Book 1: Chapter Six

Present day…

“A mule?” Katrin said, glaring at the man who’d caused all her problems. “I thought you were going to find me a horse.”

The bounty hunter sighed. “She’s a riding mule, and you should just be glad there was something available. This village isn’t very big. Besides, this close to the free lands, a good riding mule costs more than a horse. They’re smart and sure-footed.”

Katrin wondered if that was all true, or if he just wanted her on something that couldn’t outrun his own horse. She took a look in the mule’s eyes and softened her stance.

“Fine,” she said. “What’s her name?”

“The man’s daughter called her Flower. She’s five years old, and your saddle should fit her well enough. She’s in good health and mules live a long time. Have you ridden one before?”

“No.”

“They’re a little different than horses. Be nice to her and she’ll be nice to you. Be mean to her and she may just take it out on you when you’re not expecting it.”

“I’m not going to be mean to a mule!”

“I didn’t say you were,” the man said, sounding exasperated. “I was just warning you about what they’re like. I’m going to go look for someone who’s ridden to the forest from here, and see if I can find out the best route. Go ahead and switch out her halter for her riding tack. Can you get the saddle on by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“All right. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”

She made a rude gesture after he’d turned his back. At least he hadn’t tied her up again before bringing her out to the inn’s stable yard. That would have been embarrassing, and it wasn’t like she could go anywhere on her own with that damned blue mark on her forehead. Even alone in the stable yard, she was keeping her cloak on and the hood up in case someone walked by. She couldn’t do that forever, though—the morning was already starting to warm up.

As she worked, she tried once more to figure out how she’d ended up in this situation. The stealing…well, that was obvious. She’d thought she’d put that life behind her, but her brother hadn’t. Barz had been the only person who’d looked out for her after their mother died, and she couldn’t just leave him in prison. Putting on shows with Felix may have been a bad idea, though—if there was a bounty out for her, they must have drawn too much attention from the authorities. Sneaking into some rich person’s home might have been a safer choice, but she’d never been good at that sort of work and Felix was out of practice. They could both handle pick-pocketing, especially with a partner to draw attention. And the shows had brought people to them, even if the pickings had been slim since leaving the city.

And then there was the damned bounty hunter. Corec, he called himself. Why had she trusted him? Felix hadn’t, not at all. Katrin was usually a good judge of character, but she’d gone right along with the bounty hunter’s plan to trick her into riding back to Tyrsall and into prison.

She remembered him from the night he’d watched their performance at the inn. He’d been sitting at a table with a group of armed men. He was attractive, and better groomed than the other caravan guards. Unfortunately, by the time it had been her turn to go around the room looking for tips—and marks—he’d been gone.

When he showed up again out of nowhere, she’d simply bought his story, completely ignoring how unlikely it was. Felix had tried to convince her not to return to the city, and when that had failed, he’d left her to her own fate. Katrin wondered whether he would have stayed if he hadn’t found the wanted poster in Corec’s saddlebag, but it was too late to ask.

How was she supposed to save Barz with no money, no Felix, and no way to get back to Circle Bay? It wasn’t safe for a woman to travel alone, especially when she couldn’t pay her way. Her best option was to continue playing at inns. Most would allow her to stay for free, and the tips would give her some spending money. By herself, it wasn’t safe to go picking pockets, and she’d probably need to avoid claiming her rather ambiguous status as a bard, but it would at least give her a way to get back home.

It wasn’t a perfect solution, and it wouldn’t help Barz, but she could make it work—as long as she could get rid of the bounty hunter and the mark on her head. The mark was the biggest problem. What was it? Where had it come from? And why had it appeared in the center of her forehead, the same spot that had been itching for over a week now? The bounty hunter called it a rune, and seemed to think it was some sort of magic. She didn’t trust him, but she sort of believed him when he insisted he hadn’t had anything to do with it. That just raised more questions, though—why did he have the same mark? And why was his in a different spot?

The trip to the Terril Forest seemed like a reasonable choice, given the situation. The bounty hunter wasn’t sure whether they’d find help there or not, but she needed to do something about the mark, and the less people who saw it, the better. She just wished he wasn’t going with her. Of course, if she was wishing for things, she might as well wish that the mark didn’t exist, that Felix hadn’t abandoned her and stolen her money, and that she wasn’t wanted by the Tyrsall constabulary.

She needed some sort of help, and Corec was the only choice she had at the moment. At least it looked like he could handle himself in a fight. And he must have had more money than he claimed to, if the mule was as expensive as he’d said. Perhaps he would be useful. He no longer seemed sure about claiming her bounty, so maybe he’d give her a chance to get away once they’d figured out what to do about the blue marks.

But could she trust him for that long? She shivered in the sun as she thought about the previous night. The ropes binding her hands together as she rode had been humiliating, but the ropes tying her to the bed had been something else entirely. She was still uncomfortable as she thought about how she’d felt tied down beside him, sharing a bed. He hadn’t touched her all night, other than to help her change positions, but even in not touching her, it had almost seemed like he was taunting her with her helplessness.

She’d finished her task and been waiting for ten minutes when he finally returned to the stable yard.

“I was right,” he said, as he started with the pack mule’s tack. “The trade road I’m used to taking to Terril breaks off from the West Road about a day’s ride back. The folks I spoke to say we can cut directly south to reach it. It’ll be slow going till we get to it, but not as slow as doubling back.”

“What’s the road like?”

“From where we’ll reach it, it leads almost directly southwest. It’s good enough for cargo wagons, but not much better. We should be fine as long as it doesn’t rain. It’s quiet out there, though—there aren’t any settlements between here and the forest, just a few farms, so we’ll be camping out each night. Do you have everything you need for that?”

“I was planning to buy another riding skirt before Felix took the money. This one’s getting worn out and I can’t wear my dresses on horseback. He had our tent and our cooking gear too. I guess I should be glad he left my harp case.” Luckily, Felix had never liked the harp much. Her precious flute—one of the first things she’d ever stolen—was still safe in her saddlebag. The harp was worth more, but the flute had always represented a different life to her. It would have hurt to lose it.

“We’ll stop at the general store on the way out and pick up some supplies, and the makings of a lean-to like mine. The weather’s nice, so you don’t really need a full tent, and besides, this trip has already cost me more than I’d make even if I turn in your bounty.” He said that with a look toward Flower.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Why haven’t you named your mule?” she asked, wanting to change the topic.

He shrugged. “He’s never really been interested in having a name. He answers if I say boy, though.”

“Boy? Is that your name, Boy?” The mule looked at her. “That’s what I’ll call you, then.”

Corec finished loading Boy and Dot, then paused and sighed. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.” He took two quick strides toward her, pulling her hood back and tilting her chin up so he could look at her closely. She stood in shock, surprised by the sudden movement. “Do you have anything that can cover it up?” he asked. “Ladies’ makeup? I still think Tyrsall is a better choice.”

“I tried that while you were getting our breakfast, but I could still see the glow coming through.” She hadn’t told him about the attempt because if it had worked, she’d have tried sneaking out the window and stealing his horse, so she could head to Tyrsall herself. She could have avoided the constabulary long enough to find a wizard of some sort.

He looked at her suspiciously. “All right. Well, I guess we should get going. The store’s just off the West Road, then we’ll head south to find the trade road.”

#

The day after leaving the village, they reached the road that led to the forest. Corec hadn’t worked the Terril caravan very often, but the road was much as he remembered it, little more than two ruts from the wagon wheels. They passed the occasional farm and ran into a couple of hunters along the way, but he knew that as they got closer to the forest, signs of human habitation would dwindle. Other than traders, the elves discouraged visitors.

The ride passed in silence. It was obvious Katrin didn’t trust him and didn’t want to speak to him unless necessary.

The quiet gave him plenty of time to think. Mostly, he thought about the rune on his arm. Figuring out where it had come from would have to wait until they’d found a mage of some sort, but it was the itching that worried him. Why had his arm been itching, and why had it stopped once the rune appeared? Was it just a coincidence, or were the two things related?

He worried, too, about whether the elves would be able to help them, or even be willing to talk to them. Perhaps it would be better if they went in with a trading caravan. If he’d calculated his days right, they might actually run into a Senshall caravan on their way in.

Around noon, he brought Dot to a halt. He was riding in front, and the pack mule knew enough to stop when he did. Katrin came a few steps farther, then stopped nearby.

“That creek’s come close to the road again,” Corec said. “We might as well stop now and water the animals, and have something to eat while we’re here.”

Katrin nodded. “The bread and sausage, and some of those summer apples you bought before we left?” It was the first time she’d said anything to him in hours.

“All right.”

They led the animals to the creek and stood waiting as they drank. “How much farther?” Katrin asked.

“I’ve only been this way a few times, but I think we’re still on track. About six days to the forest, give or take.”

“We’re in a forest now,” she pointed out, motioning to the trees that surrounded the road and the creek.

“We’re in the middle of some trees. When we get to the forest, you’ll know. Trust me.”

She nodded, then seemed to lose interest in talking to him. They ate mostly in silence and were preparing to leave when someone called out, “Hullo the camp!”

Corec looked toward the sound and saw a rotund man wearing a brown priest’s robe standing on the other side of the creek. The man was only about ten years older than Corec, but his dark hair was already thinning and he had a bald spot in the front. In one hand, he carried a walking staff that was more of a cudgel.

Corec waved to him in acknowledgment. The man hiked his robe up to his knees and splashed across the shallow water, not bothering to take his sandals off first.

“Good people, how are you on this fine day?” he said in a deep voice, bowing in Katrin’s direction with what he probably thought was courtly grace, but which was marred by the rucksack shifting on his back. “I am Father Bobo, priest of the Fox.”

Rather than introduce himself, Corec sighed. He said, “First, it’s Fox, not the Fox, and second, Fox doesn’t have priests. You’re going to get yourself hanged pretending to be one.”

“Ahh, a learned man,” Bobo said without missing a beat. “Forgive me; I’ve spent the last two years among the hillfolk. They still worship the old gods, and were quite happy to have a priest in their midst.”

“But…you’re not actually a priest?” Katrin asked, looking back and forth between the two men. She wasn’t wearing her cloak, but Bobo had only briefly glanced at the rune on her forehead.

“What is a priest, truly?” Bobo said. “If one brings aid to the needy and counsel to the confused, is one not a priest?”

“No, one is not,” Corec said, trying to remain stern as he held back a laugh. It was hard to take the man seriously.

Bobo ignored him. “And if those good folk are then grateful for one’s help, what’s the harm in accepting their gifts?” Corec couldn’t quite place his accent, but it sounded familiar.

“What sort of help do you provide?” Katrin asked.

“My stock in trade is healing herbs and salves, and the aforementioned counseling,” the man said in his stentorian voice. “But what I like most is to bring knowledge.”

“What kind of knowledge?”

“Why, any kind.”

“And where exactly did you study this knowledge?” Corec asked.

The man shrugged. “Here or there, wherever I happen to be. I helped my last village build a grist mill. They’d never had one before, if you can believe that. Though I admit I had to leave rather quickly when my suggestion on avoiding potato blight didn’t work out quite the way I was hoping. It was hardly my fault. The blight was already present in the soil—I merely offered some advice.”

“What was your advice?” Katrin asked, seemingly enthralled with the con man’s story.

“Plant a different breed,” Bobo said, shrugging again. “It seemed logical at the time. Unfortunately, when they dug up the first batch of early potatoes, they showed signs of the same blight. The villagers were quite rude as they ran me out of town. That was, oh, about two and a half weeks ago.”

Corec said, “To get rid of potato blight, you need to completely clear out any infected plants. Any potato plants at all, really. Then leave the field fallow for a year, or plant a crop that isn’t susceptible—no potatoes, no tomatoes. Don’t plant any potatoes in the surrounding fields, either; leave some distance.” Katrin looked at him with a curious expression on her face.

Bobo smiled. “As I said, a learned man.”

“Not really. My br…the boys I grew up with had to know that sort of thing. I had the same tutors, but only for a few years.”

“And now you’ve passed that knowledge on to me, so perhaps I can provide better advice to the next farmer that asks.”

Wanting to get on the road, Corec said, “Well, Bobo, it was nice to meet you, but we need to be going now. Good luck on your journeys.”

“Wait!” the man said, sounding almost panicked. “Might you be able to spare a bit to eat? In my haste to leave, I was somewhat remiss in my packing. I finished off the last of my hardtack yesterday, and I fear I am no hunter.”

Corec sighed again. He couldn’t leave the man without any food. “Katrin, perhaps some of what we had?” he suggested. “Some bread, a bit of that sausage, and an apple?”

She forgot to glare at him the way she usually did when he asked her to do something, and went to the pack mule to rummage around in the bags.

“Thank you!” Bobo said. “Thank you!”

“If you head northeast down this road, you’ll hit the West Road between Dalewood and Tyrsall,” Corec said. “There are villages dotted all along there, so you can buy whatever you need. And there are some farms on the way, so you should be able to barter for enough to get that far.”

“Ahh, well, buying or bartering may be a problem. The hillfolk gave me what they could, when they could. A chicken here, a bag of oats there…”

“You don’t have any money.”

Bobo gave another of his expressive shrugs.

“What about those herbs and salves you mentioned?” Corec asked. “Are they worth anything?”

“I managed to escape with the willow bark I harvested this spring.”

“Even I’ve got willow bark. You’re not going to be able to sell that for much.”

“I could go with you,” Bobo suggested. “Surely you have some need for a traveling priest? I would offer you all of my services freely. And some of the herbs I need should be growing now, so I can replenish my stock. I must confess, I would feel safer traveling with an armed man. I saw two rather unsavory-looking fellows yesterday. I didn’t stick around to find out what they wanted.”

“You don’t even know where we’re going.”

“That’s true, but I have nowhere in particular I need to be at the moment.”

Corec didn’t have a need for a traveling priest, much less a fake one, but in truth, he kind of liked the con man. Perhaps Bobo could provide some distraction from their problems—Katrin had been acting friendlier since he’d shown up. The man was on foot, but on this road, they could walk just as fast as they could ride. They’d need to stop at the next farm they passed and buy some more food, though. Corec resolved to start setting rabbit snares, to cut down on the amount he’d have to spend.

“Fine,” he said. “But just for a few weeks until we get back to the West Road. We’re headed to the Terril Forest, but we won’t be there long, and then we’ll see you on your way.”

“The wood elves?” Bobo asked, surprised. “I didn’t realize we were so close. I’ve never met one before. I met a few silver elves, though, back when I lived in Matagor. They often came to use the royal library.”

Matagor. That’s why Bobo’s accent sounded familiar. It was the kingdom just south of Larso—the kingdom that Fort Hightower had been built to guard against, though the border had been peaceful for generations. Corec had never been there, but Matagorian traders sometimes visited the town.

“Yes, the wood elves. I’ve been there a few times. I think we’ll reach the forest within the next week.”

“Well, then, lead on, my young friend!”