Bad Hunting (Daughter of the Wildings #2)

by Kyra Halland

  “Storm might have blowed them all away,” another man replied.

  “Might have, but still, we made a full circle of the town and beyond. He couldn’t have gotten that far away so fast, not in that storm.”

  “Maybe he went up into the hills,” the hostler said.

  “He’s a fool if he thinks he can hide up there,” the barkeeper replied. “We can’t go after him, but the blueskins will.”

  “I just hope they don’t attack us too,” the clerk said. The blond-bearded cook grunted in agreement.

  Even knowing that the killer was a mage and capable of far more than the men realized, Silas was just as mystified. He scanned yet again with his mage senses, reaching out a good distance to cover an area several leagues around. He detected some A’ayimat up in the hills, but otherwise nothing, no power or signs of shields. Mage or not, shielding or not, how had the killer been able to vanish without a trace in such a short time?

  He reconsidered his theory that there was more than one killer. Just as he doubted that one man alone, even a mage, could have overpowered Verl Bissom, he also didn’t think Garis Horden could have been taken down that easily. And it would have taken at least two or three mages to call up even a short-lived dust storm like that, though one mage alone might be able to briefly magnify an existing storm if he was powerful enough and wasn’t doing anything else at the same time. On the other hand, it was hard enough for one man to disappear so quickly and thoroughly; it would be at least twice as hard for two or more men to pull off the same feat.

  “Now what?” one of the men from the saloon asked.

  “I suppose we better bury the poor bastard,” the barkeeper said. “Am I guessing right, that you knew him?” he asked Silas.

  “Never met him, but I think he was the man I was supposed to meet up with here on business. I found a kerchief with his initials on it in his knapsack.”

  “You better take the lead, then, bein’ the closest thing to kin. We got no priest here; you know any prayers?”

  “I do,” Silas answered. He felt like he was coming to know the prayers for the dead too well.

  “Good. Don’t want his ghost hauntin’ us, ’specially not with tonight being Darknight. Not a good day for anyone to die.”

  Silas and two other men wrapped Garis Horden in a worn-out sheet from the hotel, then carried him to the burial ground just outside town. With several men working together, it didn’t take long to dig a hole large enough for Horden’s body. The men laid the body in the grave and covered it with dirt while, for the second time in less than a nineday, Silas recited the prayers for the murdered dead.

  With Horden properly buried, Silas claimed the dead man’s knapsack from where it still lay in the street, and he and Lainie returned to the hotel room. He sat at the table to sort through the items in the pack, while Lainie perched on the bed, still looking shaken. “That’s two mage hunters murdered,” she said. “Plain folk didn’t do this, and I don’t think they killed that other man, either. Two mage hunters dead, in places where you were supposed to be.”

  Silas didn’t answer; he had nothing to say that would settle her fears. Going on a hunch, something he had picked up on earlier when he was rummaging through Horden’s pack and his guess about Bissom’s death, he reached deep into the pack and felt around with his mage senses. There it was, the pocket of magical space he thought he had detected. He worked it open and brought out a leather wallet containing bespelled message paper, a couple of shaved-down pencils, and two small, ornate silver message boxes. One was a round Mage Council box; the other was the square box issued by the Hidden Council.

  Both boxes were empty, but he stared down at them as though they might offer up answers anyway. One mage hunter affiliated with the Hidden Council killed in a place where Silas was expected to be could just be a coincidence, but two was not. This all but confirmed that the Mage Council had discovered the existence of the Hidden Council and the purge had begun. Which would explain why the Hidden Council never got back to him about Carden. They couldn’t investigate if they were all in hiding or dead.

  Silas worked out the threads of his guess: on orders to meet one of the others and help him, Verl Bissom, Garis Horden, and he had all been sent out here to the far side of nowhere, where an assassin sent by the Mage Council lay in wait for them. He would lay money now that Horden had never actually asked for help; in fact, his bet would be that Horden had received a message saying that either Silas or Verl Bissom needed help, and that Bissom had also received a similar message.

  But why all the way out here in the Bads, and why make the killings so visible? Verl’s hanging might have been intended to pass for a hanging by Plain folk, but why the showiness of Horden’s murder, coming out of nowhere in the middle of a dust storm, the body left in the street for the entire population of Ripgap to see? Silas couldn’t think of any reason why the Mage Council would have the assassinations carried out in the Bads, but maybe the manner of the killings was intended as a warning to him, to scare him into cutting ties with the Hidden Council. Why him, though, and not some less notoriously rebellious hunter who might prove to be more biddable?

  “You’re awful quiet over there,” Lainie said.

  Silas started to put the Hidden Council box back in Horden’s knapsack so she wouldn’t see it, then stopped. Now that he had proof, he had to tell her the truth of the danger he was in.

  She came to him and looked over his shoulder at the two boxes he was holding. “That looks like your message box,” she said, pointing to the round box. “But what’s that other one?”

  “I told you once, there are other mages like me, who believe in protecting the rights and freedoms of Plain people.”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “Some of them organized a group called the Hidden Council, a counter to the Mage Council. I’m not a member of the core group, but I’m formally allied with it. Its purpose is to protect Plain folk and support their rights and freedoms, and to work against things the Mage Council might do that would be harmful to Plains, like trying to extend their authority into the Wildings.”

  “Do you really think they’re going to try to move into the Wildings?”

  “Not any time soon, at least not as far as we know. Their position right now is that the Wildings is a wasteland where troublesome Plains are welcome to take themselves. The Mage Council’s only interest in the Wildings is to prevent renegades from gaining power and influence out here, beyond the reach of their authority. But we think that attitude is bound to change sooner or later, between the Council’s hunger for power and the money to be made out here from cattle and mining.”

  “I don’t want that to happen,” Lainie said. “I don’t like it that the Plain folk here hate mages so much, but I don’t want the mages to take over, either.”

  “It won’t happen, not as long as I can do anything about it.” He rotated the square silver box in his hand. “So, to answer your question, this is a message box issued by the Hidden Council. This one belonged to Horden; I have one like it. I also found one in Verl Bissom’s belongings.”

  Her hand, resting on his shoulder, clenched into the fabric of his shirt. “So that’s what you weren’t telling me. Someone’s killing Hidden Council mages, and you’re next.”

  “It looks that way.”

  “Who do you think it is? A rogue mage?”

  “Could be. Rogue mages would have no reason to love the Hidden Council, if they knew about it. Their ambitions threaten the safety and peace of the Plain settlers, so we oppose them as well. But the existence of the Hidden Council is a carefully-guarded secret, and only a few people at the top of the Hidden Council leadership know the names of everyone associated with it. Even if a rogue mage found out about the Hidden Council, I doubt he would know about Bissom, Horden, and me. It’s more likely that the Mage Council found out about us, and since our beliefs and activities would be considered treason, they’ve begun carrying out executions.”

  Her weight cam
e down heavily on his shoulder, as though her legs had gone weak from shock. “Executions?”

  “It’s a risk we all understood and accepted.”

  “But why take the risk? I mean, I understand what you believe about Plain folk, that they should have equal rights and shouldn’t be treated bad just for being Plain. But why would you want to help them when you could get killed for it? And I don’t mean just by the Mage Council, I mean by Plains themselves. Like you told me, it don’t matter to them what we do, even if we help them. To them, a wizard’s a wizard, only good for hanging.” Her voice held more than a trace of bitterness, and for good reason; the folk of Bitterbush Springs, her own hometown, had tried to hang her even though she had saved the town from the horror that Carden would have brought down upon them. “Mages in Granadaia have everything they could want; why would any Granadaian mage risk losing all that and put himself in danger to help people who hate mages so much?”

  Silas’s mind went back through the years, to the tragedy he had caused without meaning to, without thinking about the consequences of his actions. “Why? Because some of us knew Plain people when we were growing up, knew they were just like us except they didn’t have power, and that they wanted the same things we did, to be safe and happy and free and to live good lives with their families. Some of us… did things that we regret, and we’re trying to make amends. Then there’s some who got hold of writings by foreign philosophers about things like natural rights, and read them and thought they made sense. And some of us just have a burr under our heels where authority is concerned, be it the authority of the Mage Council or anyone else.”

  “Which of those reasons is yours?”

  “All of them.” He went back to looking through Horden’s possessions, hoping to leave the subject behind. It wasn’t a particularly edifying tale, and he had no wish to revisit the memories.

  Down near the bottom of Horden’s knapsack, beneath the clothes, packets of food, a length of rope, and other items useful for a life on the road, he found a crumpled piece of folded paper. He unfolded it and smoothed it out; it was a half-written letter, dated about five months ago. He read it silently, with Lainie looking over his shoulder.

  My Dearest Adelin, Horden had written, Your last letter was waiting for me at Bentwood Gulch, and it did my lonesome heart a world of good to read it. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to send this reply to you. My work is taking me west, possibly as far as the borders of the P’wagimet lands. A break, then a much later date, about three ninedays ago, shortly before Silas got the message that Horden had requested backup. I meant to turn homeward by now, but another matter of business requires me to travel south to the Bads. My hope is that I can finish it quickly, because the Bads is no place for a man to spend more time than he has to, especially not when he’s got a sweet lady like you waiting for him at home. The letter ended there.

  “How sad,” Lainie whispered. “She’s been waiting all this time, and now he’s never coming home.”

  Silas turned the paper over; the letter hadn’t yet been addressed. Slowly, carefully, with respect for the love and sorrow the letter represented, he refolded it. There were no other letters in Horden’s pack, not even in the magically concealed space. He wondered what had happened to that last letter from Adelin. Bentwood Gulch, where Horden had picked up that letter, was about fourteen hundred leagues away, but Silas resolved that when he had time he would go there and try to find out where Adelin’s letter had been sent from, so he could give her Horden’s letter and the news of what had happened to him.

  He reached up to his shoulder for Lainie’s hand and gripped it tight. “I’ll avenge him, and make sure his murderer doesn’t kill anyone else.” The killer was almost certainly hoping Silas would come after him, but Silas wasn’t inclined to sit around and wait for his enemy to come to him.

  “If he doesn’t kill you first.” Lainie’s voice held an edge of fear.

  He turned to her and pulled her down onto his lap. “That’s a risk I take with every hunt, darlin’. It’s the life I live. I knew going into it that it was dangerous – I mean both the mage hunting and the Hidden Council – and I accepted the risk. I’m prepared for it. I know what I’m doing; no one’s killed me yet. I’m more worried about you. What would it take to convince you to wait here for me?”

  Her gaze went to the unfinished letter to Adelin. “It would take the heavens and the hells changing places. I don’t want it to be you buried somewhere out in the middle of nowhere, and me never knowing what happened to you. And anyhow, Bissom and Horden were alone. I’m not letting you go after him alone. Maybe I’m not as strong a mage as any of you, but I’m not helpless. At least I can watch your back for you.”

  She had a point, much as he hated to admit it. This killer – or killers – was more than one man could handle alone. Not that he was really worried; he was forewarned, after all, while Bissom and Horden had likely been taken by surprise, and he knew he was good at what he did. And if it came down to dying, if it was just him, he wasn’t afraid. He might not be on the good side of all the gods, but he figured he’d pleased enough of them that he would get to spend time in at least a few of the heavens.

  But it wasn’t just him. He wanted to make sure he carried out his mission of avenging Horden and Bissom and stopping the killer, which he couldn’t do if the killer got to him first, and he didn’t want to leave Lainie alone in the world. And, no matter how much he wanted to protect her, if he was going to successfully accomplish what he meant to do, he needed to make use of every advantage available to him. As well, to force her to stay behind would be to deny her strength and capability. Even if it was for her own good, he owed her more respect than that.

  “All right, then,” he said. “I want you safe, but your help would be welcome. If you want to come with, I won’t try to stop you, as long as you promise to do what I say.”

  “Good,” she said. “Let’s go get the bastard.”

  Chapter 5

  SILAS SENT A message to the Hidden Council informing them of Bissom’s and Horden’s deaths and asking them to let him know what was going on. He didn’t expect an answer. Then he and Lainie packed their things. Silas put the dead men’s message boxes in Horden’s pack with the unfinished letter and Horden’s other belongings, but kept the rest of Bissom’s possessions separate. With a last, regretful look at the quilt-covered bed, they left the hotel. Silas didn’t ask for a refund on the fourth night he’d paid for; it would be good to know there was a bed waiting for them when they came back.

  At the Dusty Demon, Silas traded Bissom’s clothing and knapsack for some provisions and extra canteens and waterskins. “Sure you want to go after that feller?” the barkeeper asked.

  “We looked all around, couldn’t find no trace of him at all,” a man in the saloon added. “Might be a ghost, or a wizard, or a blueskin. No chance of finding one of them if they don’t want to be found. ’Specially on Darknight.”

  “I’m a bounty hunter,” Silas said. “Hunting men is what I do. That man killed today was the man I was here to meet. I couldn’t help him, so I’ll avenge him instead.”

  “Can’t fault you for that,” the barkeeper replied. “But you seem a decent feller, and I’d hate to see something happen to you, or to the girl there. You sure about taking her with?”

  No, he wasn’t sure at all. “I got nothing to say about it. When she sets her mind on something, there’s nothing I or any other man in the world can say.”

  “Women,” one of the other men in the saloon said. “I reckon we men are foolin’ ourselfs thinkin’ it’s their place to do what we say.” A general murmur of agreement went around the saloon at this observation. Lainie rolled her eyes at Silas.

  “I find,” Silas said, “that if I only tell her what to do when it’s really important, instead of all the time, she’s more inclined to listen to me. She still won’t do it, but at least she listens.” That earned him laughter from the men and another eyeroll from Lainie.

&
nbsp; “Well, anyhow,” the barkeeper said as he set Silas’s supplies down on the bar, “you folks take care out there, it being Darknight an’ all.”

  “Darknight or no, I don’t mean to let the son of a bitch get any more of a head start on me than he already has,” Silas replied.

  He and Lainie left the saloon with promises to return when the hunt was over and tell the story; by all appearances, this was the most exciting thing that had happened in Ripgap in years. They filled their water bottles and skins at the wellhouse, then fetched Abenar and Mala from the stable.

  They started the hunt by making a wide circle around the town. “What are we looking for?” Lainie asked as they rode.

  “Footprints,” Silas answered. “Scuffmarks on the ground, disturbed gravel. Hairs or threads from clothing caught on the rocks or brush, broken twigs or blades of grass.”

  Stopping frequently to examine possible tracks, they eventually completed their circle around the town. As Silas had feared, if the killer had left any physical tracks near the town, they had been wiped out by the dust storm and the men who had gone looking for him. He kept his mage senses extended, searching for traces of the chaotic power he had picked up at the scene of Horden’s death, but found nothing.

  When they came back to their starting point near the wellhouse at the western edge of town, they turned and rode a wider circuit in the other direction, and again came full circle without finding any signs of the killer, physical or magical. Silas reined Abenar to a halt just below the opening of the steep, narrow ravine just west of town, and looked up into the small canyon, which was deeply shadowed in the late afternoon, considering his next move. For the sake of the people in the town, he was wary of venturing into A’ayimat territory; by the terms of the Compact established between the blueskins and the settlers some thirty years ago, any intrusion by settlers into A’ayimat lands could be answered by an A’ayimat attack. On the other hand, in his few encounters with blueskins, they hadn’t seemed eager for unnecessary bloodshed and preferred to let Grana folk, as they called the settlers and anyone else from Granadaia, clean up their own messes.