barely survived the drought.
They approached the main gate and the guard sprang up from his chair, desperately trying to appear awake.
“Matthew.” Tybolt pulled Widow Maker to a stop. “How many times have I said that you can’t properly guard a door while asleep?”
Matthew’s shoulders fell forward as he breathed a sigh of relief. “Master Tybolt, it’s you.”
“Lucky for you.”
“Lady Auriella,” Matthew said, bowing a little too low for a little too long. “You look stunning as always.”
“Open the door, Matthew,” she snapped.
Auriella had no patience for being drooled over. Which, incidentally, happened a lot now that Tybolt thought about it.
Matthew jerked back to reality, and the telltale glaze of a mental fantasy fell from his eyes. “Of course, my lady.” He ran to the gate and fumbled with his keys to unlock the door. When it finally clicked he grabbed the iron handle and leaned back, using his weight to pull the door so the trio could pass.