Vengeance

by Gail Z. Martin

  Polly gave him a withering glance. “Yes, but only because I’m generous that way,” she replied, playfully stern. “It would serve them right to go hungry, coming late to supper.”

  “Not that late,” a voice said from the doorway, as Trent and Ross crowded into the room.

  “Sorry,” Ross added. “Had a bit more excitement than we counted on.”

  Now that Rigan got a good view as they came into the lantern light, both men were streaked with dirt and blood, appearing about as worn as he and Corran had been when they had returned from their battle. Calfon trailed in behind them and sat, having gotten his temper under control.

  “Do I need to tend to you now?” Aiden asked, putting down his fork and appraising them with a worried expression.

  Ross shook his head. “Looks worse than it is. Most of the blood isn’t ours. Thought we had a Black Dog, and it turned out to be a small nest of ghouls.”

  “Did you ask the grateful villagers for coins or provisions?” Polly asked, raising an eyebrow. She, Elinor, and Aiden saw to most of the provisioning, since the three of them supported the others with magic and research, but did not go on as many hunts. Elinor had discovered the remnants of an old herb garden behind the monastery, as well as some berry bushes and fruit trees. Aiden had a gift for setting snares, which put meat on the table, and he occasionally ventured to a nearby lake to fish. “Or goats,” she added. “I wouldn’t mind having a couple of goats. Good for milk, and easy to take with us when we need to move again.”

  “I’ll remember to ask for our pay in goats next time,” Ross replied, barely hiding his amusement. “The villagers were happy enough about us stopping the attacks on their cows that they paid me in silver, if that’s all right with you.”

  Polly gave a theatrically imperious sniff, raising her chin. “I guess. It’ll do,” she said, then broke into a broad grin. “Silver is fine. I’ll come up with a list of what we need the next time one of you is someplace near a market.”

  Three months ago, all of them except Aiden and Polly had been tradespeople, Guild members in the walled city of Ravenwood, respectable citizens and business owners. Ross had been a farrier, Trent a butcher. Calfon’s family made lamps, and Mir was the son of the blacksmith. Elinor was an apprentice dyer, and Polly a kitchen girl at one of the local inns. Aiden’s healer magic had forced him into hiding, but he carried on his practice in secret, taking care of the sick in the forgotten subterranean warren of Below. Never had any of them expected to find themselves squatting in the ruins of an old monastery, roaming the countryside battling monsters.

  “Anyone hear news about the city?” Elinor asked between bites. “Surely the peddlers and tinkers have gossip.”

  “Last I heard from anyone, things were still a mess,” Trent said. “Rebuilding what burned, chasing down the monsters that didn’t die the night of the battle, and trying to calm down the Guilds.”

  “In some ways, I think we’ve got it a bit better out here than inside the wall,” Mir added. “Something’s gone wrong, and I heard a peddler say the ships from Garenoth aren’t coming into the harbor like they used to. I bet the Guilds are mad as wet hens over that.”

  “Has a new Lord Mayor been chosen?” Corran asked.

  “From what people say, Crown Prince Aliyev himself has stepped in to straighten things out,” Calfon said. “At least, that was the word down at the pub we stopped at on our way back from the last hunt. Maybe that’s a good thing. He might be more honorable than Machison.”

  “He couldn’t be much less honorable,” Trent replied.

  A moment of painful silence followed, with knowing glances. They’d all lost people they loved to the monsters and had been forced to take matters into their own hands when the guards did nothing. It wasn’t until much later they learned that the unnatural predators weren’t the true enemy—it was Lord Mayor Machison and his blood witch Thron Blackholt.

  Machison sent guards and assassins after the hunters and burned out their homes and shops. Four of Corran and Rigan’s friends died in the battle to destroy the Lord Mayor and Blackholt and free Ravenwood of the tyranny of their summoned monsters. It had been a night filled with blood, fire, and death. When dawn came, the Lord Mayor and Blackholt were dead, riots had broken out over the mayor’s heavy-handed crackdown, and much of the city went up in flames. Dispossessed and sought by the remaining guards, Rigan, Corran, and their friends fled.

  Now they were outlaws, with a reward set for their capture, disavowed by their Guilds, hunting monsters in the forests and farmlands outside the city wall for whatever pay they could muster.

  “We got some leads on a few more hunts,” Ross volunteered as he scraped the last of the food from his plate. He gave a hopeful glance at Polly, but she shook her head, tipping the empty serving bowl to let him know everything had been eaten. He relented with a sigh. “The men at the pub were talking about a string of deaths by one of the lakes nearby. Seemed to think there might be a monster of some sort involved.”

  “If you know which lake, we can check it out,” Corran said.

  “And then the tinker I asked for directions got chatty and wondered if I’d heard about how the young women over in Eilertown seem to be going missing,” Mir added. “Too many to chalk up to eloping. Thought it sounded like something we ought to look into.”

  “Did you say Eilertown?” Elinor looked up at Mir startled.

  Mir nodded. “Yes. Why?”

  Elinor stole a glance at Rigan and Aiden before replying, swallowing nervously when Aiden gave her a slight nod. “It’s just, Rigan and Aiden and I have been working on something. We thought maybe if monsters have some magical abilities, maybe they affect the magic around them, like ripples on a pond.”

  She looked nervous, now that the others were all paying attention. “It’s something we’ve been toying with, nothing definite, but Eilertown was one of the places where we picked up ‘ripples’ in the magic.”

  Corran raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. That could be a big help if it works. Sounds better than having to spend the night in the pub listening to tall tales.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Rigan said with a chuckle. “I for one don’t mind gathering information at pubs. Be willing to sacrifice a whole evening, for the good of the hunt,” he added, grinning. He slipped an arm around Elinor. “Been a while since we’ve been out on the town.”

  She gently elbowed him. “We’ve never been out on the town. You didn’t get serious about wooing me until we’d both become fugitives.”

  “I’m serious now,” he added with a grin, ducking in and pressing a kiss to her temple that had her smiling, blushing, and pretending to slap him away.

  “If you’re done?” Corran said, clearing his throat with mock sternness, his amusement clear in his eyes. “We have monsters to fight.” Rigan and Elinor settled into their seats.

  “We’ve barely started looking for those ‘ripples,’” Aiden said, moving past the distraction with a roll of his eyes. “Right now, it’s probably only as reliable as those men at the pub—maybe not as much. But Elinor’s right—I think it’s got potential, not just to find us monsters to hunt, but to give us warning about where the monsters are so we can avoid them when we aren’t hunting.”

  Rigan and Corran exchanged a glance. Not coming upon monsters by accident would make traveling much safer. They were all new to this life of monster hunting, but since they could hardly ply their old trades in exile and on the run, it seemed like a way to do some good and earn enough coin to survive. Every time they went out on a hunt, they learned by trial and error, and in their new line of work, mistakes could easily be fatal. Any edge magic could give them would be welcome.

  “Give us a day to rest, and then we’ll move. Sounds like we’ve got ourselves another couple of hunts,” Corran said.

  Chapter Three

  “We don’t know what sort of evil this is, but it can’t go on.” The older man had a careworn expression, and his shoulders slumped as if he carrie
d a great burden.

  “Tell us what’s been happening. If there’s a monster behind it, we’ll take care of it,” Corran said.

  Mahon, the leader of the village council, gestured for Rigan, Aiden, Calfon, and Corran to sit. They took their places and waited for him to continue.

  “Every year, people die up at the Bourn Lake,” Mahon said. “How many die varies by the year. Sometimes one or two, sometimes more.”

  “All people from your village?” Corran asked, leaning forward to listen closely.

  Mahon shook his head. “No. Some travelers from the road nearby, and some from other towns. But they all drown—and none of them had reason to be near the water.”

  Calfon frowned. “Why do they go to the lake? To fish?”

  “No. There hasn’t been good fishing in Bourn Lake in a long time. Most people know to stay clear of the lake. They know it’s dangerous up there.”

  “So what draws them?” Rigan asked.

  “Suicide,” Mahon replied. “All of them.”

  “That makes no sense,” Aiden countered. “Why would so many people have cause to want to kill themselves?”

  Mahon’s eyes flashed. “That’s the thing. They didn’t. Something about the lake lures people close, and then it either kills them or makes them kill themselves.”

  Rigan chewed his lip for a moment as he thought. “Have you tried putting up a fence?”

  Mahon snorted. “Of course we did. Something always tears it down.”

  “How long has this been happening?” Calfon asked.

  “At least twenty years,” Mahon replied. “Maybe longer. If it went back more than twenty years, it wasn’t a regular thing, not every year. Didn’t happen to as many people, either. Seems to have gotten worse as time went on.”

  Corran watched the older man carefully. Nothing about his manner or voice made Corran doubt his story. Bourn Lake had shown up as a ripple in the magic when Rigan and the others looked closely. That had been enough for Corran to pull a team together to have a closer look. It had only taken asking a few questions when they first got to the village to have Mahon bustling out to see what was going on. Corran had expected Mahon to be suspicious, but to his surprise, the councilman almost seemed relieved to have the hunters show up.

  “Was there something that happened around the time the suicides began that might have changed things?” Aiden asked. “Anything out of the ordinary?”

  Mahon leaned back and crossed his arms. “Not much out of the ordinary happens around here, ever. We’re a quiet little farming community. We’re not on a main road, so people who come through this area usually have business with someone who lives here.”

  “Could someone from the village have done something to cause this? Maybe worked a curse or some dark magic?” Corran pressed.

  Mahon looked at Corran as if he had lost his mind. “Curses? What do you think we are, son? Farmers don’t need to curse nobody—the damn weather and blight do a good enough job on their own.”

  “There are always rivalries,” Rigan ventured. “Or jealousy. Petty arguments that escalate. People have affairs and want to punish the unfaithful.”

  For a moment, Mahon went red in the face as if he intended to defend his village’s honor. Then he deflated and shook his head. “Those things happen, sure, like they do everywhere. But even so, Bourn is pretty tame. Folks here have too much hard work to do for them to have time to be causing a lot of trouble for each other. Fist fights, sometimes, if a man looks at another man’s wife the wrong way. There’s been a time or two when a cow or a few goats turn up dead or missing after there’s been a big argument. Had a shed burn down once. But the only magic around here is what the healers and the midwives do, and what the farmers learn to keep their animals healthy. Nothing like what you’re talking about.”

  Corran believed him, or at least believed that Mahon told the truth as he knew it. “So nothing unusual happened twenty years ago? Nothing at all?”

  Mahon looked off into the distance, thinking. “We had a bad winter that year. More snow than usual, especially in the high country. That spring, when it melted, everything flooded. The streams and the lake damn near swallowed up everything around them. Lost some livestock with the flooding, and some damn fools who wouldn’t leave the low places. Then everything dried up and went back to how it was before.”

  “What about the lake?” Rigan asked, seizing on the information. “Did it change after the flooding?”

  “Not after the flooding, no,” Mahon replied. “For a while there, it practically doubled in size, what with the overflow from the streams gushing in. Quite a sight to see.”

  “If there’s nothing else you can tell us, I think we’d like to have a look at the lake for ourselves,” Corran said.

  “Of course,” Mahon said, standing. “We’ve heard of you hunters, what you’ve done for some of the other towns. If you can help us with this, we’d be much obliged.”

  “It’s too late in the day for us to do more now than get our bearings,” Calfon said as they rose from their seats. “We’ll need lodging and food tonight, and then there’s the matter of our fee.”

  Mahon shifted uncomfortably. “We’re farmers,” he repeated. “We don’t have a lot of coin. But if you’re willing to take payment in trade, we can do that. Fix you up real good with fresh vegetables, eggs, cheese.”

  “Perhaps a goat or two, maybe some chickens?” Rigan asked.

  Mahon nodded. “Yes. Easily. If you can stop what’s killing our people, we’ll be in your debt.”

  Mahon walked them to the edge of the village and gave them directions to Bourn Lake. The group said little until they were some distance from town.

  “Do you think he’s telling the truth?” Rigan asked.

  “I don’t think he’s lying,” Calfon replied.

  “Which isn’t the same as saying that he’s got his facts right,” Aiden added. “I agree that I think he believes what he said. But there may be more to it than he knows, and we’re likely to find that out the hard way.”

  Corran led the way. Rigan and Aiden followed, and Calfon brought up the rear. Bourn was a day’s ride from the monastery, so they had brought their weapons with them, unsure of what to expect. Rigan and Aiden packed in as many magical supplies as they could carry, along with a few lore books and plenty of the salt mixture.

  As they walked, Rigan and Aiden debated what sort of creature they might find waiting for them. “I think the flood had something to do with it,” Rigan said. “Maybe it washed something in from another location.”

  “Or woke something up that hadn’t been disturbed in a long time,” Aiden replied. “Might explain why there aren’t any fish in the lake.”

  “You mean whatever is living there likes a snack in between suicides?”

  “Sounds likely to me.”

  Corran moved carefully along the overgrown trail. From the look of it, the path had very little traffic. Not surprising, considering the lake’s reputation. He strained to listen for any sounds out of the ordinary. All around them, birds chirped and underbrush rustled as small animals scurried out of their way. That boded well; dead silence meant the wildlife had fled to give a top predator space.

  Under other circumstances, Corran might have enjoyed the walk. The forest’s lush green, the scent of the trees, and the clear blue sky above made for a beautiful day. Although the sun hung low in the sky, the temperature remained mild, and a slight breeze ruffled Corran’s hair. Still, he could not shake the restless feeling that had grown stronger since they left the village.

  It could be nerves, he told himself. After all, we don’t know what kind of monster we’re facing. He was glad Rigan and Aiden remained deep in conversation, knowing his brother would sense the shift in his mood with a glance.

  The idea of being monster hunters instead of undertakers still made Corran uncomfortable. He knew they could never return to Ravenwood City, not after killing the Lord Mayor and his witch. Exile was the price they paid for fre
eing the city of the conjured monsters Blackholt and Machison called down on their friends and neighbors.

  But undertaking was the Valmonde family business, passed down to them by their father and grandfather, back many generations. Until the aftermath of Kell’s murder forced them into hiding Below, Corran had assumed that he and Rigan would carry on the profession all their lives, passing it on to their heirs. Kell died, the guards came for them, and Rigan and Corran had barely escaped with their lives as their home and workshop burned behind them.

  After three months, the loss still felt like a fresh wound. Corran tried to focus on the good he and the others were doing, how putting their hard-won abilities as monster hunters to use here in the rural areas saved lives. He took cold comfort from the thought. Hunting gave their little band of exiles a purpose, something to hang on to, and for now, that was enough.

  The trees thinned, revealing Bourn Lake. The water shimmered in the afternoon sun. The lake stretched into the distance, much longer than it was wide. Mahon steered them here because it was the closest access point and the place where most of the bodies had washed up on shore.

  “Doesn’t look evil,” Aiden observed as he and Rigan came to stand on either side of Corran, looking out over the water.

  “I don’t imagine it’s the lake that’s evil,” Calfon replied, standing with his back to them, watching the treeline. “It’s whatever’s in the lake.”

  Corran looked to Rigan and Aiden. “Picking up anything with your magic?”

  Both men closed their eyes, concentrating enhanced senses on the lake. Aiden opened his eyes first. “I can sense something, but it’s either shielding itself, or it’s far away. Mahon said the lake is a couple of miles long.”

  “But I was right—it’s not the water itself?” Calfon asked, still not taking his eyes off the forest.

  Aiden nodded. “As far as I can tell, yes. Mahon didn’t say anything about people being harmed by drinking the water or touching it. Just drowning—on purpose.”