“—take care of it,” Conall promised. A few minutes later, he emerged from the wagon holding a wet rag.
“Sorry,” he said. “Brietta has been having nightmares. She doesn’t want to go to sleep.” He managed a smile. “Here’s your rag. Trent’s probably gone to fetch a healer.”
He’s frightened, and he’s hiding something, Jonmarc thought, pressing the cold, wet rag against his swollen eye. But what could possibly scare Conall like that? And what could someone know that would get him into that much trouble?
It was common knowledge that most of the caravaners were running away from something—or someone. Jonmarc counted himself among the refugees, since he was trying to stay out of sight of the mage he had disappointed. If he believed the gossip, his fellow travelers had left behind quarrelsome spouses, family obligations, broken indentures, and not a few arrest warrants. He had heard tell that their group included accused thieves and pickpockets, trollops, and smugglers, disgraced former soldiers, brawlers, drunkards, and debtors. Jonmarc did not have trouble believing the tales. Even if they were true, Linton kept a firm hand on those permitted to be among his entertainers and crew. Those who could not or would not change their ways did not remain long.
No one here seems to care what anyone did before, or what they’re running from, Jonmarc thought. He shifted the rag to get the last coolness before his skin warmed the cloth. What could be so bad? Murder? If so, I’ve killed raiders and bandits, and my foolish bargain cost my family their lives. If Conall killed someone, there was probably good reason. Treason? Conall doesn’t seem the type. What’s left that could be so bad someone would hunt him down for it?
“He’s right over here.” Trent led Ada, one of the caravan healers, to where Jonmarc sat.
She pulled the rag away from Jonmarc’s eye and shook her head. “Tsk, tsk. How did you do that?”
“I saw a thief watching the camp and I chased him,” Jonmarc replied. “Unfortunately, he did better at catching me than I did catching him.”
“I should say so,” Ada said in a reproving voice. “Next time, call for the guards.”
“I did. But by the time they came, he was gone.”
Ada sent Conall for some water, and mixed up a poultice, which she applied to the rag and had Jonmarc hold it against where the swelling was the worst. Then she placed her hand on the torn skin where the club had hit his temple and murmured a few words under her breath. Her hand grew warm, and his skin began to tingle. A moment later, when she removed her hand, the skin was closed and the swelling had almost completely vanished.
“Keep the poultice on it tonight, just to be sure,” she ordered. “With the healing I did, it should be safe for you to sleep, just be careful for the next few days not to get too much of a jolt or you’ll undo some of what I mended.” Her tone was stern, but her eyes were kind.
After he promised to check in with Ada the next morning, Jonmarc thanked both her and Trent and Conall and made his way back to his tent. Tired as he was, too many questions buzzed in his mind for him to sleep for quite a while, and when he finally did drift off, his sleep was fitful and his dreams were dark.
THE NEXT MORNING at the forge, Conall was more quiet than usual. Gone was the cheery conversation that Jonmarc usually enjoyed. Conall seemed distracted, and he often looked up from his work and scanned the crowd, frowning.
“Is there something I can do to help?” Jonmarc offered. He did not expect Conall to confide in him, but something had made a dramatic change in the blacksmith just since the previous day.
“No,” Conall said, and struck the iron particularly hard. He seemed to reconsider his abruptness. “There’s nothing wrong.”
Jonmarc raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He tried to be particularly good at anticipating Conall’s requests, hoping to do what he could to ease the other’s stress. Without their usual banter, the day dragged on. Conall seemed to be channeling his concerns into his work, and it taxed Jonmarc’s stamina to keep up with him.
“Did you hear anything about the stranger from last night?” Jonmarc asked.
“He’s none of your concern,” Conall snapped.
“He tried to split my skull open! I’d say that makes it my concern.”
“It’s bad business,” Conall said without taking his eyes from his work. “Stay out of it.”
“So you know something? Did Linton find something out?”
“Drop it.” Conall fixed Jonmarc with a stare that silenced anything else he might have thought to say. Jonmarc took a deep breath to avoid making a sharp reply, and turned away. He grabbed a bucket.
“We’re almost out of water for the cooling trough. I’ll get some more.” Before Conall could reply, Jonmarc walked out, hoping to cool his anger and temper the hurt from Conall’s rebuff.
He took a roundabout route to the well. On a hunch, Jonmarc dodged behind the main performance tent, and found Dugan sitting on one of the wooden crates, smoking his pipe.
“Jonmarc! I heard you caught a fist to the face last night,” Dugan greeted him.
Jonmarc smiled ruefully. “Actually, it was a club, not a fist, and I’m lucky it didn’t put a hole in my skull,” he replied.
“Your head’s too thick for that,” Dugan laughed. “So who did you manage to annoy this time?”
Jonmarc frowned. “That’s just it—I didn’t know the man. It was the squat, toady fellow you were talking about yesterday.”
Dugan leaned forward, interested. “Now that’s interesting. Why did he hit you?”
“I caught him sneaking around the camp. He’s not with the caravan; there was no reason for him to be in the sleeping quarters. I got the feeling he was looking for someone.”
Dugan took a draw on his pipe and looked thoughtful. “That’s real interesting. Especially since I spotted him early this morning, at the edge of the public area, talking with a tall, thin pox-faced man and a rough-looking bloke who seemed dodgy.”
“Do you think they’re robbers?”
Dugan pondered the idea. “If so, they’re scraping the bottom of the barrel robbing caravan folk. Linton’s got money, and the merchants, but the rest of us don’t have a pot to pee in.”
“That was my thought,” Jonmarc replied. “So if he was a thief, why skulk around the crew area? Linton’s tent is easy enough to find.”
“And pretty well guarded,” Dugan said. “Same for the merchants. Maybe he’s a lazy thief.”
“So he came back, with two friends? That means whatever he’s planning, he hasn’t given up on it.”
Dugan shrugged. “Maybe he’s just the scout. He didn’t look like he’d be smart enough to dream up a robbery. The other two, they looked smart—and dangerous.”
“I’d better get back before Conall has my hide,” Jonmarc said. “I’ve still got to get water.”
“I knew I was forgetting something,” Dugan said. “Kegan told me the new strangers were asking more questions than the stout man did. And from what he heard, they were looking for someone who sounds a lot like Conall.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Jonmarc said. “I’ll pass it on.”
Conall’s mood had not improved by the time Jonmarc returned. “Took you long enough.”
“There’s a good crowd at the performances. I had to go the long way round.” Jonmarc put the bucket back in the corner, and paused, debating what to say.
“The man who hit me, he was back again today. Dugan saw him.”
“Where?”
“He didn’t come into the caravan area. You know Dugan— he’s up on the tent poles, and he’s got quite a view up there. But the guy who clipped me brought two friends this time, and they were asking more questions. Dugan thought they might be looking for you.”
Conall’s eyes widened, just a bit, but enough for Jonmarc to see the reaction. “I’ve got to warn Lissa.”
Jonmarc stepped to block Conall from the door. “Think about it. If someone’s watching you, you don’t want to lead them to your wagon. Last nig
ht, the man who hit me didn’t seem to know where to look. Why not send me? No one looks twice at an apprentice.”
Conall seemed to debate the question in his mind for a moment, then nodded. “All right. Tell her to keep Brietta in the wagon and to gather up our things. Tell her we’ll leave tonight.”
“Won’t you be safer here, with Linton’s guards?” Jonmarc knew he was overstepping his boundaries, but he hated to think of Conall leaving the caravan.
“We were only going to be with the caravan for a little while, until we could meet up with my family,” Conall replied. “We’re nearly to where they’re waiting.”
It had not occurred to Jonmarc that Conall might not be a permanent fixture with the caravan, since he had been with the group since before Jonmarc joined up. He felt a stab of disappointment. Conall had been a good master, and a friend.
Conall seemed to read his thoughts from his expression. “Sorry to tell you like this. I meant to tell you before, but we just kept so busy, there wasn’t time.” He cast a nervous glance toward the caravan crowd. “Please, go now and find Lissa. I’ll stay here in the forge, and if they come this way, I’ll hide in the supply tent. We’ll leave after dark.”
“She’s gone!” Lissa burst into the forge. Her violet eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and she looked terrified. “Brietta’s missing!”
Conall took Lissa by the shoulders. “Tell me what happened.”
Lissa was so upset she was barely coherent. “I was doing what you told me, getting us ready to go. I told Brietta to stay in the wagon. I went to get our pay from Linton, and when I came back, she was gone. I wasn’t gone long.”
Conall’s jaw set. “Someone was watching the wagon,” he said. “Waiting for the chance to take her—or you—to get to me.”
“What’s this about you leaving?” Maynard Linton strode into the forge. Behind him were Trent and Corbin, looking grim.
Conall looked up, surprised. “How did you know?”
“Kegan saw Lissa making preparations like you planned to leave without the rest of us. He told Ada, and Ada told me,” Linton replied.
Conall slipped a protective arm around Lissa, who was trying to gather her composure. “Someone’s taken Brietta. There were three men, poking around the camp, asking questions, looking for me.”
“Bounty hunters.” It was a statement, not a question, and by the anger in Linton’s face, Jonmarc guessed that the caravan master had already figured out who was responsible.
Conall reddened and looked down. “Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put the caravan at risk. I only hoped to hide us for a little bit, until we could reach my family. We almost made it.”
“I don’t understand—” Jonmarc began.
Conall met Jonmarc’s gaze. “They don’t want me for what I did. They want me for what I am. What Lissa and I are.”
“We know what you are,” Trent said. “We’ve known since the first month. Corbin saw you change.”
Conall looked at Corbin in astonishment. “You knew, and you didn’t say anything?”
Corbin shrugged. “I mentioned it to Linton, who had already figured it out. Trent got it on his own, too.”
“The point is, you and your family are part of this caravan. We don’t care that you’re vyrkin.” Linton said.
Jonmarc felt as if the conversation was rapidly spiraling away from him. “Vyrkin?”
As he looked at Lissa and Conall, Lissa’s form took on a faint glow. The outline of her body seemed to blur, changing its contours. A moment later, a large she-wolf sat in the middle of the clothing Lissa had been wearing. Conall reached down to lay a hand on the wolf’s head possessively.
“Shapeshifters,” Linton said. “There are small clans in the mountains, and more in Principality.”
“We don’t hunt humans,” Conall said defensively. “We keep to ourselves. But when we’re hunted, we protect ourselves.”
“There are people who fear what they don’t understand,” Trent said, trying to help Jonmarc come to terms with what he was seeing. “Some of them think getting rid of all vyrkin will make them safer. They place bounties on the vyrkin, and unscrupulous hunters go after the payoff.”
“Can’t Brietta just shift and get away from them?” Jonmarc asked, still trying to make sense of what his eyes had just seen. That’s why Conall ‘doesn’t like’ horses. They sense what he is unless they’re used to him.
“She’s too young,” Conall said, his voice rough. “Young ones can’t shift until puberty.” Jonmarc could hear the worry in his voice, and the anger.
The she-wolf had gathered Lissa’s clothing in its mouth and trotted off behind the stack of firewood. In a few moments, Lissa returned, looking as she had when she entered the forge. Concern for her daughter was clear in her face, and she stood close to Conall, who took her hand.
“This was pinned to the door of the wagon with a knife,” Lissa said, withdrawing a piece of parchment from a pocket in her skirt. On it, a crudely-scrawled message read, ‘9 bells. Forest edge. Both.’
“The bounty is just on me,” Conall said. “I’ll go. But please, make sure Lissa and Brietta get to my people safely.”
Lissa’s grip tightened on his hand. “Do you think they’ll really let Brietta go? Or me, now that they know I exist? The bounty may just be on you, but they’ll want all of us to get a bonus.” She shook her head. “They’ll kill you if you go.”
“Who issued the bounties?” Trent said. “That’s what I want to know.”
Linton shrugged. “No way of knowing unless we saw the warrant. But from the descriptions Dugan and Kegan gave me, I think I’ve run into these three before. The squat fellow is Chessis. Nasty, and not too smart—perfect for his job. Vakkis is the tall thin man. He’s nasty and smart—a dangerous combination. But Tarren, the pox-faced man, is the one to worry about. He’s the one who seems to have the connections with the money. They’re well-known in these parts, and much disliked. None of them have qualms about killing anyone who gets in their way,” he added. “Remember that, all of you.”
“So how do we get Brietta back?” Lissa asked. Her voice was cold, and her eyes made it clear that fear had become anger.
“I’ve got no qualms about killing bounty hunters,” Linton said. “Scum of the world. So I suggest that we make a plan to get Brietta back and get rid of the bounty hunters— permanently. And I have a couple of ideas about how to make that happen,” he said with a malicious gleam in his eye.
CONALL INSISTED ON holding to the kidnapper’s demand, and Lissa could not be dissuaded from accompanying him. The forest’s edge was about a hundred yards from the edge of the camp, with a wide, open section between the ring of wagons and the tree line. Linton, Trent, and Corbin worked out the plan at the table in Linton’s tent, and Jonmarc returned with the people Linton had told him to fetch.
“Archers, stay behind the wagons until you can get a clear shot,” Linton ordered his six best bowmen “The edge of the forest should be well within range.” They nodded, and slipped away to their vantage points.
“Ada and Kegan, I know you don’t like to do harm with your healer’s magic, but if there’s a chance to incapacitate these sons of the Bitch and spare us a fight, it might save you the trouble of patching up the wounded later,” Linton said.
“We’re forbidden to use our magic to kill,” Ada said, fixing Linton with a meaningful look.
Linton held up his hands to placate her. “I didn’t ask you to kill. But if you can… I don’t know… give them a horrible headache, make them throw up or shit their pants… something that turns the tables on them.”
Ada nodded. “We can do that—assuming they don’t have wardings in place. It’s not unknown for bounty hunters to have protective charms. They’re in a dangerous business.”
Linton turned to look at Jonmarc, Trent, Corbin, and Zane, one of the performers whose knife-throwing act was a marvel of aim and accuracy. “Jonmarc and Trent, You’ve been with the hunters when they’ve gone into
the forest. That means you’re at least passing familiar with the area. I want you to put on your darkest clothing and do your best to get around behind these bastards, take them from the rear.”
He looked at Zane. “If you can get them in the back with a blade from a distance, do it. Just have a care for the girl. They’ll likely have her with them to force Conall’s hand, or tied up nearby.”
“If we have a choice between getting the girl and launching an attack—” Trent began.
“Save Brietta,” Conall said, his voice a low growl. He looked to Linton. “I’ve got to show up, like the bastards want. I’ll keep Lissa behind me, but they’ve got to see both of us, or they’ll hurt Brietta.” His eyes took on a hard glint. “My people have run into their kind before. They won’t hesitate to hurt her if they think I’ve broken the bargain.”
“So you’re the bait?” It was clear Trent didn’t like the arrangement.
Conall glared at him. “If it were your daughter, would you do anything different?”
Linton shrugged his acquiescence. “You’ve got your orders. Get into place early, so you’re not spotted.” He met the gaze of each person in the room. “We’ve got three lives at stake here. There’s no room for error.”
It took only a few minutes for Jonmarc and the others to change clothing. “I really hope Linton knows what he’s doing,” Jonmarc muttered as he and Trent moved into position. Zane and Corbin went in the opposite direction. It was nearly ninth bells.
“I’m just hoping the bounty hunters don’t have any surprises for us,” Trent muttered. “Ready?”
Jonmarc nodded. He had his two largest knives, after deciding that his swords would be of little use amid the undergrowth. Trent had a nasty-looking long blade, the kind of knife used for clearing brush. He also had an assortment of throwing knives in a bandolier across his chest. On better days, Trent won many a round of drinks with his ability to put a knife in the center of a playing card that had been pinned to a wall or fencepost. Once before, Jonmarc had seen his friend use the knives to take down a bandit. He hoped Trent’s aim was true tonight.
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