Da returned in the early evening and whistled Talen and the others in from the fields. Talen was more than happy to oblige. Most of the injuries from the villagers had receded to a dull throb. But the one close to his kidney had not. It hurt every time he tried to stand straight.
They loaded the saws, axe, billhooks, hoggin, and bush knives into a pushcart and began to walk back, Prince Conroy following behind. As they approached the yard, Conroy must have heard the new hens, for he let out a squawk, made an end run about the dogs, and raced to the yard.
Talen put away his tools and joined his father. Conroy stood on the handcart eying four golden hens in their baskets and vocalizing whatever thoughts roosters did to their new ladies.
“Only four?” asked Ke. “I thought we had enough for six. Has Mol raised his prices?”
“No,” said Da. “Mol’s in a bad way. So I advanced him a payment for a load of goose down and a few hat feathers.”
“Did you see anything in the woods?” asked Talen.
“In fact, I did.” Da paused, looked at each of them, taking on an air of one about to tell a harrowing story. “Trees. There were lots of trees.”
Talen shook his head and sighed.
“Of course, there was that one hatchling swinging about on a vine. But he wasn’t bothering anybody.”
Da’s joking in the face of danger had worked when Talen was younger, but this wasn’t just humor. He was mocking Talen’s concern and that was annoying.
“That’s nothing,” said Ke. He pointed at Talen. “Mighty hunter here saw one in the yard.”
“Really?” asked Da.
“Yes,” said Ke. “A fine view of its leg and bum.”
His brother made it sound as if he were making it up. “And a spoon,” said Talen, “wet with fresh porridge.” Talen folded his arms.
“I wondered where that had fallen,” said Da. “I got to the barn this morning with my bowl, but no spoon. And I know I’d put one in.”
So much for the spoon. “I saw somebody,” said Talen.
“I’m sure you did,” said Da.
But Talen could see he was going to give him the same lecture River had. And so he decided not to push it. Maybe they were right. What he needed was more evidence. “Come on, Nettle,” he said, “let’s go get some fish.”
Nettle handed his hay fork to Ke with a smile, then followed Talen down to the river. The river ran so low this time of year that the gravel bars stood high and dry. Frogs croaked back and forth to one another from the edges of the slower pools. Talen fetched eight pan-sized trout out of the weirs, then he and Nettle took the fish back to the house. They filleted them, throwing the bones and guts into a bucket for the garden.
Talen looked over the meadow where they kept their mule. That thing he’d seen today, if it was a hatchling, could be out there in the shadows of the forest line right now looking at him and he’d never know it. One thing was for sure, his dogs were not going to be any help.
If it was a hatchling, he couldn’t cower. He’d have to be ready. Have to have his bow at hand and shoot first. There could be no hesitation.
He went in the house and laid the fish fillets on the table.
Ke sat in his chair mending a tear in his tunic. He looked up at the fish. “You’ve got to make it hard for me, don’t you?”
Ke was beginning yet another fast to purify his heart. He’d started fasting after the battles last year where one of his best friends had fallen and been taken by the Bone Faces. The Bone Faces hadn’t removed his finger and enthralled him. Nor had they fed him to their gods. Instead, they put out his eyes, shredded his ears, broke his feet so he’d be lame the rest of his life, and cut off his manhood. Then they left him by the side of the road to die or tell his tale.
Ke changed. You could see it in his eyes, a frightening purpose. He killed with a ferocious rage after that. Talen was so proud, and jealous, of him and the respect he won. And then Ke began to fast and ruined it. At first, his fasts consisted of passing up red meat. Now he would go without food or water for a day, sometimes two.
Talen didn’t understand all the fuss. It was right and good to defend home and hearth. It was right to take pleasure in the death of an enemy.
When he’d brought this obvious fact up to Ke, his brother had said, “Yes, but what happens when you begin to relish it like a roasted apple? What happens when you cannot slake the hate?” And so Ke fasted.
But the fasting didn’t appear to give Ke any new insight. The only thing it produced, as far as Talen could see, was a loud stomach and a short temper. Besides, Da had killed, and he didn’t fast.
Talen jiggled the basket of fish a bit. “They’re going to be tasty,” he said. “Are you sure you can’t wait? Given what’s happened, I would feel more comfortable with you at full strength.”
“You’ve got to get the weeds when they’re small,” said Ke.
Talen grunted. There were things about Ke he just couldn’t understand. He went back out to the well to wash up. Da had picked up this Mokaddian washing habit from Mother. Talen wondered if Da demanded they clean themselves because he truly believed in cleanliness or because it was his way of remembering her. Either way, Talen wouldn’t eat until he’d scrubbed with soap.
A large basin sat on a table next to the well. Da had lined the ground around the well with bricks. He’d also laid a brick path from the well to the house. Another was half built from the house to the privy, all to keep the boarded floor of their house clean.
Talen took his shirt off and scrubbed his arms, neck, and chest. He dumped a bucket of cold water over his head, and that’s when he saw the footprint in the soft dirt at the edge of the bricks.
He walked to the edge of of the bricks and looked down. There were three prints heading away from the well toward the old sod house. The toes looked a little long. The prints weren’t deep. In fact, you had to be standing just right to see them. But they were there.
“Nettle,” he said.
Nettle was slick with soap.
Talen pointed at the footprint. “What do you make of these?”
Nettle walked over. He took a wet cloth, wiped his chest, and looked down.
“Hatchling or woodikin?” asked Talen. Either way it was trouble. When the first settlers arrived in these lands, they found a number of small, hairy creatures sitting in a wild apple tree eating fruit. The first settlers had considered the creatures pests. But over time things had turned deadly, for the woodikin were not simple and dumb brutes. There had been much bloodshed between the first people and the tribes of the woodikin.
After a moment, Nettle said, “It’s not woodikin. This foot is too fat. And the toes aren’t nearly long enough. They’re human.”
“The prints are too small for any of us,” said Talen.
“So it could be the Sleth children or someone else. If it is Sleth, you know we’re bound by law to report it to the authorities.”
“And have them take all the glory and the reward?”
“I’m just saying we need to think this through.”
“What’s there to think? We get my da out here, we execute our plan. We’re not talking about some ancient Sleth. We’re talking about children.”
“I know,” said Nettle. “But I also know you don’t give some things enough time. You jump to conclusions. Look at your father’s spoon.”
“Are you saying you don’t want to help?”
“No,” said Nettle. “I’m in. But we need to have a solid plan. Not some half-baked thing. This one-legged hatchling snare scheme of yours is about as good as your running up the tree to escape Ke and River. This is one print. One hatchling. How many others might there be? We have to take that into account.”
Nettle had a point, but sometimes you didn’t have time to reconnoiter and strategize. “If you’d been in my shoes this morning,” said Talen, “River and Ke would have had you before the chase began because you’d still be deciding which way to run. Sometimes what’s required is immediate action.”
“Yes, just do the first thing that comes to mind. That will win wars and conquer nations.”
Nettle heard a lot from his father and his men about battle. But just because his father was a man of battle tactics didn’t elevate Nettle to the same level. “You only get a perfect plan after the fact, Nettle. A good plan, boldly executed now, is far better than a perfect one next week.”
“If they’re Sleth,” said Nettle, “then a hasty plan will get us both killed. I just want to make sure we do this thing in a way that will show everyone what we’re capable of. Not a way that backfires on us.”
Nettle was right, but that didn’t make his resistance any less annoying. “Fine. Then let’s look for more spoor, or are you just going to stand there dripping on the bricks?”
Talen and Nettle found two other sets of prints: one by the privy and the second in the mud by the pigpen. Nettle had just measured the one by the pigpen with his hand and concluded they had found prints that belonged to two different people, not one, when a man spoke from behind them.
“What have you got there, boys?”
Talen turned. A huge, armed man stood only a few paces away. His dark beard was long and unkempt like the fur of a shaggy dog. The tusk in his wrist tattoo marked him as Fir-Noy. But his tattoo had been extended. He’d seen that same design on the Fir-Noy that had set the Stag Home villagers on him. But even that tattoo had been extended. The man’s belt and leather cuirass drew Talen’s attention. A blue hand was painted on the right breast of the cuirass. Each of the Nine Clans had many orders; the blue hand was one of the smaller Fir-Noy orders, but it was not made up of common men. This was an armsman, a professional soldier. His military belt with its ornate buckle and honor disks confirmed it. Only an armsman was allowed to wear that belt and the leather apron straps signifying his seniority.
“Armsman?” Talen asked. “Zu?”
How had this man sneaked up behind them? The dogs began to bark, and the shock of this man standing here hit him. Talen stood in alarm and glanced to the fields and river, looking for others.
“We’re all about, boy,” the man said.
Talen had expected some reprisal from the Fir-Noy at Stag Home. But he thought it would come as a fine levied by the Shoka authorities. He didn’t think the Fir-Noy would send his men, and certainly not so quickly.
The cords of the muscles on his arms and neck stood out. Most soliders were levied from the ranks of the common people for a battle or watch, but it was always temporary; they served, and then went back to their lives. Commoners practiced regularly, it was true, but that could not be compared to the armsmen who did nothing but practice war. And not only was he an armsman, but the dark feathers in the tubes on either side of his untied helmet marked him as someone who held authority. Not a leader of a hundred, but a Hammer, someone marked for his performance in battle, someone who had proved himself and was marked for others to follow. Talen suspected this one had probably killed many men.
“Nothing terrible needs to happen here today,” said the man. “We just need your cooperation. You ought to start by calling your dogs before they get hurt.”
Talen didn’t believe a word of it. Somebody was going to get hurt. Something valuable was going to be taken.
The armsman had tied a piece of black cloth around his left upper arm. It signified he was a Sleth hunter.
“Call your dogs,” the man said again.
Talen called out for the dogs, but they did not come.
“What are you doing here?” asked Nettle. “This is Shoka land.”
It was rude for Nettle to address the armsman without the formal “Zu.” Uncle Argoth as a captain for the Shoka was a rank above this man. But that didn’t mean Nettle could address an armsman in that way.
Nettle stood there, looking this man straight in the eye. “I am Nettle, Argoth’s son, captain of the Shoka. You have no authority here.”
The man grinned a surprisingly rot-free smile. Then he stepped up to Nettle and backhanded him in the face, knocking him to the ground.
Talen turned to help Nettle up, but Nettle only pushed his hand away. When he gained his feet, his face was red, eyes tearing from the pain of the man’s blow.
The armsman drew his sword and pointed it at Nettle. “If I were you, I’d watch what I said. None of daddy’s men are here to keep you from stubbing your toe. Now. You’re going to round everyone up. I want them standing by the well.”
Suddenly the dog’s barking rose to a pitch and then a scream.
“You see,” the armsman said, “I told you to call your dogs.”
“Blue!” Talen yelled. “Queen!”
Talen ran toward the sound over by the old house. He soon saw there were about half a dozen others with this man. All but two of them were armsmen. They had positioned themselves in a ring around the farm and now closed the circle. Blue lay on the ground, yelping in pain: one of them had stabbed him in the hindquarters. Queen stood behind Blue, facing down another armsman.
The door to the house swung open. Da strode out carrying the Hog. “What’s going on here?”
Ke and River followed him out.
“You’ll put that down,” said the big armsman, “and tie your dog up.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m here in the name of the Council. You will stand and account.”
Two men closed on Da, their swords in hand.
Da considered them and then dropped the Hog to the side.
This was going to end badly. Talen knew it.
Da looked at Talen and motioned to the dogs. “Go get them.”
Talen turned and found Nettle behind him. “You get Queen,” said Talen. Then he put his hands under Blue so he could carry him. Blue cried out and turned to nip at Talen, but Talen murmured gentle words and carried Blue to the barn and laid him on a pile of fresh straw. Nettle tied Queen up to the closest post.
“Fir-Noy rot,” said Nettle.
Talen ignored him and smoothed Blue’s head and neck. Blood matted Blue’s fur. “You’re going to have to hold his head while I try to stop the bleeding.”
“Just let him lie. He’ll only fight us and pump more blood.”
“Blue,” Talen said. “You stupid dog.” He stroked him again. Blood ran from the wound. “We’ve got to compress this. It’s not going to stop on its own.”
One of the other armsmen appeared in the barn doorway. “You two. Get out here.”
Blue whined, but these armsmen had violence in their eyes. Talen stroked Blue’s head once more and then walked outside.
“Over there.” The man pointed with his sword at the well.
“Zun,” Da said. He faced the big armsman. “You come onto my land and threaten me?”
“Actually, Koramite,” the armsman said, flinging that word at Da instead of returning the proper title, “it’s not your land.”
“You can’t hunt here.”
“The Council has opened up the restrictions. Hunters are allowed free rein.”
Da paused. “Then I’ll need to see your token.”
The big man pointed to his armband. “Are you blind?”
“Any fool can put on a band,” said Da, “that doesn’t mean anything. You need a token, even when restrictions are eased. In these lands it’s the bailiff that determines who will hunt. I’ve already spoken to him about it.”
“Listen to this clever Koramite,” said the man.
“It’s Shoka business. Not yours. If you want to search us, you’ll come back with the bailiff’s token.”
The man grinned and dropped his gaze as if Da had made some joke. He glanced at the two armsmen that were closest to Da, Ke, and River. “Boys,” he said, “is this woman begging me to plow her field?” He turned back to Da. “Are you?”
“Would you allow just any band of men who came along free access to your home? Especially when they demand it at sword point? You need to move on,” said Da.
“No,” said the man. He rolled his shoulders to loosen them. “Actually we don’t. Now I’ve given you an opportunity, but it seems you insist…” He walked forward toward Da. “I know who you are, Zun.” He used the title in obvious mockery. “You think you’re something-a master archer. But you’re nothing more than a high-and-mighty camp lady.”
Among some soldiers, bowmen were considered lesser warriors, fighting only from a distance. It was true that sometimes boys and women were found in their ranks. The real warriors stood their ground and faced the men they would kill. Of course, others didn’t share that opinion, and Da had proven himself many times in battle. But this armsman obviously wasn’t among them.
The armsman stopped two paces from Da and raised his sword point to Da’s chest. “A Koramite, commanding his handful of cowards. Except, oops, you forgot your bow.” He paused. “You know, all this resistance just makes me wonder what you’re hiding.”
Da did not flinch. “This has nothing to do with hiding. It has everything to do with order. You come back with a token and you can pry into every cranny. That’s the law. And you know it.”
“Don’t lecture me, Koramite. These are the facts. One of your own was practicing the dark arts. And one of you is harboring-”
“Ridiculous,” said Da.
The man raised his sword to Da’s neck. “Don’t interrupt me again. We’re going to search this place. Then maybe you’ll make us some dinner. Afterward, if we feel like it, your tasty daughter there will entertain us.”
“This is why hunts are regulated. Now, I want you to move on.”
“You want?” Then the man’s face changed and he jabbed his sword forward.
But Da moved. One moment he was standing heron still, the next he dodged to the side and delivered a blow to the man’s sword hand with such violence that the sword leapt from the man’s hand and fell to the dust a number of yards away.
The man gasped. He clutched his sword hand.
Da kicked the man’s leg and sent him to one knee.
The two men by the house rushed forward, but Ke and River, fast as snakes, snatched up the Hog and fallen sword and faced the hunters.
The two hunters hesitated. But Talen saw the others draw their swords.
Da knocked off the man’s helmet and held him by the hair with a knife at his throat. “Now,” said Da. “You-”
A man Talen had forgotten was behind him took Talen by the neck and pressed a knife to his back.
“Two can play that,” the man said. “Throw down, you buggered Koramite!” There was nervousness in the man’s voice. “I’ll poke him! I’ll poke him! I’ll poke him!” Each time he said it, the pitch of his voice rose, and Talen felt the knife point push a little harder into his back just where his ribs ended.
There was a deep thud like the sound of a stick hitting a melon, and the man suddenly slacked his grip and fell to the ground.
Talen turned. There stood Nettle holding a hunk of firewood.
Talen felt his back. When he pulled his hand away, blood stained his fingers.
“The sword!” Nettle said. “Get his sword!”
Talen bent over, fumbled at the man’s scabbard, and soon held the sword. It was heavy and did not feel right in his hands.
“You call your men off,” said Da to the big armsmen whose head he held by a fistful of hair. “You tell them to drop their weapons.”
“You’re dead, Koramite,” the big armsman said. He tried to break Da’s grip, but Da simply pushed the knife closer.
“Now,” said Da.
“We can take them,” one of the hunters said, and the remaining four men began to move forward. Talen would not be a match for any of them. Ke might be able to hold his own. But if they had to fight these armsmen, they would lose.
In a flash, Da stabbed the big armsman’s shoulder and put the knife point back to his neck.
The big man cried out in pain.
“The next one goes right into your neck,” said Da.
“Put them down!” the armsman called out.
The hunters hesitated.
“Drop them!” the leader bellowed.
The men reluctantly dropped their swords.
“Everything,” said Da and he pushed the knife harder into the man’s neck. “And kick them away.”
“Do it,” the leader said. His face was red and strained, a massive vein standing out on his forehead.
The men threw daggers after their swords.
“Get the bows, Nettle,” said Da, then he stood the big man up. By the time he’d walked the man past the weapons, Ke, Talen, and River each had a bow, and had strung it.
Da shoved the big man forward. “I’m going to give you ten seconds to get across that stream. Then I don’t want to see you here ever again. You can make complaints to the Shoka warlord to get your weapons back.”
The man looked at the arrows pointing at him. “You’re going to pay for this, goat-lover.”
Da took a step toward him. The man raised his arm in defense, but Da was too quick. One, two punches to the face, and the man’s nose folded to the side. Blood ran down in a thick stream. Then a kick to the groin.
The man doubled over in pain and fell to the ground.
Da grabbed him by the hair and wrenched his head back.
“Am I going to see you again?” asked Da.
The man sucked in great breaths. “No, Zun,” he managed at last. This time there was no mockery in the tone. “No.”
“Because if I do,” said Da, “I’m just going to assume you’re one of those men who hasn’t got the sense to know when to leave well enough alone. And there’s only one way to deal with those types. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Good,” said Da. “You’re a big man, a fine asset; I’m sure your Fir-Noy commanders would hate to lose one with your good sense. And just in case you change your mind, I’m going to alert the Shoka warlord that there’s someone lost on his lands.”
Then Da released him and looked at the other hunters. “I think I’ll start counting at one.”
These weren’t cowards, but Talen could see they knew they’d been beaten.
The big man got to his feet, holding his nose, the blood matting his unkempt beard, but he didn’t say a word. He limped off toward the stream. Two others helped the man Nettle had brained.
Talen and his family followed a comfortable distance behind the men, stopping at the crest of the stream bank. Talen kept his bow up but did not dare to keep his arrow fully drawn lest he accidentally loose it and strike one of them. Da may have beaten the leader, but the presence of these men still frightened him. What would happen next frightened him even more. They’d been sent by the Fir-Noy at Stag Home. You couldn’t shame part of an order and not expect the rest to rise up against you. Who knew what string of events this had initiatied?
The hunters splashed through the water. On the other side, one of them turned. It appeared he was going to say something, but before he’d fully turned, Ke’s bow hummed and Talen watched an arrow miss the man by only a foot and bury itself in a tree behind him.
The man jumped back and cursed.
“Don’t badger them,” said Da.
But Ke had another arrow nocked. “I won’t. I’ll just maim a few.”
“Ke,” Da warned.
The hunters hurried to the woods. Just before they disappeared around a bend, one of them turned and gestured a curse at them. Then he too turned and slipped into the trees.
“Those men will be back,” said Talen. “And they’ll bring the rest of their cohort with them.”
“There’s no cohort,” said Da. “This wasn’t a military mission. If it had been, we would have seen many more. And it would have been led properly. These were opportunists.”
“Someone ought to follow them anyway,” said Ke. “Just to be sure.”
Da nodded. “But you use that bow only as a last resort. We blew the fire out of them. I don’t want you stoking it up again.”
“They won’t even know I’m there,” said Ke. Then he loped after the men.
“River,” said Da. “I need you to scout the hills around the farm. I don’t want any more surprises.”
“Yes,” she said.
Da turned to Talen and Nettle. “And you two: go see to that dog.”