Stev shook his head. “No. Not tonight. He’s got a wife and newborn at home.”
“I can—”
Stev turned on Belan. “This isn’t about what you can and can’t do,” he said. “They need you more, and with… reinforcements, you don’t have to take the risk.” Belan glowered at Stev, and the leader’s expression softened. “You know Sofia would have my head if I let you take risks right now.”
Belan ducked his head. “This time,” he muttered. “But you’d both better come back in one piece,” he added.
Stev clapped a hand on his shoulder. “We will. If these newcomers are any good, we all will.”
Belan turned and walked back toward the lights of the village. Stev watched him go until he was lost in the darkness, then turned back to them. “How is it you came to hunt monsters?”
“After we succeed, how about we trade stories over pints in the pub,” Polly replied, eyes narrowing. “Better that than standing here in the road, waiting for the monster to find us.”
“Do you know what type of creature it is?” Hans asked.
Mir nodded. “They’re called vestir. Mean sons of bitches, and they’ve got a taste of human flesh as well as cattle. So all things considered, I’d say your village has gotten off lucky so far.”
Stev paled. “They eat people?”
Polly remembered the night they had fled the city, riding down one of the creatures in her wagon, while a second monster killed Tomor, and feasted on the bodies of their dead companions. “Yeah,” she replied in a flat voice.
“What’s your plan?” Stev asked.
“How good are you with a knife?” Mir asked, with a predatory smile.
“This is a bad idea,” Polly muttered as she and Trent crouched on the edge of a dark pasture. The cows were quiet and still, some standing, others lying down, dark shadows against the moonlight field.
“Hunting the vestir or bringing the village men?”
“Both,” she replied.
Mir waited along the edge of the field, his crossbow at the ready. Polly held an iron poker with a sharpened tip in one hand and a steel knife with a curved, wicked blade in the other. Trent had a long knife and an iron rod. Stev and Hans both had farm knives and sturdy wooden staves. Behind them, a bag dropped at the edge of the clearing held the rest of the items they would need, along with the shuttered tin lantern that had lit their way.
“How do we know when it’s going to show up?” Polly muttered. A frightened cow gave a startled cry, waking the other animals.
“Like that,” Trent replied. “Here we go.”
The vestir bounded from the far edge of the clearing, closing the distance with its intended prey. But the cow was faster than Polly had expected, taking off running. The rest of the cows, perhaps a dozen or more, started to their hooves or woke and began to move. Instinct drove the herd to gather together, while the vestir lunged at those cows on the outside of the group, trying to separate one from the rest for an easy kill.
Mir ran for a position where he could take his shot. A moment later, they heard the twang-thud of a crossbow, and the vestir howled in pain, turning away from the cows to search for its tormentor.
“Hey ugly!” Mir yelled and waved his arms. “Come and get me!”
The vestir snarled and rushed forward.
“Shit!” Mir yelped, but he held his position and waited for his shot. The first quarrel had taken the vestir in the shoulder, slowing its advance but not by much. Mir let the creature bear down on him and then threw himself to one side at the last minute and shot the iron-tipped arrow into the creature’s ribs where the heart should be.
The vestir kept coming, but its gait was all wrong. That’s what Polly and Trent counted on. “Now!” Trent hissed from where he and Polly had gotten themselves into position.
Trent threw his knife, and it sank deep into the belly of the vestir. Black blood flowed out of the wound, soaking the ground. Polly took advantage of the distraction to run in from the opposite side, landing a bone-shattering blow with the iron rod to the creature’s head. Before it could get its bearings, she sank the tip of the curved knife into its belly on the other side and ripped the razor-sharp blade through the tough flesh and matted, coarse hair, opening the monster’s abdomen and spilling out its guts.
Trent lunged, bringing his iron rod down two-handed on the vestir’s skull and thick, powerful neck until he heard the satisfying crunch of bone and the creature slumped to the ground.
“Cover me,” he told Polly as he pulled his knife from the vestir’s ribs and drove it into the monster’s neck, sawing through the crushed vertebrae and sinew until the head toppled from the body in a flood of stinking, black blood.
But before Mir could join them to congratulate his friends on the kill, a howl split the night from the far side of the clearing.
“Shit! There are two of them!” Trent groaned.
“And it’s closer to Stev and Hans—son of a bitch!” Mir muttered.
“Come on!” Polly ran toward the place they had heard the howl. The cattle smelled blood and knew the danger. They mooed and began to run, and suddenly the whole herd was heading right for Polly.
“Stampede!” Stev shouted.
Polly changed direction, running for the edge of the herd. The sound of thundering hooves nearly drowned out the angry howls of the vestir. She had never realized how terrifying cows were before, or how large and solid. She ran fast, but the cows were gaining on her. Polly knew she could not get to safety before they would trample her under those hooves.
A streak of brown and white came from where Stev and Hans had stood, barking like it had lost its mind. It ran at the cows, and suddenly the herd shifted its direction, veering off as the dog barked and nipped at the cows’ hooves. Stev shouted directions as he and Hans moved to close ranks with Mir and Trent where they had repositioned themselves to attack the second monster.
The vestir chased the herd, then scented human prey and hesitated. With the cows driven off by the dog, Polly found herself in the monster’s direct line of sight.
Obviously it did not expect her to let loose a loud shriek and run right at it, brandishing the iron poker.
If I’m going to die, they’re going to tell stories about me, Polly thought, running straight for the vestir. The closer she got, the uglier it looked. She had never seen one of the monsters full in the face. The night they fled the city, she had only seen its rump and glanced at it in profile. The creature answered her shriek with a bellow of its own, and Polly got a good look at its mad red eyes and long, sharp teeth.
Save me a spot in the After, Kell. I’m coming your way, Polly thought, resolved to go down swinging.
Mir’s crossbow thudded once more, and a shot hit the vestir in the neck. It reared and gave a terrible, angry cry, pawing at the dirt with its deadly claws. Trent ran at the creature as well, but Stev and Hans were closer, and as Polly braced herself to swing at the vestir when it came in reach, Hans leaped onto the monster’s back, bringing his staff down hard on its head and stabbing his knife deep into its side.
In the next breath, Hans rolled off, and Stev took a flying leap, cracking the monster soundly on the skull with his staff and sinking his knife into the juncture where the monster’s neck met its shoulders. The dog was back, and this time it turned its fury on the vestir, barking non-stop and snapping at the creature’s hind legs as it had the cattle.
Beset on all sides, the vestir stopped running to fight its tormentors. Polly seized the chance and ran forward, shoving her knife into her belt and raising the iron rod in both hands over her head. She brought it down on the vestir’s face, crunching through the bone of its snout and sinking into the skull between the monster’s red eyes. Trent closed in from the right, slamming his rod down on the vestir’s neck.
The monster listed and began to sink to the ground. Polly dove forward, and this time she wielded the iron rod like a lance, driving it deep into the monster’s throat. Blood spilled from the vestir’
s mouth, and with a shudder and a gurgle, the creature lay still.
Stev called out a command, and the dog fell silent and returned to his side. He and Hans walked up to stand beside Polly and Trent as Mir sawed through the neck of the second beast to sever its head.
“Is it over?” Stev asked. Polly glanced at him. Both village men looked pale and shaken, but they had held their own.
“All but the burning,” Polly replied. Trent took off at a run and returned moments later with the bag.
“Now what?” Hans asked, managing to look both fascinated and appalled.
“Now we set them on fire,” Mir said. He tossed a bag of the salt-aconite-amanita mixture to Trent and another to Polly, who began to liberally cover both carcasses. Mir pulled out a wineskin of oil and tossed the second container to Stev.
“Make yourself useful,” he said. He turned to Hans. “Go find some dry branches. Anything will do.”
Stev’s dog watched them, never moving from where his master had ordered him to stay. Polly thought he looked insufferably proud of himself for his part in the fight.
Hans returned with an armful of wood from the trees at the edge of the clearing and helped Mir pile them around the dead vestir. “Go get some for the other one,” he said with a jerk of his head toward the second monster’s body. Hans obliged, and Mir soaked the creature with oil, then opened the lantern and lit a sturdy twig from the candle inside.
“Burn, you son of a bitch,” he muttered as he tossed the flaming wood onto the pyre and watched the fire catch in the oil.
When both of the monsters’ bodies were burning, Stev turned to look at Polly and the other hunters. “That was—not what I expected. I guess you were telling the truth, about having done this before.”
Ross nodded. “More than we like to think about. But we can teach you how—so you can protect your people when we’re not here to do it.”
“You mean you’re not going to demand payment?” Hans asked, surprise in his voice.
Polly grinned. “We won’t turn down a good meal, some beer, and a horse trough to wash up in—not necessarily in that order. You want to throw a few bronzes or silvers our way or a few bags of vegetables and a couple of chickens, won’t turn those down, either. Good crossbow bolts cost money, you know.”
Stev regarded her in astonishment for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. “I think both can be accomplished, m’lady brave.”
Polly blushed. “And tell your dog I owe him a nice piece of meat for saving my hide. How did he know what to do?” She glanced over her shoulder at the cows. They had retreated to the far corner of the meadow, and once the herd was no longer in danger, they watched the trespassers in their meadow with indifference.
“Fitz is my herding dog,” Stev said. “The cows know him, and they’re used to doing what he tells them to do. Habit took over, and it was stronger than their fear of the monster.”
Polly bent down and looked into Fitz’s brown eyes. “Who’s a good dog?” she crooned. She reached into a pouch on her belt and withdrew a piece of dried meat, which she tossed to Fitz. The dog grabbed it out of the air and swallowed it, then looked guiltily at his master as if belatedly realizing he should have asked permission.
Stev laughed and patted the dog’s head. “That’s all right, boy. You’re a hero tonight.” He looked at Polly, Mir, and Ross and gave a wan smile. “I misjudged you. I’m sorry. What you did tonight was… amazing.”
Ross shrugged. “For civilians, you did pretty well for yourselves,” he said. “Never expected you to try to ride the damn thing.”
Hans chuckled. “We have to rope the calves and colts. That was familiar territory—except for the stabbing part.”
“Let’s go back to the village,” Stev said. “I assume you have horses somewhere?”
Mir nodded. “They’re tethered back near where we met you.”
“Then come with us. There’s plenty of food for you and your horses, and perhaps if you’re willing, you’ll share some of the tricks of your trade.”
Polly insisted that they stop outside the stable to wash up in the horse trough before going anywhere they might be seen. “I’m covered with blood and monster guts, and unlike the two of you, I’ve got a reputation to uphold,” Polly sniffed, then shot her companions a mischievous grin.
“No complaints from me, though I gave up on any kind of reputation a long time ago,” Ross replied. “At least, any good kind.”
Polly knew the light banter covered the crash of emotion after a battle in which they all could have died horribly. Her mind would process that later when nightmares woke her trembling and crying.
“This had better be good beer,” she groused as she dried off with the edge of her cloak. “Not just good, amazing. No, damned fine and amazing.”
“There’s plenty of it, and it’ll be on the house once you tell your story,” Stev assured her. “With food as well. Let’s go.”
Only a few tables had patrons when they walked into the worn tavern in the center of the farming village. Those men looked up and frowned at the sight of three strangers, their clothing stained with blood and worse, shepherded by Stev and Hans. Belan rose from the bar and went to greet them, clasping first Stev and Hans into a fierce embrace.
“Thank the gods! We were worried.”
“If you hadn’t figured it out, Belan is my brother,” Stev said. He clapped Belan on the shoulder. “We’ve got a tale to tell, so gather around.” Stev glanced at the bartender. “Bring out some ale, and three meals. We owe these hunters our gratitude for saving the herd.”
At Stev’s prodding, Polly and the others recounted the fight with the vestir. As they talked, more and more people crowded into the tavern. A serving girl brought out a tray of tankards, a pitcher of ale, and three trenches of stew that Polly swore was the best thing she had ever smelled. Polly, Mir, and Ross took turns eating and telling their story, obliged to retell the tale three times for the sake of those who came late to the tavern.
“It’s all true,” Stev attested, happily downing a whiskey the bartender slid across the counter to him. Hans sat at the bar nursing a drink and looking like he’d seen a ghost.
“Why do you care?” one of the onlookers asked. “What’s in this for you, besides nearly getting killed and all?”
Ross looked up, his eyes haunted. “A vestir killed my cousin,” he replied. His voice was thick with remembered pain, even after all his time. “That’s when I started hunting. I couldn’t bring him back, but I could kill the things that killed him, and keep it from happening to someone else.”
Mir nodded. “I lost my sister to the monsters. Not vestir—ghouls. It’s my way of honoring her memory—and getting my vengeance.”
Polly laid aside her fork and took a long draw on her tankard. “One of those ugly sons of bitches killed a boy I fancied,” she said, managing a sad smile she doubted looked entirely sane. “I like making the monsters pay for what they took from us.”
“You said you could teach us,” Stev said. “What do we need to know?”
Polly exchanged a glance with Mir and Ross. Wordlessly, they reached consensus. “We can tell you how to kill different types of monsters, and how to protect yourselves and your homes. That’s the easy part,” Polly said and heard the disbelieving snorts of the crowd.
“Back in the city, beasts like the two we killed tonight didn’t show up by accident,” Mir picked up the story. “They were called—summoned—by a powerful blood witch that worked for the Lord Mayor. There’s been chaos in the city, and the blood witch and Lord Mayor are dead,” he continued, leaving out their part in causing that outcome. “We thought that when we came out to the country, there would only be the monsters that happen naturally—like the strixes and the shape-shifters. Then we started running into ghouls and vestir again, and some of the other monsters that were summoned by magic.”
“That accounts maybe for the vestir and the ghouls,” one of the men said, “but what about the guin that liv
e in the far forest, where the lumbermen won’t go.”
“Guin?” Mir echoed, puzzled.
“I heard my daddy tell of them,” the man replied. “Thin, pale things that live on blood. They’ve been in that forest forever, but ain’t no one seen them in maybe a hundred years.”
Polly suspected that if no one had seen these mysterious blood-drinking guin in that long, they had either died off or were nothing but legend. For once, she kept her opinion to herself. “If they’ve been there that long,” she said, “they’re natural monsters—like the strix. Doesn’t sound like they’re hurting anyone who doesn’t go blundering into their part of the forest, so we don’t care about them. We kill the conjured monsters, the ones that try to kill you.”
“The damage those creatures have done to your livestock and your loved ones—it didn’t happen by accident.” Ross’s tone was grim. “Someone powerful conjured them and sent them, intending for them to kill and destroy.”
“Why?” one of the women asked, shaking her head. “Why would anyone do that?”
“To keep you frightened,” Polly replied. “Obedient. If you’re busy fighting monsters and grieving your dead, you don’t notice what else is going on.”
“That’s part of it,” Mir said. “But the sort of magic these blood witches work needs to draw extra power from somewhere. That’s why they need the deaths. Your deaths.”
“Are you tellin’ us that someone in the higher-ups is not only magicking up monsters but meaning for them to kill us for their witches?” a man nearby echoed, torn between incredulity and outrage.
“That’s exactly what we’re saying,” Mir replied. “You don’t have to believe it. That’s what those higher-ups are counting on, that you won’t. Because if you did, if you really thought about them sending monsters to slaughter your livestock and murder your sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, parents, mates—you might decide to do something about it.”
“That’s treason you’re talking.” The crowd turned to look at a stooped old man who leaned heavily on the bar and his cane.
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