Hunter's Night

by Melinda Kucsera

  “Do you sense it?” the faun asked. As she approached, the baby fussed and cried for her mother.

  “What’s your name?”

  “She-Anne, Huntress.” The faun crossed her goat legs and bowed deeply while somehow managing to keep the basket and its occupant steady.

  “Hush you, I’m not going to hurt your mama. She can’t chase me if she’s dead, and I want her to chase me. I live for the chase. Kills are so much more satisfying when you have to work for them, and this was too easy.” Hyntra sighed then stepped away. It was time to go. She’d spent too long here already. “Let that be a lesson for you, girl,” Hyntra said to the unconscious Robin.

  The baby just stared at her like she was mad. Hyntra smiled and waved She-Anne to follow her.

  “Did you find what you needed?” She-Anne asked.

  “Maybe. These two are a puzzle I can solve later.” Hyntra gestured to the baby and her mother who lay somewhere under the canvas of the collapsed tent.

  But there had been something in the woman called Robin. Maybe it was magic. Maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, that twit hadn’t called upon it. Perhaps that girl didn’t know she had a little something extra in her blood. Hopefully, Robin would figure it out because that would make the chase so much more fun. Once Hyntra caught her, maybe she wouldn’t kill the girl outright.

  It might be fun to unlock a witch’s power. Hyntra filed that away for later after she’d completed the rite and reunited the Wild Hunt with its proper leader. Then she’d have plenty of time to play with the girl who should be a witch. Didn't that just send a thrill through her?

  “She didn’t use any magic on you?” Dressen’s mouth dropped open in shock as she passed him.

  Hyntra couldn’t resist running a finger along one of his branched antlers to distract him, and he shivered with pleasure while she shook her head and pouted. “Nope, and she was a piss-poor fighter to boot. What a disappointing errand all around. Our little spat was pathetic at best.” Hyntra touched her nose, but it had healed already, leaving no trace of any wound behind. That was one of the many benefits of riding with the Wild Hunt.

  “Heh, you should have taken on their swordswoman.” Dressen gestured to a deep cut along his furry flank with pride.

  “She was that good, eh?” Envy jabbed hot pokers into Hyntra’s eyes. She’d picked the wrong woman to tangle with and had missed out on quite a fight it seemed. Robin owed her for that too.

  Dressen nodded. “Better than good. She struck like lightning. It was a true pleasure cutting her down.”

  “Tell me you left enough of her for a rematch. She sounds like someone I’d like to tangle with.”

  Swords weren’t Hyntra’s weapon of choice, but in a pinch, she could wield one with some skill. After all, swords were just long knives, but she preferred the close-in work of a good knife or better yet, her claws.

  “Of course, I did. How can I fight her again if she’s dead?” Dressen cocked a bushy brow in mock-inquiry. His big hands rested on his sword belt as he proudly displayed his massive chest. Cuts marred the short golden fur that hugged his muscles, and she almost ran a hand down it just to feel the fur slide under her fingers. But Hyntra checked that motion when She-Anne gave the baby a pointed look.

  Right, fully human kids were fragile, and the air was cold enough to freeze water. She had a mission to accomplish, and a kidnapped kid to get to somewhere warm to wait for the ritual to commence.

  “Everyone, mount up.” Hyntra waved to get She-Anne’s attention. The faun girl had just reached her mount. “Keep that baby safe until I need her.”

  She-Anne nodded and swaddled the baby in a furry blanket before returning her to the basket and buckled it into a specially designed carrier attached to her saddle. Once She-Anne was satisfied with the set-up, she swung up behind the basket, and Hyntra signaled them to set off into the night.

  A dozen creatures who were half-human and half either goat or deer rode behind her in a single column, and what a sight that was. With their white fur cloaks draped over their mounts’ white backs, they looked like walking snow drifts.

  Every fourth rider held a lumir crystal-topped staff to light their way as they rode away from the precipice toward the covered trail snaking up to the mountain pass. Behind them, nothing stirred in the ravaged camp except the canvas that had once topped a tent. The wind toyed with its edges as it blew snow over their tracks to conceal them.

  “Come for me, girl. Show me your power. You owe me a proper fight,” Hyntra said into the wind as she pulled another lumir crystal from her pocket.

  This one was a luminous green because it was filled to the brim with earth magic, which allowed it to do so much more than glow. The finder stone vibrated in her hand, as she thought of him—the mage boy who’d slipped through her grasp three years ago. He would be about seventeen now give or take and ripe for the picking.

  “Find the boy called Sarn.” She pictured his innocent face and his green, green eyes. They’d glowed as bright as the crystal in her hands then. Now, they must be even brighter and his power even greater. The finder stone spun on her palm until it pointed south. A pale green beam shot out of the crystal, pointing the way. Hyntra smiled as her mount trotted after it without her prodding.

  “What about the babe?” She-Anne asked, spoiling the moment.

  Hyntra sighed. There was always a hitch in her plans. “Take the kid to the haven. Dressen?”

  “Yes, Huntress?” There was a smile in his voice.

  “Take a few of your warriors and escort She-Anne to the haven. See if you can convince its guardian to let her and the baby in to warm up.”

  “What about you?”

  “I have an errand to run.”

  “Yes, Huntress,” Dressen laid his hand over his heart and bowed in his saddle without grimacing at the pain that move must have caused.

  “See you there.” Hyntra gestured for him and She-Anne to split off from the pack as they rode through the blowing snow. It was time to collect that wayward mage boy. Hyntra smiled thrilled at the very thought of a chase because there would be one. Sarn would run. He was built for it, and she would catch him.

  Chapter 3

  “Rosalie,” Robin said as she awoke to a pounding headache and a cold numbness creeping core-ward from her tingling extremities. Her daughter’s name beat in her brain as she struggled to move. She had to get up and get warm before she froze to death. But first, she had to find her baby. “Rosalie?” Robin pushed her daughter’s name past her dry, cracked lips again expecting a reply until reality bitch-slapped her.

  Rosalie was too young yet to speak. But her brain was so scrambled, she imagined her daughter calling out for her as she crawled around in the dark under the canvas that had been a tent before it had pancaked. She pawed over every shadowy bump just in case, sending a jolt of pain through her head and her back, but none of those lumps were Rosalie or the bassinet her baby had been lying in.

  “Where are you, Rosalie?” Robin searched until the bitter cold forced her to stop and admit the unthinkable. Rosalie was gone. Her daughter’s absence punched a hole through her heart, and she couldn’t breathe. Panic squeezed her chest as a scream tore out of her. Robin punched the tent floor.

  The increased blood flow eased some of the ache in her head but not her heart. That pain only grew every moment she couldn’t find her daughter until she screamed all her frustration and fear into the wind wailing against the canvas covering her. At least it couldn’t steal her body heat, covered as she was, but that was cold comfort.

  When she had no more breath left to scream, Robin lay still. Her head pounded with a bad headache and waves of pain rippled across her back when she moved. She was still whole and relatively undamaged. No bones were broken. She was just bruised and so damned cold; she shivered until her survival instinct kicked in and forced her to move.

  Why am I still alive? Robin felt along her chest, but her leather brigandine was still intact. There were no punctures nor
any scratches she could feel. The Wild Hunt didn’t leave survivors. Why had they spared her? Didn’t they know she’d follow them to the ends of the earth to get her daughter back?

  Maybe that’s what the Huntress had wanted. The idea seemed insane, but so was the situation, and that was the only explanation that made any sense at all. If the Huntress had wanted her to follow, that meant there was a trail to follow.

  Hope flared up, white-hot in her chest, and Robin struggled with the heavy canvas of the collapsed tent. God only knew how much snow had piled on top of it while she was raving like a loon. All she needed was her go bag and her bow case, and she could be on their trail right this minute.

  “Rosalie,” Robin said on a sob then covered her mouth to stuff that grief back inside her. Rosalie might be a pawn in a larger game. That thought stopped Robin cold and raised the one question that had never had a satisfactory answer—why? Why her daughter? Why take her tonight?

  “Think, girl, what do they really want?” Robin asked aloud, just to hear another voice besides the one gibbering inside her head.

  But she couldn’t think of what that game could be. She was nobody special. Why me? Every thought circled back to her daughter. Rosalie was gone. Robin had to get her back.

  Plan in place, even if it was a tad insane, Robin pushed herself up to a sitting position. Tears spilled down her cheeks from the pain radiating out of the bruise between her shoulders, but it couldn’t stop her. Nothing could, not now when she finally had a plan.

  “Robin?” a new voice shocked her out of her inconsolable grief. It was familiar, but it took far longer than it should have to place that woman’s voice.

  Robin had forgotten about her fellow travelers and tentmates. She wasn’t alone out here. Relief spread through her like a flagon of hot tea, warming her all the way to her extremities, as the dark lump to her immediate right shifted. Maybe she’d have help to find her daughter after all.

  “Strella?” Robin turned her head, her heart swelling with gratitude for the God that had put the two warrior women in her path. She hastily brushed away tears of joy. “Are you still among the living?” Robin felt strangely giddy with hope. The cold night slapped her in the face, and the wind pelted her with ice crystals when it whipped past, but she ignored them.

  “Present and accounted for.” A cough followed that. “If you’re finished having a tantrum, I could use a little help. Our guests left me a bit tied up.”

  The dark blob moved as Strella spoke. Robin squinted until she could make out the ropes. Standing up would put more of her than she wanted into the wind’s path. It tore past Robin, blowing snow into her eyes, as she crawled to Strella’s side, and she had to pause until her sight cleared.

  “You weren’t kidding.” Robin sat beside the warrior woman and picked at the knots securing Strella’s thick wrists.

  “In her place, I would have tied me up too. I could have broken that sylph in half, and I would have if her friends hadn’t shown up.” Strella glared at Robin. “You didn’t say we were surrounded.”

  “I couldn’t exactly count our assailants. There was a tent in the way, remember?”

  “Excuses, excuses.” Strella drummed her fingers on Robin's thigh to get the blood flowing again while Robin worked on those snow-caked knots. But a wet rope was harder to untie than a dry one.

  “It’s the truth.” Robin was so glad to hear that warrior woman’s voice, she kept up the banter just to keep the conversation going. All the while, she scanned the ground for tracks.

  The wind whipped past again, scouring the ground. Robin squeezed her eyes closed and braced herself against its onslaught. When it died down again, her heart sank at the pristine blanket of white spreading around her. There wasn’t a single track in sight.

  “No,” Robin whispered in horror. How could she track them if there were no tracks to follow? Her mind spun in a tight, horrified circle while her numb fingers picked at the remaining knots.

  “You need a knife to cut them,” Strella commented as she eyed her bonds critically. “Those are good knots.”

  “What?” Robin asked. She couldn’t stop staring at the snow all around them. It was a blank canvas. That’s what her future had become, an open-ended question.

  “You need to cut me free,” Strella said patiently as if she were speaking to a child or a grief-addled adult.

  “Why?” Robin asked. She was only half-paying attention to what she was doing. A cold despair had gripped her. How could she find her daughter if there were no tracks? Her mind kept circling around that problem but found no answer.

  “Are you even paying attention? Just get a knife. I’ll cut myself free.”

  “Why? My mother was a weaver. These knots are nothing compared to what she could do when the mood struck her. Just give me a moment.” Now that Robin was paying attention to the knot, it fell apart in her hands. “There, you’re free.”

  Not that it mattered. Nothing did. The hole in Robin’s heart wouldn’t heal until she held Rosalie again.

  “I never should have left,” Robin muttered, speaking more to herself than Strella. Her voice was thick with bitterness and regret. If only she’d stayed put.

  “That’s a moot point now, so let’s leave the regrets for later when we’re somewhere warm, okay?” Strella massaged her wrists and watched Robin out of the corner of her eye.

  “Alright.” Robin scooted down to work on the ropes around Strella’s ankles. It was something to do, and her fingers knew which loops to pull.

  “Nice. You’ll have to show me that trick. Hey, where’s Cat? Have you seen her?” Strella searched her face. “Has something happened? You don’t look so good.”

  Robin started at the question and retracted her fingers from the knot. She’d forgotten about the other swordswoman. How many members of the Wild Hunt had Cat held off? For how long?

  Robin shook her head and looked away. Guilt stabbed her. Her daughter wasn’t the only victim here. Shame made her face flame. “I don’t know.” Nor had she given the other warrior woman a thought since she’d woken up to find her daughter missing. Maybe Cat had seen something. Hope buoyed Robin up as Strella shoved her away.

  “Find her. I’ll finish freeing myself. Oh, don’t give me that look. I can untie a knot. You’ve already pulled most of it apart anyway.”

  Robin nodded and pushed up to her knees. That was as far as she got before her head started to spin. Above, the clouds parted, revealing a sliver of the moon. Was it her imagination or did it give her a mournful look?

  They took my baby. Robin wiped a tear from her eyes and gave standing another try. She’d think better on her feet. This time she clung to a boulder and inched her way skyward in between gusts of wind that tried to topple her.

  Another lump in the dark caught her eye, and Robin shuffled over to it while keeping her back straight and praying that lump was her daughter even though it was way too big to be an infant asleep in a bassinet. Robin fell at the swordswoman’s side and tried to squelch the bitter disappointment swamping her. Only the moon saw her reaction before it vanished behind a cloud, but she was still ashamed. She’d been raised to be a better woman than this.

  Robin squared her shoulders and drew on her knowledge of first aid. She couldn't help her daughter right now, but she could help the woman who’d tried to stop her daughter’s kidnappers. That had to count for something, and it was a task she could focus on while she got her emotions under control. Every problem had a solution. This one did too. Robin just had to find it.

  * * *

  “Cat?” Strella dropped to her knees beside the stricken swordswoman.

  She was black as midnight, but the slant-eyed Cat was pale as moon glow except where blood had spattered her clothes. That probably wasn’t a good sign. No one healthy should be that pale. Robin didn't really know either warrior woman all that well. They’d only traveled together for a few days.

  After a moment more, Strella riffled through a pack she’d pulled from the remain
s of their tent and tossed bandages and unguents this way and that. Robin collected them and started pressing them into service. The activity calmed her. Field-dressing a wound was something she’d done a hundred times.

  “She’s lost a lot of blood,” Robin commented to break the silence.

  “It might not all be hers.”

  Maybe, Robin had only met the two women a couple of days ago. Since then, she hadn’t seen either one in action before tonight. She hoped Cat would survive. She owed her for trying to defend their camp.

  Robin tore off a bandage and handed it to Strella while her mind wandered. “None of this makes any sense.”

  “What doesn’t?” Strella wiped blood away from a nasty wound running the length of Cat’s side. In the light of the lumir crystal she’d stuck in the snow, it looked deep. Hopefully, it wasn’t. Robin didn’t think either of them had steady enough hands to stitch that wound if it came to that.

  “This—the attack on us, kidnapping my baby—it’s not their style.”

  Strella went preternaturally still at the word 'kidnap’. A dim warning bell chimed in the back of Robin's mind, but she ignored it as the words tumbled out.

  “They took my baby.” Tears fell, cold as knives, and they carved cold paths down her face as that soul-deep despair tore through her again. “They took my baby. I must get her back.”

  Robin knew she had to get a grip. None of this blubbering on would save Rosalie, but she just couldn't get past the terrible shock of it all. Her baby was gone, and she hadn’t even seen it happen. How had she missed that? Robin scrubbed her cold hands over her face.

  Strella captured her shaking hands and squeezed them. “Hey now, don't fall apart on me. We’ll get your daughter back.”

  The finality of that statement shocked Robin out of her whirling thoughts. “Yes, we will.” Robin squeezed back before slipping her hands free, so she could tear off more bandages from the roll.

  The sooner they got Cat stabilized, the better. They needed to move, not just to catch up to the Wild Hunt, if they could somehow figure out which way they’d gone, but also to warm up. The cold was gnawing on them both, and Robin was starting to shake again.