DEBTS (Vinlanders' Saga Book 3)

by Frankie Robertson

  Torlon cast an inscrutable look at his brother, then said. “True enough. But as you owe your life to my intervention, I ask that you intervene to protect Annikke until she is home again and safe, and bring her no grief. Can you do that?”

  Aren bowed his head. What the Elf asked of him was possible. But if he did it, all his efforts to erase the taint that his father had brought upon the family would be for naught. He was cross-sworn, and Aren could see no honorable way to sidestep it. He owed his miserable life to the Elf. If he took Benoia to meet Lord Tholvar’s justice, he would bring Annikke grief. If he did not, Lord Dahleven would name him Oathbreaker.

  “So be it.”

  Chapter Nine

  Just before dawn, Annikke awoke to Benoia shaking her.

  “Do you smell that?” Benoia asked.

  Annikke blinked, trying to clear the fog from her head and sat up. She sniffed. Pine and leaf mold dominated, but very faintly the scent of wood smoke came lilting on the breeze. And something else. She sniffed again. Was that meat cooking? Her stomach rumbled. She and Benoia had kept cold camps since they’d left their cottage to avoid drawing attention. All they’d had to eat for the last three days were shriveled apples, stale bread, and cheese.

  She forced herself to concentrate. Now is not the time to be thinking of food.

  “The smell is faint, but still too close. We’re far from any homestead or village.”

  “The wind follows our path,” Benoia said. “It’s those men. The ones who were following us.”

  “It could be hunters.” Annikke countered. Or Elves.

  Fear banished the last wisps of fog from Annikke’s brain. She shivered at the thought of meeting them again.

  “How likely is that?” Benoia asked.

  The girl was right, and wishful thinking wouldn’t make it so. Only their pursuers were likely to be this deep into the forest. If Tholvar’s men were close enough on their heels that she and Benoia could smell the smoke from their fire, they were nearly caught.

  “We have to move. Now.”

  Benoia was already packing their carry-sacks and rolling up their blankets.

  They’d walked beside the cleft for a day, following it downhill, toward the Nuvinland river. It wasn’t the shortest path to Quartzholm, but it led away from the road where Annikke was sure Tholvar’s men would have been looking for them. Now it seemed that taking the indirect route had done them no good.

  Annikke took the bundles that Benoia held out to her, slung them across her shoulders and set out at as brisk a pace as she could manage in the fading starlight. There was an eerie familiarity to the forest, and she shivered. She still didn’t recollect exactly where the Elves had taken her so long ago, even with her memory restored. Were they close to the Elvenholt here?

  A sudden feeling of yearning stabbed her breast, followed quickly by dread. She couldn’t go there again. She knew in her bones that if she did, she’d never be able to leave that intoxicating beauty. The life she’d built for herself and Benoia would be over. That life might well be past now anyway, thanks to Sveyn, but as hard as it was, this was her life. Hers and Benoia’s.

  Annikke pushed on even faster once golden light gilded the tops of the trees. The sound of the stream running with snow-melt echoed from the bottom of the ravine, white water cutting the cleft ever deeper as it raced to the river. As the elevation declined, the forest changed. Pines gave way to oak and aspen, trees that dropped their leaves each winter and reclothed themselves in the spring. Now that it was early summer their branches were full and bright with new growth and the forest floor sprouted grasses and wildflowers. All around them the forest thrummed with life.

  Too much life, Annikke grumbled to herself as the thick grass and undergrowth dragged at their skirts, slowing their progress.

  The flowing, wide-legged split skirts they wore quickly grew damp to the knees with dew. Annikke looked behind them when they stopped to catch their breath, and groaned with dismay. The rising sun slanted through the tree trunks, revealing their path. Crushed grass and wildflowers swept clear of moisture clearly showed the way she and Benoia had traveled. They might as well have built a cairn, marking their trail.

  “Follow me,” she said, as she turned back the way they’d come.

  “Where are we going?” Benoia asked, fear in her tone.

  “We’re leaving too much sign. Let’s make it work for us.”

  Annikke retraced their path, losing half a candlemark’s worth of travel, then veered off at an angle. After going only a few strides, she knelt to sweep her hand over the bent plants and murmur words of encouragement. Slowly the stems and leaves straightened, seeking the sun. She couldn’t do anything about the dew their skirts swept up, but soon the rising warmth would dry the beads of moisture clinging to every leaf and stem and the path she and Benoia had taken would look no different than the rest of the forest floor.

  “With a little luck, whoever is following will continue on the way we were going,” Annikke said.

  “Won’t they figure it out when our trail suddenly stops?” Benoia asked.

  “Yes. But they’ll spend some time looking for our true direction, I hope. That may buy us some time.”

  But not enough. They’d left no trail in the pine needles. The initial pursuit had given up only a short way into the forest. Whoever was following them now had picked up their track sometime later. They should be more than half a day behind—and yet they weren’t. Their pursuers must be guided by a Finder or Tracker Talent, though where Lord Tholvar had found one of those Annikke couldn’t imagine. Such Talents weren’t common, and he had none in his service. She could only hope that her little subterfuge would slow them a little.

  “Time for what?” Benoia asked.

  What indeed?

  They continued on, at an angle away from the direction they’d been going before, but before Annikke could think of an answer to her foster-daughter’s question, they had to stop so Annikke could use her Talent again. The effect didn’t extend very far, and she had to stop often to whisper words of health and vigor to the plants to help them stand tall.

  The third time Annikke stopped, Benoia said, “This is slowing us down too much. If we tarry much more, they won’t have to find our trail. They’ll be able to see us!”

  The girl was right. Annikke stared at the short distance they’d come, then forward into the undergrowth. A plan began to form. “We’re not trying to outrun our pursuit.”

  “We’re not?”

  “Our pursuers haven’t been slowed by searching for our trail, they’re traveling at speed.” Annikke straightened and put a hand on Benoia’s shoulder. “We can’t outpace long-legged men in any case. After we put a bit more distance behind us, we’ll find a thicket to hide in, then ask it to conceal us until whoever follows us gives up their search here. If those hunting us are Finders of people, we’re as good as caught, but Lord Tholvar has no such Talents in his employ. If they are Trackers of only minor Talent, my subterfuge may work.”

  Benoia’s face twisted. Clearly she was impatient to hurry on. “All right. How can I help?”

  A familiar warmth filled Annikke’s heart. Benoia had ever been willing to offer assistance when needed, even when she’d first come into Annikke’s care and Annikke had been slow to give the love the girl so needed.

  “Go on ahead and find a thicket we can hide in. I’ll follow as quick as I may.”

  Benoia frowned, but nodded, then set off in the direction Annikke indicated.

  Annikke followed slowly, whispering to the wildflowers to obscure her trail, quite confident Benoia would not be happy with the next part of her plan.

  *

  The sun was high overhead when Aren stopped, staring at the bent stalks of wildflowers ahead, then into the unmarked undergrowth to his left. The path ahead was unmistakable, and his Talent told him that they had indeed passed this way. And yet his Talent also told him that they’d gone deeper into the forest, moving away from the ravine. Annikk
e and Benoia had gone in both directions. Up until now, they hadn’t done anything to hide their trail. Doing so hadn’t been necessary under the pines. All they’d had to do there was avoid scuffing their feet too much. Perhaps they’d realized they were leaving sign and begun to cover their tracks as a precaution.

  Or maybe they’d become aware they were being followed.

  The more recent path was the more obscure one. Aren veered into the unmarked undergrowth.

  Guided only by his Talent, Aren confidently led his horse past an aspen grove on his right, then came abreast of a thicket of young oaks surrounding a pair of old trees with gnarled bark and spreading boughs. The women were close. He could feel that they hadn’t passed this way very long ago. The hunting skills he’d honed after his father fled helped him notice immediately when the wildflowers began showing signs of someone passing through again. Had the women grown careless, confident that they’d shaken their pursuit?

  He looked closer. No. This was another trick. They’d split up. While there were no visible signs marking their path, Annikke and Benoia had both gone toward the oak thicket, but only Benoia had stayed. Annikke had laid a clear trail to draw pursuit away from the girl much the same way a woodcock hen would flutter to distract a predator from her chicks.

  Aren walked over to the tangle of weedy saplings and undergrowth and stared into the shadowed thicket. If he captured Benoia, he’d soon have Annikke in hand as well. She wouldn’t let her servant face Lord Dahleven’s justice alone. Then, he need only escort them to Quartzholm.

  Simple. Except he’d promised Torlon that he would protect Annikke and bring her no grief.

  Taking Benoia to Quartzholm would very likely bring Annikke grief if she cared for her servant as much as he’d come to believe. Why else would she have left her home to aid the younger woman’s escape from Thorvald?

  He could walk away. He could tell Lord Fender that he’d been unable to Track Benoia.

  But leaving the women to wander the forest alone wouldn’t keep them safe, and just the thought of dissembling to Lord Fender made him want to vomit.

  That falsehood would mark him an incompetent. And not only would that undermine Lord Dahleven’s confidence in him, but it would be a lie. A lie the Jarl’s brother, Father Ragnar, the Overprest, would effortlessly detect. Aren would be an Oathbreaker, and no better than his father. He couldn’t do that to his daughter.

  He found the place the women had entered the thicket. The saplings showed no evidence of being bent or broken, yet they stood so close together even a slender girl would have had to force them apart to slide between. This along with the proof of the wildflowers, and Annikke’s herb garden, made him certain one or the other had a Talent with plants.

  “Benoia!” Aren lifted his voice. “I mean you no harm, but you must come back to Quartzholm with me. The Jarl commands it.”

  As he expected, all he heard in response was the humming of insects and a distant bird chirping.

  “I can drag you out of there, but I’d rather not. You cannot outrun me, or hide from me. Let’s make this easy on us both.”

  Again there was no reply to his request. Aren sighed. This reminded him forcefully of when Tandra had hidden from him after breaking her grandmother’s best crockery bowl. Except the consequences to Benoia would probably be much more severe than extra chores and no honey on her bread for a week.

  His vow to protect Annikke meant he had to protect Benoia as well.

  Nevertheless, he couldn’t walk away.

  Aren tied his horse to a sapling, and then shouldered his way into the dimness of the thicket, pushing aside twiggy growth clustered with leaves. “Benoia,” he called again. Two steps in, the branches twisted around his legs and arms, stopping all progress.

  Alarm shot through Aren as the young trees crowded him. He hadn’t seen them move, but they pressed closer than they should. He raised one arm forcefully. Twiglets caught at his sleeves, scratching and stabbing with every movement. He would have to do real damage to the plants, and to himself, to win free.

  Chapter Ten

  Annikke cautiously approached the hunter from behind, stopping a few paces from where the thicket held him fast.

  It had been an amazing bit of good fortune that this man was alone. She’d first planned to hide Benoia and lead those hunting them away from her. She and her foster-daughter would reunite downstream at the ferry landing, and if Annikke didn’t show in three days’ time, she’d commanded her foster daughter to seek out the Daughters of Freya in Forsvaremur. Lord Fender’s debt was to Annikke, and if she couldn’t call upon him, the Daughters were Benoia’s next best chance.

  Benoia had fiercely refused at first, but she’d had no better idea. So Annikke had laid a trail any fool could follow away from the thicket, and obscured all sign that Benoia hid among the young saplings.

  But the man hadn’t been a fool, and hadn’t followed her false trail. He was clearly a Tracker Talent of considerable skill, because he’d headed straight for the stand of young oaks and his quarry.

  He might not be a fool, but he was alone. Another plan blossomed. If she could stop his pursuit, they might still have a chance.

  Benoia had somehow reversed the healing magic the Elves had given them in a fit of panic. Perhaps Annikke could do the same and lame the man enough to slow him, allowing them to get away. They’d have to steal his horse, too, or he’d just ride after them, but what was theft, even of a valuable animal, when you planned to maim a man?

  Annikke lifted her hand. Hesitated. She’d never harmed someone before. Before she even had magic the villagers had feared her Fey-marking. With this choice, all the years she’d carefully cultivated her neighbors’ trust would be as naught. Their fear of her, of her Fey-marking, would be justified.

  She had to do this. He wasn’t struggling yet, but the young oaks didn’t have the strength to hold him for long, and if they tried to, he’d soon tear them to pieces trying to free himself. Benoia’s future depended on this. Annikke didn’t want to think of what Lord Tholvar would do to her foster-daughter if she fell into his hands.

  Only now that their pursuer was caught and within reach, she couldn’t do it. She was certainly frightened enough for her foster-daughter. That alone should have given her the strength to follow through. But the man wasn’t offering them immediate injury. He wasn’t even thrashing and fighting the plants.

  He turned his head, and looked at her over his shoulder. His eyes widened, and he hesitated a moment before saying, “Let me loose, mistress Annikke. I’ll not harm you or the girl.”

  “Ha!” Annikke exclaimed. Did the man think her silver hair meant she was simple-minded? “Don’t lie. Lord Tholvar will sell her as a thrall—if she survives the flogging he’ll give her.”

  “Then it’s good that it wasn’t Lord Tholvar who sent me. I am Aren Birgirsson, in service to Lord Fendrikanin of Quartzholm.”

  Annikke drew back her hand as surprise rippled through her. “Lord Fender sent you? Why?”

  “He wants to make sure you’re treated justly. He said he owes you a debt.”

  Hope flared in Annikke’s heart, and doubt alongside it. “What can he do? Lord Tholvar is a powerful man. Only the Jarl might counter him, and that’s but a tenuous hope.”

  “It was the Jarl who sent me, mistress.” The man moved slowly, gradually easing one tangled arm free and folding it close to his chest.

  Annikke laughed bitterly as her hope died. The man was piling lie upon falsehood. “Do I look so gullible? You don’t even know Lord Fendrikanin, do you? The Jarl has no reason to take any interest in the likes of me and my foster-daughter.”

  “Lord Tholvar gave him reason. Tholvar’s men searched for you, but lost you in the forest. He has no Tracker Talents able to find you so he asked the Jarl for aid. He made you Lord Dahleven’s business. It will be Lord Dahleven who decides your fate and that of your servant, not Tholvar. And Lord Fender has the Jarl’s ear.” Aren gently pulled his other arm free. “Q
uartzholm is the safest place for you now.”

  Could what he was saying be true?

  Lord Fender’s debt to her had been Annikke’s hope when she’d dragged Benoia into the forest. A hope that had seemed thin at best. She wanted to believe this man, but did she dare? If she chose wrong, her foster-daughter’s life would be destroyed.

  Benoia appeared at her side and clutched at her arm. “Why are you talking? We’ve got to go!”

  Annikke let Benoia pull her away a step, then another. She had no reason to trust this man. And Tholvar could only be trusted to vent his anger upon Benoia and Annikke both. Benoia went to Aren’s horse and untied the reins. Annikke couldn’t bring herself to lame the man, but she and Benoia might be able to outpace him if they rode and he was on foot.

  “Lord Fender is an honorable man, mistress.” Aren said. “He pays his debts.”

  Annikke hesitated. Lord Fender had given them courtesy five years ago, even though he could clearly see she was Fey-marked. He’d even tried to protect her on that long ago night. She put her hand on Benoia’s wrist. “Wait.”

  Benoia turned wide, frightened eyes up to her. Annikke caught a glimpse of the beaten girl that had been sold into her service in those eyes, and she hated Sveyn for what he’d tried to do. For the hundredth time, Annikke wished it had been she who’d been caught in the forest, and not Benoia. She’d have done more than shrivel his miserable little cock.

  “I’ll not let any man harm you,” Annikke said.

  “You can’t stop them!” Benoia shot back. “Men do as they will, with none to gainsay them!”

  Annikke turned back to Aren. “Let my daughter go. Take me to Quartzholm. I’ll take her punishment.”

  “No!” Benoia protested. “It was my fault!”

  “Don’t you ever think that! What happened is on Sveyn’s head,” Annikke answered. “You only defended yourself.”

  Benoia looked away.