The Shadowed Path

by Gail Z. Martin

  Linton had a place on the front line as well. He was dressed from head to toe in black, and while he had several knives on his belt, a slingshot was his weapon of choice. “I’ve used this to drive off plenty of wolves when I herded goats as a child,” he mused. “Never thought I’d be protecting the wolves.” He looked to Trent and Jonmarc. “Time to move.”

  Jonmarc, Trent, and Linton entered the forest about a mile from the caravan and around a bend from where the bounty hunters had specified their meeting place. They split up, keeping low and moving with all the stealth they could muster. Since both Linton and Trent had weapons that could strike at a distance, Jonmarc’s task was to go after Brietta while the others handled the bounty hunters. He was just fine with that.

  The bells from the nearby village clanged nine times. Jonmarc had circled around, and now he was almost to the meeting point. To his left, in the direction of the tree line, he heard a man’s voice call out, and the muffled cry of a child.

  “I’m here.” Conall’s voice carried on the night air. “So’s my wife. Now show us my daughter.”

  Jonmarc edged closer, until he was able to see the three bounty hunters. One of them, the tall, thin man Linton had called Vakkis, held Brietta. Tarren, the leader, was the spokesman. Chessis, the muscle, hung back, looking around nervously.

  “Daddy!” Brietta’s shriek was filled with terror and hope.

  “I did what you told me to do,” Conall said. “Now give me my daughter.”

  Tarren chuckled. “Why would I do that? Three monsters are certainly worth more than just one.”

  None of the bounty hunters seemed the least inconvenienced by what the healer’s might have sent their way. Jonmarc caught the glimmer of something at Tarren’s throat. Amulets, he thought with a shiver. Just as Ada feared. No help can come from the healers. We’re on our own.

  Everything that happened next seemed to occur all at once, and when Jonmarc thought about it later, it seemed as if time had slowed. A knife flashed, biting into Vakkis’s hand, scarcely an inch from Brietta’s chest. That’s got to be Zane, Jonmarc thought. No one else would be so bold—or utterly insane.

  Vakkis cursed and released his grip, allowing Brietta to drop to the ground.

  “Brietta! Over here!” Jonmarc dove forward, and Brietta shrieked and ran to him, hurling herself into his arms. He caught her with his left arm, brandishing his knife with his right hand.

  Vakkis snarled a curse and came after them. Jonmarc slashed with his knife, cutting a deep gouge into Vakkis’ cheek. Jonmarc heard the twang of bows and ducked as a hail of arrows descended. He ran for cover, shielding Brietta with his body, and looked back at the bounty hunters, hoping to see them lying on the ground, arrows protruding from their bodies. To his horror, the arrows bounced harmlessly against their cloaks. With a sinking heart, Jonmarc realized that the glint he had seen at Tarren’s throat might have been more than an amulet. Without a doubt, they had worn chain mail beneath their cloaks.

  Conall’s form took on a faint glow, and then a huge wolf lunged, snarling, toward Tarren, bounding across the short area of open land between them. Vakkis and Chessis threw blades that sank deep into the man-wolf, but the wolf shook them off, and the gashes closed before their eyes.

  Tarren’s response was a quick twitch of his wrist. A glowing knife sank hilt deep into the wolf’s chest. On the wolf came, relentless, in spite of the blood that caked its fur. But this time, the wolf stumbled, and collapsed, still trying to drag itself toward Tarren until it fell on its side and gave a final heaving breath. The light from the knife glowed brightly and spread over the wolf’s body, then dimmed until it was barely visible. The wolf’s form melted to become a man, covered in blood, with the glowing knife between his ribs. Lissa’s scream echoed in the night.

  He used a spelled blade, Jonmarc thought. He had heard legends of such things, tales that held such a weapon was required to fell a vyrkin, because the shifters could heal quickly from wounds that would kill a human. Conall never had a chance.

  Brietta shrieked. Vakkis, blood streaming down his gaunt face, regarded Jonmarc with a feral look and came at him at a dead run. There was a swish of air, a loud clang, and Vakkis staggered as a stone from Linton’s slingshot caught him in the head. Chain mail kept it from being a killing blow, but it was hard enough, Jonmarc wagered, to make the bounty hunter see stars. Seizing the opportunity, Jonmarc tightened his grip on Brietta and ran for camp.

  Conall lay where he had fallen, in a pool of blood. Jonmarc turned Brietta into his chest, trying to shield her from the sight, as Lissa’s form began to shimmer and a large she-wolf bounded from where a grieving woman had knelt seconds before.

  “Lissa, don’t!” Ada shouted from the line of wagons behind them.

  Trent, Corbin, and Zane had emerged from cover, as had Linton. The four men, enraged by Conall’s murder, circled the bounty hunters, knives at the ready to end the fight. The shewolf launched herself at Tarren, knocking him to the ground, and pinned him, howling her grief to the night. It would all be over in a few moments, and Conall would be avenged.

  “Halt! By the authority of Lord Guarov, I command you to lay down your weapons!”

  Two dozen men wearing livery emerged from further back in the forest, crossbows nocked and ready. The speaker wore a captain’s insignia, and he looked angry.

  The she-wolf growled, then relented, taking a step back and allowing Tarren to scramble to his feet. Tarren strode over to the captain. “Take the wolf—and the child,” he said with a glare directed at Jonmarc. “My quarry is dead, but the woman and child are monsters, just like he was.”

  The captain regarded Tarren with contempt. “Your warrant was for the man, dead or alive. You’ll receive coin for his body, though less of it because of your clumsiness. I have no orders regarding the woman and child.”

  “No orders! They’re monsters just like him!” Tarren ranted. “When I see your master—”

  “Lord Guarov has gone on a hunt,” the captain said in a flat voice. His face gave no indication of his feelings, but his eyes gave Jonmarc to think that the soldier disliked Tarren and was disinclined to interpret his orders more broadly than absolutely necessary. “He won’t be back at the manor for several weeks—longer, if the hunt is good. The exchequer will have your bounty. The rest is none of my concern.”

  “I’ll have you flogged!” Tarren shouted. “I’ll have you stripped of your commission.”

  The captain looked unfazed by the threats. “My men and I were under orders to make sure you collected the quarry. We’re leaving now. I would advise you to take the body and leave with us. If you remain behind, I will not be responsible for your safety.”

  “Do something,” Trent urged Linton.

  Anger stirred in Linton’s eyes, but he shook his head. “If he’s got a warrant from the local lord, there’s naught I can do. I’m sorry.”

  Corbin wrapped his cloak around Lissa. She shimmered, and stood in human form. Her face was streaked with tears. She watched Vakkis and Chessis retrieve Conall’s body, and her hands clenched at her side in rage, but she would not give his murderers the satisfaction of seeing her surrender to her grief. Vakkis removed the still glowing knife and returned it to Tarren.

  Brietta cried out for her father, and Lissa took her from Jonmarc, holding her possessively while Brietta sobbed. Jonmarc looked at the faces of the caravan crew, and he did not doubt that they all longed to avenge Conall.

  Tarren turned to Lissa with a smirk and held up the knife. “Still plenty of magic left. I’ll get a warrant for you, and the brat. I’ll find you.”

  Lissa stood tall and met his gaze. “Go to the Crone.”

  “Soldiers, with me!” the captain called. The troop began to move off, Vakkis and Chessis with them, and Tarren joined them, but not without a backward scowl at Lissa and the others.

  Trent and Linton spoke in low tones to Zane and the archers. Ada and Kegan moved to where Lissa stood with Brietta in her arms. Ada put
an arm around Lissa, and together, the four of them moved back toward the caravan camp. Corbin walked over to Jonmarc, who found himself torn between grief and rage.

  “We’re going to keep a watch in teams of two all night and through the day on Lissa’s wagon, until she can meet up with Conall’s family,” he said. “I figured you’d want to be part of that.”

  Jonmarc nodded. Lissa’s loss opened up his own wounds over the loss of his wife and child, engulfing him in sorrow. “I’m in.”

  Jonmarc saw Linton and Trent moving from group to group around the fires. “What’s going on?” Jonmarc asked.

  “We’re leaving tomorrow,” Corbin said. “Linton wants to be gone before Tarren manages to come back with another warrant.”

  Jonmarc looked toward the bloodstained grass where Conall had died, and then toward the camp. Without a word, he walked over to a large rock and carried it back, setting it down in the middle of the blood. Corbin watched him for a moment, then lent a hand, working together until a small cairn was raised over the site.

  “I know they took the body,” Jonmarc said, wiping sweat from his brow with his forearm and pushing back a lock of hair. “But it seemed wrong not to leave something behind.” Corbin nodded, and they stood in silence for a moment, then made their way back to the camp.

  Fires were burning outside many of the tents and wagons, but not next to Conall’s wagon. Jonmarc swallowed hard, knowing first-hand the grief Lissa was dealing with, and knowing also that there was nothing he could do to help.

  “Let’s get out of this goddess-cursed place,” Jonmarc muttered. “The further we get from here, the better.”

  The next day, the caravan moved out, in spite of the fact that the crowds might have made it profitable to stay another week. They avoided the roads that led close to Lord Guarov’s manor, making an effort to avoid the bounty hunters and the lord’s soldiers. Jonmarc and the others kept a constant watch day and night, fearful that Tarren might return to snatch Lissa and Brietta with or without a warrant, but to Jonmarc’s relief, there was no further sign of the bounty hunters.

  A WEEK LATER, Linton brought the caravan to a halt. They had reached a crossroads, where the main highway intersected with a smaller road that looked like it saw few travelers. Trees bordered the road on both sides. Jonmarc had watched the forest, unable to shake the feeling that they were being observed, but he had seen no one. Part of him feared that the bounty hunters might have followed them. Or perhaps Conall’s family was watching them from the cover of the trees, deciding whether they were friend or foe. While he had not feared Conall or Lissa, the idea that an entire pack of vyrkin were stalking them made a chill run down his spine.

  Linton rode back to where Jonmarc, Corbin, and Trent were riding behind Lissa’s wagon. Linton dismounted, and knocked on the wagon door. “Lissa,” he called gently. “We’re here.”

  Lissa opened the wagon door, with Brietta on her hip. She had been thin before Conall’s death, but her grief made her gaunt despite the healers’ best efforts. “So soon?”

  Linton nodded. “We’ll wait until you’ve made contact,” he said. “We can’t just leave you here to wait for Conall’s family.”

  Lissa took a deep breath. “Thank you.” She climbed down from the wagon and walked around to the front, where Zane had been handling the reins. “I’ll take the horse from here,” she said.

  Zane glanced from Lissa to Linton, but Linton nodded. “Do as she says,” the caravan master instructed.

  “Has she ever met Conall’s family? Does she know these people?” Jonmarc asked Trent in a quiet aside.

  Trent shook his head. “I don’t think so, although she said they would know her by her scent, that they could tell that she was Conall’s mate, and that she was part of their pack because of it.”

  Pack. Family. Something Jonmarc no longer had. A stab of loneliness made it difficult for Jonmarc to breathe for a moment. Lissa was talking to Corbin, Trent, and Zane, thanking them for guarding her, and thanking Linton for sheltering them on their journey. She came finally to Jonmarc, and Brietta reached out to him for a hug. Jonmarc took the child in his arms for a moment and kissed her dark hair, giving her a gentle squeeze before handing her back to Lissa.

  “I never had a chance to thank you for going after her in the forest that night,” Lissa said.

  “I’m glad I was able to get her back for you,” Jonmarc replied.

  Lissa nodded. “I can barely stand it, having lost Conall. I couldn’t have borne it if—” She could not finish the sentence. It was a grief Jonmarc knew all too well.

  “I think Conall’s pack is here,” Jonmarc said, nodding toward the trees. A few moments ago, the woods had seemed deserted. Now, he could see at least ten men standing at the forest’s edge, and he wondered if there were more hidden in the shadows.

  One man stepped forward. Though he was a good bit older than Conall, the resemblance was unmistakable. Lissa drew a deep breath and stood straight, squaring her shoulders.

  “Let’s go meet daddy’s family,” she whispered to Brietta. She walked toward the edge of the road, then turned again to look at Linton and the others. “Thank you, for everything.”

  The man walked closer, and even the way he carried himself reminded Jonmarc of Conall. When the man was just a few paces away from Lissa he stopped, and seemed to sniff the air. Then he nodded.

  “My son’s mate, and his child,” the man said. “You smell of tears. The shaman saw in a vision that Conall is dead. Is that true?”

  Lissa nodded. “He is dead,” she replied. “Am I still welcome among your people?”

  Conall’s father was watching Brietta, cradled in Lissa’s arms, playing with the ties to the cloak her mother wore, and a sad half-smile reached his lips. “You are blood. You are pack. You are welcome.” He paused, and looked behind Lissa to where Linton and the others stood.

  “These people fought for Conall. They saved Brietta’s life, and protected me. Please, assure them that the pack will cause them no harm as they travel through its lands,” Lissa said.

  Conall’s father nodded. He looked toward Linton, recognizing him as the leader. “Thank you for bringing me my new daughter, and my son’s child. Be assured that they are welcome with my people. You will be safe traveling through our territory. We will not harm you, and insofar as it is in our power to do so, we will protect you. Go in peace.”

  Lissa gave one final look backward with a sad smile of farewell. Conall’s father took the reins of the wagon horse, and led him along the side road. No one said anything for a moment, until the two had disappeared into the forest.

  “Mount up,” Linton said, turning back to the others. “There’s an audience waiting for us on the other side of the woods. Let’s get going. We’ve got a show to do.”

  BLOOD’S COST

  “IF YOU WANT something done right, get a dead man to do it.” Trent said as he and Jonmarc loaded a heavy box into the wagon.

  “Does Renden make all of the items you’re going to buy tonight?” Jonmarc asked.

  Trent shrugged. “No, but he or his brother make most of what we’re after. They’re both vayash moru. Which means they’ve each had a couple of hundred years to get very good at what they do.”

  Trent secured the heavy box while Jonmarc went around to untie the cart horse from where he was tethered. Shifting the box to ride better might have posed a problem for other men, but Trent was strong from years spent as the head blacksmith for Maynard Linton’s traveling caravan, and he was used to moving heavy loads.

  Jonmarc calmed the wary horse, speaking in low, reassuring tones. At nearly eighteen years old, he had not put as many years in working the forge as Trent, who was almost ten years older. Yet Jonmarc was strong for his age, having worked in his father’s forge from the time he could carry the tools. Going out on an errand late at night normally would not have worried Jonmarc. He and Trent could handle just about anything that came their way. But tonight, he was nervous. This was differen
t.

  Tonight, they were going to meet a man who had been dead for two hundred years.

  Trent swung up into the driver’s seat and Jonmarc climbed into the seat next to him. They set off, moving slowly through the dark caravan camp to avoid attracting attention. Most of the camp was asleep: the performers, tent riggers, cooks, artisans, healers, wild animal trainers, farriers, laborers, and acrobats who made up Linton’s marvelous caravan. Part traveling fair, part merchant road show, the caravan meandered its way across the kingdom of Margolan, into a few friendly neighboring kingdoms, and back again under the watchful eye of its owner and impresario, Maynard Linton.

  At this hour, only a few of the caravan’s company were still awake. Some were guards, patrolling the camp to ward away robbers, vagabonds, and wild animals. Others were bakers and cooks, preparing for the next day’s task of feeding the caravan’s crew and preparing treats to sell to their customers. Most of those working the night shift were regular folks doing a hard job. A couple of them, to Jonmarc’s knowledge, were also vayash moru. Until now, he had done a good job avoiding the caravan’s few undead members. But tonight, there was no getting around spending time in the company of vayash moru. That had Jonmarc worried.

  Trent and Jonmarc did not speak until they were on the road beyond the outskirts of the camp. The box in the back, filled with bars of pig iron, made the cart heavy. Trent kept the horse at a steady pace. The load on the return trip would be lighter, allowing the horse to rest. For a candlemark neither man said anything, though both watched the road and the hedgerows for signs of highwaymen. Nothing stirred.

  “You ever meet a vayash moru?” Trent finally asked.

  Jonmarc nodded. “I’ve avoided the ones with the caravan, but I did once. On the road in Ebbetshire, back when I used to sell tools and herbs to Linton.”

  Trent raised an eyebrow. “Alone on the road? And you’re still alive?”

  Again, Jonmarc nodded. He had expected this conversation, and dreaded it. “I only saw him the once. I guess he wasn’t hungry.”