Chapter X - Unease

ONE YEAR, NINE MONTHS

The next morning, Zoe rose early from the small tent she had been given by Shyla the night before. She stepped outside and stretched, ran a hand through her unbound hair—she was going to have to find another leather strap to hold the long tresses out of her face—and went to find some breakfast. She had left her cloak back in the tent and shivered a little at the chill in the air. She located a large pot of porridge that hung over a fire in the middle of the camp, guarded by a portly man who doled it out, and walked over to him. “Is this for everyone?”

“Everyone who wants it,” he said, a rueful smile breaking across his wide face. “Have you a bowl?”

She shook her head. Without another word, he grabbed a wooden bowl and spoon from a small stack by his feet and gave it to her. “I carve extras for the men who lose theirs,” he explained. “You can have them. Hang unto them, though. You’ll be using them for the rest of your meals here.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. “May I have some of it?” She pointed to the bubbling porridge.

A minute later, she was seated on the ground eating the hot breakfast. When she was finished, she washed the bowl and spoon in a nearby bucket of ice water and left them in her tent. She exited with fresh purpose: first, she was going to see if she could obtain any weapons; second, she planned to get in some practice. There appeared to always be men sparring, working on their archery, and riding their horses. They had to get their weapons from somewhere. Zoe glanced around the camp and encountered two familiar faces—Geoffrey and Lance. They had been two of the three tree-abiding sentries yesterday when she and Shyla had first ridden in. They’re as good to start with as anybody, she thought. She didn’t see Shyla anywhere, she had no desire to talk with Tancred, and she had not seen Jaedon since arriving yesterday. At least I know Lance and Geoffrey’s names. They might be able to help me.

She walked over to them and waited for them to pause their sparring. Her practiced eye quickly discovered that Lance was more skilled than Geoffrey by a very great margin. She found herself rooting for the teenager, and she cringed when he quailed under a surprise move by Lance and was disarmed. He was panting and looked embarrassed when he saw she had been watching. “G’day, lady Zoe,” he muttered, hurrying to pick up the sword with an air of awkwardness about him.

“Not lady,” she corrected firmly. “Just Zoe is fine.”

She then met the eyes of Lance, who swiftly flashed a smile at her, his deep dimple appeared. She estimated him to be about twenty-two, a little more than two years her senior. He offered her a slight dip of his head and said, “Good morning to you. Have you a need for assistance, Zoe?”

“Yes. I am wondering where I can find some weapons.”

Lance looked slightly surprised at her query. “Weapons?”

She crossed her arms and nodded. “Aye, preferably a throwing dagger and sword, though a bow and arrow would not hurt either. I have not practiced with them for some time.”

“You know how to use a bow?” Geoffrey asked with ill-concealed amazement. “I didn’t think any girl learned those things except for Lady Shyla and Kris.”

Zoe vaguely wondered who Kris was but did not digress. “Well, I’m familiar with most weapons,” she said. Perhaps I’m not the best with them all, but I’m not about to tell them that. “You must have a cache of weapons somewhere, right? Where do you all get these swords?”

Geoffrey glanced at Lance uncertainly, who cleared his throat. “Ah, I don’t know if we’re free to share that with you,” he said with a trace of apology in his tone.

A rush of impatience flooded her. “Then can I use yours while you get a replacement?”

The two young men looked at each other mutely. Lance looked like he was about to reply when another voice interrupted. “You wish for weapons, Zoe?”

Zoe swiftly turned and a smile broke across her face. “Jaedon!”

The older man smiled back, the weathered skin around his eyes and lips crinkling. “You are safe and well?”

She felt a curious warmth spread throughout her body, strangely pleased that he cared to ask. “Yes, I’m fine, considering the circumstances,” she said cryptically. By the knowing gleam in Jaedon’s brown eyes, she surmised that he knew what she meant. Tancred. She refused to think about him. She quickly asked, “I’m looking for some weapons, Jaedon. Where can I get some?”

He looked a little amused as he said, “We don’t give out arms to people until they have proven they have enough skill to handle them.” He looked at her appraisingly and said, “How about you spar with Geoffrey for a few minutes—we will be able to tell if you’re capable to handle them after that.”

Geoffrey? I could beat him with my eyes closed, she thought. She did not mean to boast, but she knew that she could best the youth easily, even though she had not practiced for months. “Jaedon—” she began, trying to explain, but the man held up his hand.

“It’s necessary to test you,” he said firmly. Zoe looked at Geoffrey with a trace of pity. She did not want to embarrass him but there seemed no other way to get out of it.

“Very well,” she sighed, accepting Lance’s sword, which he wordlessly passed to her.

She hefted it, testing its weight. She swung the weapon around a couple times to get a feel for it, and then looked at Geoffrey, who looked a little curious but not worried. He thinks he’s going to be able to defeat me easily, she realized. She noticed out of the corner of her eyes that some men had stopped to watch, forming a circle around her and Geoffrey. Zoe suspected most of them were curious about her: who was this young woman who had ridden in with Shyla? She thinned her lips, pointedly ignoring their inquisitive stares and remarks to their companions.

“And…begin,” Jaedon said quietly. Geoffrey and Zoe pulled the blades of their already crossed swords away from each other with a quiet shing. Geoffrey attacked quickly and carelessly, swinging a little erratically. Zoe briefly considered allowing him to think he was besting her for a while, but decided against it and smoothly thrust her blade toward the teen’s sword hilt, twisted her wrist, and flung his weapon away.

Geoffrey gaped at her for a moment, looking a little shocked. “How did you do that?” he gasped, breaking the stunned silence that had settled over everyone watching.

She shrugged, looking down. “It’s a pretty simple move.” She didn’t mention how many months it had taken her to master the technique, practicing it over and over with Aiden—and being disarmed over and over by him.

Jaedon stepped forward and picked up Geoffrey’s sword. His expression was unreadable; Zoe was not sure what he thought about her quick, decisive move. He tossed the weapon to Lance, who caught it by reflex. “Lance. Your turn to spar with her.”

She readied herself, more wary this time. Geoffrey turned and walked to the sideline, joining the growing circle of men. Lance was much better than Geoffrey. She would have to test his dexterity and fight defensively until she figured out how best to attack.

Lance was more careful than Geoffrey, feeling out her strengths and weaknesses in the same way she was feeling out his, though she still observed a sort of cocky tilt to his head. He knew she had skill, but he thought he would defeat her in the end. She gritted her teeth, annoyed by his presumption. He won’t conquer me so easily, she inwardly vowed.

They circled around each other, their blades clashing a few times and disengaging again. Zoe’s mind tried to process everything and remember it. He’s not as strong when assaulted from the left, she noticed. And he overreacts to a strong attack; he won’t be too hard to distract with some fancy maneuvers.

She feinted an attack on his right and he sprang at her, his expression intense. She twisted away from his blade and her sword swung down and leveled at his neck. Lance froze and stared at her down the length of her blade, clearly still wondering how she was over on his left instead of his right, where he had been swinging. She dropped her sword and stepped back.

“You’re good,” Lance said, recovering and standing erect again, though surprise still tinged his green-gray eyes. “Who taught you?”

“Somebody with much more skill than me,” she said simply.

Jaedon stepped forward yet again, taking the sword from Lance. She walked toward Jaedon and was about to give him her sword and ask for a weapon of her own now that she had proven her proficiency when he looked at her with a piercing gaze and stopped her.

“Ready yourself,” he said, dropping the cloak that he wore around his shoulders.

What? She did not want to fight Jaedon! She frowned; a little irritated at the position she had been put in. Backing down is not an option, though. She resumed a loose, ready position. She tried to remember all Aiden’s instructions as her blade engaged Jaedon’s.

Instantly she knew she was up against an accomplished swordsman. Everything from the way he held the blade to the poised look on his face spoke of his expertise. Her unwillingness to fight the man faded as her determination rose; she did not want to be beaten by him. Jaedon attacked with lighting quick movements, keeping her alert and on high guard. The minutes ticked away and sweat broke out on her brow. By now over thirty men were gathered around, debating who would come out the victor. She shut them out, channeling her concentration toward Jaedon. Focus, she ordered herself.

After ten minutes of this, Jaedon started to move and she realized he had only been toying with her, seeing how quick her responses were. His attacks came quicker, so fast she could hardly follow his blade. She felt desperation rising as she tried to keep up with him and worked to push the emotion down. Zoe called on all of her skill and parried and thrust efficiently, conserving her strength. An opportunity came and she ducked beneath Jaedon’s sweeping blade and attacked from the right. He swung around and the tip of his blade snaked forward, seeking her hilt so that he could disarm her. Backpedaling rapidly, she skidded on a hidden icy patch. She regained her balance quickly and without falling, but it was not enough. Jaedon took the opportunity given and before she could parry, his sword point was at her throat.

She was panting and her face was red as she berated herself furiously. You should have been watching where you were going. A slip like that would differentiate between life and death in a real battle! Jaedon lowered his sword. Zoe was slightly mollified to see he was breathing hard as well, but still discomfited by her loss. She tried to console herself. At least I gave him a difficult time.

“You are a worthy opponent,” he said with a touch of respect.

“Do I qualify for a weapon of my own now?” she asked with a touch of sarcasm that brought a ripple of laughter from the surrounding men. Jaedon grinned, and a reluctant smile worked its way up her lips. Her pride had a difficult time accepting defeat, but she discovered it was hard to stay angry with Jaedon.

“I think we can furnish you with some weapons,” Jaedon assented. He extended his hand and helped her up. “Come.”

She handed her sword to Lance and Jaedon gave his to Geoffrey. Several of the men smiled welcomingly at her; they all appeared inquisitive. “Very nice job there, m’lady,” one told her admiringly. “Not many could last so long against Jaedon.”

Zoe nodded silently to most of them, unsure of how to view their interest. She was uncomfortable being the center of attention. She stayed close to Jaedon and followed him toward the northern end of the camp. They eventually escaped the dense pack of men and she hurried to pull abreast of Jaedon.

“What kind of weapons would you like?”

“I lost a hunting dagger and a practice sword-blade some months ago. I’d like to replace them.”

“Only a practice blade?” Jaedon looked at her with surprise. “I would have thought you’d have invested in a good sword judging by your skill.”

She shook her head. “Where I came from,” she said quietly, “I was a learner with average abilities. I did not think I needed a real sword.”

“You shall have one now,” Jaedon promised, and Zoe felt a twinge of relief that he did not inquire more into where she came from. Her anticipation grew as they drew close to what looked like a large cave. It was a rocky outcropping, well protected by pines. She clambered up the cold stone with Jaedon and they reached the mouth of the cave in a short amount of time.

“This is most commonly known as the disguise cave,” Jaedon said. A torch was burning in a roughly made sconce that was attached to the stone wall, and he grabbed it, lighting the inside of the cave. “We have many weapons and more to choose from here.”

Zoe’s eyes widened as the light from the torch revealed rows of swords, axes, bows and matching quivers, and a myriad of other weapons. Lances and hunter daggers were off to the side, and she spotted helmets, shields, and breastplates stacked in neat piles too. Large trunks, ancient looking with weathered wood and heavy iron framework, were arranged in several even ranks in front of her. She looked at Jaedon quickly. “Who uses all these?” she asked in a low tone.

“All the men,” Jaedon said. “It’s useful to fit into whatever surroundings we need to. The trunks hold clothing of all sorts, so we could dress as noblemen, serfs, or even monks if we needed to.”

“But where do you get them from?” she exclaimed. “They must cost much gold.”

Jaedon smiled faintly. “The Hunter attacks slavers who carry heavy bags of gold or passing Elangsian battalions who have ill intentions. We gather the gold for the clothes from the slavers and the weapons from the battalions.”

Zoe could not help but to be impressed, though she begrudged giving Tancred any credit. “Interesting,” she said enigmatically.

“What weapons would you like?”

She walked forward and picked up a long, beautifully formed sword, one that had immediately drawn her eyes when she saw the weapons. The hilt was wrapped in soft leather, and small vines and leaves were engraved on the grip. It was a good weight, and she noted the blade was quite sharp when she pulled it a little ways out of its scabbard. Very nice, she thought.

“There is a matching set of daggers that may interest you as well, if you’re as good with daggers as you are with the sword.”

She turned in surprise, for it was not Jaedon but Tancred who had spoken. The man’s tall frame was silhouetted in the opening of the cave, but he walked inside after a moment and she was able to see his face. She looked at him impassively, gripping the sword a little tighter. “Indeed?” she replied to his remark about the daggers, determined to retain her composure.

“Yes,” he said, crossing the cave to the dagger pile. “A fine set of weapons.”

She followed him quietly, pausing to accept the torch Jaedon extended toward her with suddenly cold fingers. “I will take my leave for now,” Jaedon told them. “I must see to other things in the camp.”

Zoe was sorry to see him leave; she liked his companionship and besides that, being alone with Tancred was not high on her list of favorite pastimes. Tancred nodded sharply at Jaedon and then turned his attention back to the daggers. He quickly located the ones that matched the sword Zoe held and pulled them out of the pile, handing them to her. Zoe examined them carefully, noting the leather belt that held the two dagger sheaths with approval. “I think I’ll take these,” she said abruptly.

“They will serve you well in hand-to-hand combat,” Tancred commented. “You did well against Jaedon. You have much skill.”

She did not reply. She did feel a twinge of pride that he had seen her defeat Lance and Geoffrey. Perhaps she was not as miserable with weapons as she used to think.

He continued, “But you may do well here in the forest with some arrows and a good bow. Have you any experience with them?”

“Yes, but I’m nowhere as good as my sister Ilara,” she said without thinking. She stopped suddenly, realizing her vocal trip. Why did I have to mention Ilara? she inwardly groaned. She didn’t want to share anything with Tancred about her family. It was too private and too painful.

She glanced up at Tancred and knew he had noted her slip. She prayed he would not inquire further. She saw interest lurking behind his blue gaze, but also quiet respect. He motioned toward the bows, arrows, and quivers and asked, “Would you like to look at these, or are the daggers and sword sufficient?”

“I think I’d like to see the bows,” Zoe said, relief flooding her. She did not look at him, grateful for his restraint but unwilling to admit it. A few minutes later she had strapped the daggers around her waist and picked a bow that was the right size for her—an attractive weapon that reminded her of something Daelia would fashion in her workshop: a tool both lovely and powerful.

She held the sword in her left hand and the bow in her right with the quiver hanging from her shoulder. It felt good to have weapons again. She already planned to fasten the scabbard of the sword to her baldric later so that it would be readily available for her to draw anytime she needed to, and the bow and quiver would find their places on Brac’s back for use when she was riding.

Just then, an odd noise came from the mouth of the cave, and both of them turned. What she saw caused her eyebrows to shoot up. A small creature, no more than a foot long, had scampered forward into the cave. It paused for a moment and chirped, the same sound they had all heard a moment ago, then flicked its long, barbed tail and came closer. Tancred knelt and said, “Egan! You’re back. Have you come from Kris?”

Zoe watched the lizard like creature come to Tancred and agilely crawl up his arm. It was chirping and hissing in an odd way as it settled around the back of Tancred’s neck, its head on one side and its tail resting on the other side. “What is that?” she asked, unable to repress her curiosity.

The creature’s head shot up and looked at her with an expression Zoe could only describe as quizzical. It hissed a little and looked back at Tancred, who grinned. “This is Egan. He is a pseudo-dragon. They are best described as miniature dragons, though they aren’t quite the same.” He walked forward and continued, “Let’s go outside.”

è è è è è è è è è

Tancred listened to Egan’s suspicious hissing with a small smile. He and Zoe exited into the daylight and he felt her furtive gaze. Tancred remembered the first time he had seen a pseudo-dragon and he admitted that he probably had looked the same as she did now: frankly curious.

Egan was covered with brownish-red scales and his eyes were an odd golden color. He had wings that were folded tightly up on his back, but what a person could see of them told them that they were leathery but delicate. His tail was twice as long as his body and constantly flicking. Tancred knew from experience that most people did not like the look of the spikes at the end of the appendage, but he also knew those barbs were useful protection for the creature and were never used against friends. Egan continued chirping and hissing as he stared back at Zoe.

“Can he talk?” she asked, fascinated.

Egan was outraged and clicked furiously at Tancred. Tancred’s smile widened lazily and he soothed the creature before telling Zoe, “He understands human language, and humans can learn to comprehend pseudo-dragons, but neither of us can speak the others tongue.”

“Oh,” she said.

“How is Kris, Egan?” Tancred addressed the pseudo-dragon.

The little creature reluctantly tore his gaze away from Zoe and turned to Tancred, communicating rapidly.

“She is well?” Tancred repeated for confirmation. Egan replied affirmatively.

“Who is Kris?” Zoe questioned.

Tancred eyed her keenly. “She is my sister, younger by a year.” He observed surprise dart through her eyes, though she kept her expression masked. Her eyes tell so much, he thought. She doesn’t realize I can read them.

“Oh,” she said again, apparently at a loss.

“Come, let’s go back to the camp,” Tancred said, taking pity on her. He turned his head toward Egan and added, “My mother will want to see you too.”

Egan chirped self-importantly. Zoe was silent, so Tancred reverted to his own thoughts as they climbed down the rocks and tramped back toward the large encampment through the soft layer of snow. Thank Deus that Kristalyn is safe. He and his younger sister had been involved in their parents’ life of adventure since they were pre-adolescent, and as they grew into adults, they continued the legacy.

Since their father’s murder, almost seven years before, Tancred had stepped into his father’s place as the Hunter while his mother and Kris had continued as spies and emissaries for top-secret missions for Aerilya. Tancred himself still was used for a spy—his artificial life in Ruma as Cormac Alstair the merchant showed that—but only for the most important or dangerous missions so that he could remain in Mairbrac for the majority of his time. Kris and Shyla were not afraid of the perilous assignments, but Tancred made sure neither of them was sent to the worst places. It was one of the ways he could protect them in their hazardous occupations…one of precious few ways.

I have to talk with Egan about Kris and see what she is doing, he thought. She’s still on assignment in the Elangsian countryside; hopefully she hasn’t run into any trouble. He knew his sister was capable of taking care of herself, but that didn’t mean that he wanted her to have problems.

He stopped; they were inside the camp again. Zoe murmured a faint “Thanks for the weapons” before she slipped away in the direction of the horses, most likely in search of her stallion. Tancred watched her walk away, more curious than ever about the fiery young woman. He wondered what Ilara was like; if there were more siblings; how Zoe had learned to handle a sword well enough to challenge Jaedon’s skill; what her past was. So many questions…not enough answers. She wore armor a foot thick over her emotions and since he was well aware that he was not anywhere close to being one of her trusted friends, he had little chance to penetrate her protective shell for a long time. Patience, he told himself.

“All right, Egan,” he said, deliberately changing his line of thought and peering over at the pseudo-dragon who was still curled around his neck. “Tell me about Kris….”

Chapter IX - Revelation

Zoe followed Shyla as they continued through the woods, leaving the three sentries behind. She smiled to herself. The three of them had been amusing. She hoped that the rest of the men in the Hunter’s camp were as good-natured. And that the Hunter himself is not overly serious, her thought continued. Her smile faded.

They were traveling up a slight incline with fallen trees and small icy patches surrounded them. However Shyla led her through them with no problem, weaving and turning sharply at times, and Zoe suddenly realized that there was some semblance of a trail that the woman was following.

The incline steepened, and Shyla’s horse clambered up more quickly than the gray gelding, reaching the summit swiftly. Zoe squeezed her legs and leaned forward a bit to help her horse out as much as she could, and he finally gathered himself and scrambled up too. They made it to the top and Zoe was surprised to see that the trees were very thin here; the sky could be seen in great large patches overhead. She glanced around and her eyes attempted to take in everything she saw all at once.

The top of the hill was large, snow-dusted, and relatively flat on top; tall, mature trees grew there but all the thickets and underbrush had long since been cleared out. Pine trees waved in the chilly winter breeze here and there around the outer edge of the glade-like place. Flurries were drifting down from the iron-gray heavens and either added to the layer of snow around the outer ring of the camp, or melted into mud and slush closer to the central hub, where bonfires roared and shod feet walked.

Shyla turned to Zoe and smiled quietly at her. “Welcome to the camp of the Hunter.”

Zoe nodded mutely. There were people everywhere! Tents were set up, most of them clumped by the pine trees for added protection. The smell of smoke and roasting venison touched her nostrils, coming from the direction of the fire pits. Men, most of them garbed as peasants, were in various states of activity. She spotted a couple of them turning the spit that held the skinned body of a dead stag; several were practicing archery at the far end of the glade, off in the distance; the majority appeared to be at home in this place, laughing and joking with their companions.

A man ran up to them and said, “Welcome, Shyla!” He nodded at Zoe respectfully and then looked back at Shyla. “I’ll take your horses.”

“Thank you, Bryan.” Shyla dismounted gracefully and Zoe followed suit. She released the gelding’s reins to Bryan and nodded her thanks. She kept scanning the camp as Shyla spoke.

“I will go find the Hunter. I must speak with him and I will tell him that you are here.”

Zoe was about to ask if she was supposed to accompany Shyla to meet the man when she froze, her eyes wide with shock. She stared across the camp and she vaguely wondered if she was hallucinating.

For standing there, proud as ever, was Brac. A rush of emotion blazed through her, startling her with its intensity. “Brac,” she murmured.

“What’s wrong?” Shyla asked, her voice sounding a little concerned.

“Nothing,” Zoe responded in a near whisper. She pointed to Brac and inquired, “Where did you get that horse from?”

“We picked him up on the road some time ago,” Shyla said. “He was trotting loose. He came along after a bit of a fight but so far, nobody has been able to ride him. He bucks everyone off.”

That’s my boy, Zoe thought with a small smile. “May I go see him?”

“Of course.” A flicker of curiosity lit Shyla’s blue-gray eyes. “Do you recognize the stallion?”

“Recognize him? He’s mine,” she said. Without another word she hurried across the camp—around the fire pits and milling men and through the mud-hued slush—toward Brac. He saw her when she was about twenty paces away and let out a piercing whinny, tossing his head up and down against the rope that bound him to a tree. She reached him a moment later and he pushed his muzzle insistently up against her, nosing her over as if to make sure she was all right. He gently lipped her hair as she stroked his strong neck.

“Hey boy,” she whispered, unable to repress the grin that moved across her face. “I missed you!” She rested her forehead against his for a moment, closing her eyes and taking a steadying breath. The familiar scent of her stallion came to her and tears of happiness pricked at her closed eyelids. “At last,” she breathed to him, opening her eyes. “I have been going crazy without you, Brac.”

He whuffed softly into her cupped palm, his deep brown eyes as warm and spirited as she remembered. She took heart. I have Brac. At least I know that whatever happens next, I’ll have him with me. Her smile widened. “You’re also a connection between me and Aiden,” she murmured to the horse. “It is so good to see you again.”

Just then, an all-too familiar voice broke through her joyful thoughts. “You two seem well acquainted already.”

Zoe’s heart dropped as she whirled—

And stared up into the eyes of Cormac Alstair.

Time seemed to stop for a moment as she looked at him in shock, unable to comprehend this horrible twist of affairs. Slowly her senses began trickling back, and soon her mind was flooded with questions that demanded answers—immediate answers.

“What are you doing here?” she finally challenged, regaining the ability to speak with some difficulty. “You’re supposed to be in Meru!”

“I live here; I might as well ask what you are doing here.” She despised the way his eyes laughed. “And how does a slave girl own a fine steed like this?”

She bristled. “I am not your slave anymore, Cormac Alstair! And he is my stallion, so yes, I’m well acquainted with him.” She ignored the stares of passing men, keeping her narrowed green eyes fixed on him.

He sobered suddenly, to her bewilderment, the amusement dying from his eyes. “No, you’re not a slave anymore,” he agreed. “You’re free now.”

She tried to hide her uncertainty. One minute he was amused by her, the next, serious! What was she to think of him? “Well, fine then,” she said as if she was not affected by his confusing mannerisms.

“And it’s not Cormac,” he said quietly.

She stared at him, her emotions so puzzled and jumbled it was hopeless trying to sort through them. Anger, fear, dread, and bewilderment vied for top position. “What?” she barely managed to get the word out. “You’re not making sense.”

“My name is not Cormac,” he elaborated a little.

“Then who are you?” she exploded with frustration. Oh, Deus, what is happening? Where are You? Why is he here, of all people? She was so perplexed that she unconsciously sent up a prayer. Whether or not she believed Deus or Christus listened to her prayers did not much matter; pure instinct took over while she remained in a state of shock.

“Tancred Ralyn,” he stated, replying to her inquiry.

“Why aren’t you in Ruma?” she asked, her voice lowered this time and touched with bleakness. I cannot believe he’s here. I just escaped from him. “Is Jaedon here? And is he still Jaedon or somebody else—Bob, perhaps?”

A flicker of a smile touched his lips at her sarcasm. “Jaedon is still Jaedon. Zoe, we were on a mission that required I keep my identity secret.”

“You’re not a merchant from Meru,” she said flatly.

“No.”

“Your name is Tancred Ralyn and you were a spy in Ruma.”

“Yes.”

She looked at him, her jaw tight, unable to articulate anything. What can I say in a situation like this? she wondered dryly. “Oh, lovely, you’re here too. This is the best thing that could ever happen to me—my old master shows up at the place I had hoped to find help in! Splendid! Let’s have a party while we’re together, shall we?” She heaved a sigh of disgust, hating the quiet, frank way that he stood before her. Why must he be so annoying yet seem so honest at the same time?

“Why are you in the Hunter’s camp?” she asked at last. “You can’t possible be one of his men, can you?” Please, tell me you’re leaving soon, she inwardly pleaded.

He gave her a sudden, crooked grin, and Zoe was taken aback by the mischievous look that came back into his blue eyes. I expected some sort of an explanation, not more trouble, she thought with a trace of worry.

He opened his mouth to reply when a man walked up and clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “Good to have you back, Hunter. Haven’t had a chance to see you since you returned.”

Zoe’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t help it. Her mind raced and she stared at Cormac—Tancred—whoever he is—with shock.

He’s the Hunter?

She swallowed, only to have her throat give a dry click and tighten convulsively. She backed up a step, felt Brac’s warm shoulder behind her, and then did the unthinkable: she turned and ran away.

è è è è è è è è è

Tancred Ralyn, also known as the Hunter of Mairbrac, silently watched Zoe flee, the joviality fading from his eyes and being replaced by brooding thoughtfulness. Now what, Deus? He silently questioned, glancing up at the sky for a moment. She is hurt; but how else could I have done this? I could not reveal my identity to her while we were in Ruma, and she ran away before I could explain the situation after we departed the enemy territory.

A small sound came from the left and he glanced over to see his mother, Shyla, looking at him quietly. He had always thought his mother was beautiful with her ash-gold hair and calm visage. Her beauty was only enhanced by her keen perception and wisdom.

“Who is she, Tancred?” Shyla asked quietly.

“Her name is Zoe,” Tancred replied. “I don’t even know her last name.”

“You are the merchant who bought her in Ruma and from whom she escaped last week, aren’t you.” It wasn’t really a question, but he nodded affirmatively anyway. Shyla stared contemplatively into the distance. “She is very confused right now. She needs some answers.”

“I know that. I wish I could have told her more while I was in Ruma, but I would not risk Jaedon’s safety, nor my own.” Tancred knew she realized without him telling her how dangerous it was in Ruma. It’s where her husband was killed; she’s aware of the treachery that abounds there. He ran a hand through his hair and continued, “I was going to tell her once we were safely away from Elangsia’s capital, but she left.”

Shyla’s mouth turned upward in a smile. “How did she get away from you?”

“I was distracted for a moment.”

She searched his face knowingly. “Brastus?”

“Yes,” Tancred said tightly.

“Hate never solves things, my son,” she pointed out softly. “Forgiveness is like a balm and one that I fear you must still apply to your soul.”

Tancred’s jaw tightened. Brastus doesn’t merit any of my forgiveness, nor does Captain Ricald. They are both deserving of death.

Shyla sighed a little and touched his face, turning him toward her. “Go find Zoe,” she told him firmly. “She is lost and needs answers. Do not expect her trust, or at least do not expect it yet. She will not give it without great justification, and in her eyes you have betrayed her.”

“What else could I have done?”

“Nothing,” Shyla said calmly. She looked pensive. “Nevertheless, she carries a vast burden of pain, Tancred.”

So I observed, he thought. Zoe was young but she had seen much in her life, he had long since determined. “I will find her,” he told his mother. “When I return, I want to talk to you about your last mission.”

“And yours, too,” she said. She smiled playfully, then pulled down his head and kissed his cheek. “Welcome back, son.”

He smiled back affectionately and started striding in the direction Zoe had taken. It was time to set things to rights between him and the enigmatic young woman…or at least take a step in that general direction.

è è è è è è è è è

Zoe heard Tancred’s footsteps behind her but did not turn, keeping her arms crossed over her chest and her chin raised. She was standing on a small hill by a brook that was not completely frozen over. She was calm now, or as calm as the circumstances allowed her to be. The soothing sound of trickling water and few minutes by herself had allowed her to void her expression and curb her temper. Now, she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing outwardly displayed what she was feeling inside.

“I owe you an explanation, Zoe.”

She did not say anything, merely raising an eyebrow and keeping her jaw clamped shut. She saw him out of the corner of her eye, standing beside her. He was not looking at her but down at the creek as she was.

She remained silent. He can start, she decided stubbornly.

“I don’t like the fact that I kept my identity from you,” he began quietly. “But it was necessary. I am a man who keeps many secrets, and those secrets are usually what separate me and my companions from life and death. If you had been a traitor and I had told you too much, Jaedon or myself might have been killed.”

She still did not look at him but asked tonelessly, “Are you really the Hunter?”

“Yes, I am.”

“But hasn’t the Hunter been active for many years? You cannot be more than twenty-five,” she argued, still desperate to keep herself from the truth—that the Hunter she sought for help was one and the same with the man she had fled from in Ruma. “If you are so young, you would have been a mere boy when the war began twelve years ago.”

“I was eleven, almost twelve, when the war started,” Tancred affirmed. “My father was the original Hunter. I was seventeen when he was murdered. I took up his name and mission.”

So he’s only twenty-three, close to twenty-four, she thought with surprise. She had thought him older. She was also taken aback by his forthrightness about his father’s murder. Zoe glanced at him. He looked back silently, his blue eyes appearing frank. He’s telling the truth, she thought reluctantly. For some inexplicable reason she wished he was lying. It was easier staying angry with a liar than acknowledging he was telling the truth and listening to him. “Why were you in Ruma in the first place?”

“For the last few years King Trystellan Jaeger, lord of Aerilya, has called on me to conduct the most important spying missions,” Tancred explained. He looked back at the creek but not before she observed his eyes darken forbiddingly. “My sister and mother also help our king in that way. I always am the one who spies in Ruma, however. My mother and sister will not go there.”

Zoe was startled by the harsh tone in his voice. Again she wondered why he hated Ruma so vehemently. It was something that went deeper than mere dislike for the Elangsian country, but she could not pinpoint what it was. Could his father have been murdered while in Ruma, perhaps? That would explain his detestation of the place.

Mentally shaking herself, she abruptly turned completely and stared at him. “Why did you buy me and keep me captive for three months?” she asked in a hard voice. She did not want him to see how angry and humiliated she was about that but it was difficult to keep the emotions from taking over. “Why didn’t you liberate me once you bought me, if you really are this Hunter who is legendary for freeing slaves and fighting for those who cannot defend themselves? Why?” The last word was spat out with all the contempt she had inside her from the long months of captivity. Her eyes glittered like emeralds touched with frost.

“I am a spy, Zoe,” he responded in a tone that contested her own. “The king of Elangsia has been known to kill men like me brutally and without mercy. Spies employed by him and his advisors are sprinkled liberally throughout the capital city. He is a volatile man, having been known to murder those he called friends at some point, often for a petty reason. I cannot go blithely around in the capital of Elangsia buying slaves and setting them free! My hands were tied when I bought you. I stepped in to protect you from being taken and abused by others, and I swear I was going to free you when we left the city. You ran away before I could tell you anything.”

“If you wanted to protect someone, why didn’t you buy Grace?” she asked bitterly. “She is a little girl, the most sweet, defenseless person in the world. I don’t need your pretense of assistance.” She stared at him defiantly. “I have little that would keep me here in Aerilya—no family or life that I might hope to return to. The only reason I stay is for Grace, Tryna, Rebekka, and Marissa. They are slaves and since I have tasted the bitterness of captivity, I would never abandon them to that fate forever. I returned here to Mairbrac to find the Hunter and ask him for assistance in finding my friends and freeing them.”

An image of the slave trader who had first kidnapped her and taken Sam’s carving of Brac flew through her mind and she added, “I also hoped for help in finding the slaver Terrance Grant who first took me and my friends and punishing him. He has something of mine that I need to retrieve.”

She paused and took a deep breath, suddenly realizing all the information she was dumping on Tancred. He can deal with it, she decided acrimoniously. He remained quiet in the face of her rampage. She finished with an effort: “Now, though I in truth despise the thought of asking for your help, I want you to help me liberate my friends. And if you will not, I will try myself.”

He did not speak for a long moment, but his expression was reflective. When he finally replied to her, his voice rang with a mixture of thoughtfulness and intensity. “Do you trust me, Zoe?”

She shook her head, taken off guard by the question. “No,” she whispered stiffly. “But that does not mean that I don’t want the assistance of you and your men.”

He looked down at her and she thought she saw a flicker of kindness in his gaze. It only caused her spine to stiffen and she looked away. “Then I cannot help you,” he said softly.

Her heart dropped with dismay but she refused to show it to him. He asks for too much, she thought stubbornly. I cannot give him my trust. Not when he has proven himself untrustworthy. No. It is too much.

She did not respond to him and after several moments of silence he turned and walked back the way he had come. She heard him pause. “You are welcome back at camp. My mother, Shyla, will make certain that you are cared for.”

Shyla is his mother? Zoe’s eyebrows shot up with surprise, but she merely nodded in reply. He left, and she stared down at the creek, again listening to its soothing murmur. Her mind ran over the conversation she had just had. Time flowed by, losing meaning, and she grew steadily colder as the chilly winter wind cut through her cloak and numbed her hands, nose, and ears.

How can he expect me to give him my trust? she wondered with mild disbelief. Anything or anyone that I placed my faith in has failed me at some time. Why would Tancred be any different? She looked up at the sky and exhaled, her breath misting in front of her face.

“And why would you be any different either, Deus?” she questioned resentfully. She felt so lost, so betrayed and lonely, that she hardly cared if the Unseen One struck her dead for her challenging words. Aiden had told her and all her other siblings many times that Deus was God: He could handle questioning and doubts. But Aiden doesn’t even believe that, she thought cynically. I don’t see why I should take his word for it. It was the first time she had doubted her older brother and she felt uneasy about it.

She continued to look up at the skies through the bare tree branches. “You promise to be there and then You don’t come, Deus. You took my family. You took all that I held dear.”

You are alive. You have Brac. You are not a slave anymore. You escaped from Ruma. Small whispers echoed through her mind, but she shook her head against their persistent truth. “No,” she murmured with frustration. I’m the only one I can depend on. That’s just how it’s going to be.

Quiet resolve blanketed her. If Tancred won’t help me without me naively depending on him, then I’ll do this myself. And since he has opened his camp for me to stay in, I might as well remain and get some weapons…and practice. She knew she was not as gifted as her older siblings with weapons, but the mere fact that she was a Romany meant she was better than most people. I’ll work until I’m the best I can be, good enough to fight unaided.

She lifted her chin with a feeling of defiance. A memory flashed through her mind, accompanied by an image of her twin, Sam: he had once told her that when he saw her raise her chin, he knew she was not going to change her mind. She could still see him saying that in her remembrance, the sun bringing out the brightest red strands of his hair as they sat cross-legged in the garden on a lazy afternoon back when they were in their early teens. Back before trouble had torn them apart.

I haven’t altered so much since then, she thought with a wistful feeling toward her twin. I’m not about to start changing my mind now.

“And when I’m done training,” she whispered, “then, I’ll go to Ruma.”

Chapter VIII - Shyla

Zoe followed the two men into the camp on foot, every sense alert. She led the gray gelding by the reins, fingering the leather. She was not worried…yet. The two men had not shown her any violence, but she did not like that she was unaware of their nationality. They walked up to one of the largest fires and she was grateful for the heat that emanated from it. She felt the curious stares of many passing soldiers but ignored them. They need not know why she was here.

“Wait here, Mistress Zoe,” the first man who escorted her in told her. “Remar, stay with her.”

The second man, Remar, nodded his head but did not say anything. The first man left, exiting the circle of light that the fire threw out. She eyed the camp surreptitiously; on each tent was a crimson and white pennant of a great rearing unicorn. She had never seen that particular banner during her time in Ruma, which was a good sign that she was finally among the Aerilyans, who were more likely to be friends than the Elangsians.

It took several more minutes but eventually the first man returned, this time with several men trailing him. They looked to be military commanders, but Zoe was not sure what rank they held. The man who stepped forward was dark-haired with a furrowed brow and a fur cloak thrown over his shoulders. He wore a leather breastplate that was studded with protruding bits of iron, and a large sword hung at his side by way of a wide belt.

“Who are you?” he asked in a deep, husky voice. His question was blunt but his tone still courteous.

“My name is Zoe,” she replied, repeating what she had already told the two men who originally stopped her. “I am looking for a man called the Hunter. Do you know of his whereabouts?”

“What business do you have with the Hunter?”

“I am an escaped slave. I have just come from Ruma and wish to speak to him.”

“You are from Ruma?” The man’s voice was laced with suspicion.

“No, I am not native of that country,” she explained. “I was taken as a slave there in mid-autumn. I was sold to a merchantman and only escaped three days ago. I must speak with the Hunter, for I have friends still trapped in Ruma.”

The commander remained silent for a moment, and two of his companions talked softly together. Zoe wondered what they were saying. She squared her shoulders, tightening her grip on the leather reins a little. It was time to ask a few questions of her own.

“Am I right in supposing you are Aerilyan?” She knew it was fairly obvious by now that they were, but she wanted to hear them say it.

The commander looked surprised at her question and nodded. “Yes, we are. I am General Marron Kane, and this is First Marshal Harris and Corporal Faleron.” The marshal and corporal bowed their heads politely to her, and she nodded back. “So, you are not native to Elangsia; where then do you hail from?”

She hid her frown. She had just lost the upper hand in the questioning. “I traveled from the other side of the Cirthian Mountains. I had been in this forest for only a week before I was kidnapped and have since been a slave in Ruma.”

“For the last three months you’ve been a slave?” asked First Marshal Harris skeptically. Zoe could feel his mistrust emanating toward her. “You escaped and now you wish to find the Hunter?”

“I have been a slave the last two and a half months,” she corrected him coolly. “And yes, I escaped, but not before trial and error. I was thwarted by my master the first time I attempted to leave.”

“You were in Ruma?”

“That is where I was bought.” She hesitated. “I’m not a spy for the Elangsians, if that is what you are getting at.”

General Kane looked at her keenly. “You must admit that your story is rather fantastic. You have traveled from a land far from here, were soon kidnapped and sold to the country we have been fighting for over a decade. Now you return to Aerilya, searching for a most powerful ally to our country. How else are we to view you?”

“With trust,” she responded. “I bring nothing ill to this camp, nor am I seeking to harm the Hunter or reveal his secret. I merely have friends whom I wish to see free once more. I have tasted the bitterness of slavery,” she added, her words quiet, “and I do not want others to continue suffering that same fate.”

“Strong words from a young woman,” the general said, his craggy face thoughtful. Zoe disliked his insinuation that because she was a woman she had no reason to speak strongly, but let it pass. “I will be perfectly blunt with you, Mistress Zoe. Your conduct and story are both difficult to believe.”

“Sir, I have nothing to prove that my word is true,” she said calmly. “But I can tell you that I despise slavery and everyone who support its vile continuation with all my heart. If it were in my power, I would see the king of Elangsia off his throne for the cruelties he has put upon his people. I am not an enemy nor a spy of Elangsia.”

“Hmm” was all the general said.

Zoe took a deep breath. “And I wish to see the Hunter. I know he is a powerful man and I seek his assistance.”

She stood as straight as she could, vaguely aware of the night activity of the camp around her, but more focused on the men who stood in front of her. Remar and the other man who had originally brought her into the camp waited silently on the side. The first marshal and corporal were also quiet, standing a little behind General Kane. The general’s eyes were hooded and unreadable. Zoe wished she could know what was going on behind his brooding expression.

“As you have been frank with me, I will be frank with you,” he finally broke the silence. “The Hunter is a very well guarded secret of our country. No one knows where his camp is except for few privileged persons. I cannot tell you its whereabouts.”

Zoe’s heart sank for a moment. So close. She would have to continue searching on her own, then. Somehow, she would find this mysterious man. But just then, another voice came from the darkness outside the ring of firelight, interrupting Zoe’s thoughts.

“You cannot tell her where it is, General Kane, but I can.”

Zoe turned and stopped in surprise. The gelding’s head swerved around too and he inhaled, his nostrils flaring as he took in the newcomer.

A woman stepped into the light, her form tall and lithe. Her dark blond hair was plaited and the long braid was pulled over her left shoulder and hung down almost to her waist. Her face was beautiful and smooth, though she was clearly at least forty-five years of age. But what struck Zoe the most were the woman’s clothes. She was dressed in an outfit similar to Zoe’s own—leggings, a long tunic, and a wide belt. Zoe had not observed another woman dressed as she was since she had left Braedoch and seen her sisters for the last time. She took all this in at a quick glance and then her green eyes darted up to meet the woman’s cool blue-gray gaze.

“Shyla, are you sure?” General Kane’s voice broke through Zoe’s thoughts and jerked her back into reality. “She could be a spy.”

The woman, apparently named Shyla, kept her gaze locked with Zoe’s. A long moment passed, and Zoe struggled to keep her chin up and eyes steady. Finally Shyla spoke, and though her words were directed toward General Kane, she did not look away from Zoe. “She is no spy, General. Her eyes verify her story. She is not a traitor, nor a liar.”

Zoe felt relieved that the woman believed her story. “Who are you?” she asked softly.

“My name is Shyla,” she replied, “and that is all you need know at the present, besides the fact that I can take you to the Hunter.”

“How?”

“I have my ways,” she said, amusement coloring her voice. She finally glanced away from Zoe and toward the cluster of military leaders. “General, I will take her with me. If I have judged wrongly and she is a traitor, I will bear the blame and consequences.”

The general seemed hesitant but resigned. Zoe had the feeling that he knew this strange woman well; he knew that once Shyla’s mind was made up, it was not going to change. “Very well,” he agreed. “You may take her with you.”

Shyla nodded. “Thank you,” she said with a gracious air. “Zoe and I will leave at dawn, then. That is, if you wish to come with me,” she looked back to Zoe. Her tone seemed to bear a ring of challenge to it.

“I will come,” Zoe said simply. She was never one to pass up a challenge, but still, her quick decision surprised her a little. She knew next to nothing about this woman, yet she somehow felt Shyla could be trusted. She suspected Shyla was thinking similar thoughts about Zoe too. Neither woman was familiar with the other, but they were willing to trust each other, for the moment at least.

I wonder how she knows about the Hunter’s hideout, she wondered vaguely. She did not say anything as Shyla worked out some small details with the military men. Weariness was beginning to overcome her, despite the situation. At the moment, all she wanted was a warm, comfortable bed with a heavy blanket and a night with no dreams. She closed her eyes briefly as she thought of the imminent nightmares. I pray they don’t come tonight, she thought, but she had little hope of avoiding them.

“Zoe.” Shyla’s voice came. Zoe opened her eyes and looked at Shyla, who beckoned to her. Zoe wondered if she imagined the quick flash of gentleness in Shyla’s gaze. “Come with me. You may stay with me in my tent tonight.”

“Thank you,” Zoe responded gratefully. She glanced back at the general and his companions, and the general dipped his head in deference to her. In response, she also inclined her head slightly. Shyla walked quickly toward a brown tent that was positioned on the other side of the large fire and Zoe hurried to catch up, the soles of her boots sinking into the ankle-deep snow with a slight crunch at each footfall. Shyla pulled open the flap and Zoe followed her inside the tent.

“Here are blankets and a cushion for your head,” Shyla said, handing the items to Zoe. Zoe thanked her and took in the small enclosure at a glance. There was no cot. A simple bedroll was on the ground and a knapsack was open at its base. Zoe looked at it curiously but Shyla closed it before she could see any of the contents.

She laid out her “bed” quietly and then sat down cross-legged on it as Shyla followed suit on her own blankets. The two of them looked at each other silently for a long moment before Shyla broke the silence.

“Why are you looking for the Hunter?”

“I have friends back in Ruma. I have only heard rumors, but it seems he frees slaves. I am hoping that he will help me.”

Shyla appraised her, her eyes showing neither agreement nor disagreement to Zoe’s presumptions about the Hunter. Zoe knew the woman must know a great deal about the man if she was privy to the whereabouts of his camp, but she was not sure how to get the information out of the woman.

“You were a slave in Ruma?” Shyla questioned finally.

“Yes. I was originally bought in Ruma, but the man who purchased me resided in Ruma.”

Shyla’s blue-gray gaze seemed to sharpen and she asked, “How did you escape him?”

“During the Mid-Winter Festivities.” Zoe did not mention the hatred she had observed radiating from Cormac as King Brastus passed in the entourage. She changed the line of questioning a little, not wanting to dwell on the months in captivity. “How do you know about the Hunter?”

“All you need understand right now is that I can lead you to him.”

Zoe frowned a little at the finality in Shyla’s voice. “Is he the sort of person who will listen to me?” she asked with a bit of frustration. He is my only hope for help in saving Grace and the others. Without him I have to do it alone…which I already know would not go well.

“He is a good man,” Shyla said quietly. “He will give your request fair consideration.”

But will he grant it? Weariness came over Zoe again, for she knew she would not receive a reply to that question if she asked it.

Shyla cleared her throat and said, “We leave at dawn tomorrow.”

Zoe heard the silent advice: Get some sleep. “Very well,” she replied softly. “Goodnight, Shyla.”

“Goodnight.” The woman blew out the lone candle in the tent and Zoe lay down, wrapping herself up with the cloak and blankets. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The faint sounds of camp activity drifted to her ears, and the fiddler’s music echoed hauntingly. She focused on the melody as she drifted away, praying that tonight she would rest well.

è è è è è è è è è

Three days passed. Shyla was a steady traveler, beginning at dawn and journeying until long after dark. The winter days were short, which meant that for three or four hours of their travel they were cloaked in darkness. Their rests and nights were brief, but Zoe was thankful that she was tired enough to evade the nightmares.

Shyla was not an especially vocal person, but Zoe still found out small tidbits about her as they went along. She was a mother of two children, a young man and young woman. Her husband was dead and had been for several years. Zoe was curious about where Shyla’s children were, but Shyla remained mute about their whereabouts or lives. She did not mention grandchildren, so Zoe knew that the two were probably not married. They are most likely about my age, she realized.

She surreptitiously looked at Shyla as they picked their way through the forest. If her children are my age, then Shyla is perhaps a little younger than my mother would be right now, if she were still alive. The thought of Lydia Romany was sobering, as always. Zoe wished she could have known her mother better. Daelia and Wren had filled in as best as they could, but Zoe felt that she had missed a very special, irreplaceable person. The details of her parents’ death were sketchy, at best. Zoe knew they had died when she was five, and she strongly suspected that it had something to do with Maeron Duard, but she had no proof. Nor did any of her other siblings to the best of her knowledge.

Sighing, she pulled her mind away from her family. It never did her any good to think of them…it hurt too much. And yet, she so often found it irresistible, when memories presented themselves to her, not to brood over and treasure each of them. I’m a walking contradiction, she thought dryly.

Shyla was capable of handling herself in the woods and among men; Zoe had seen that much during their travel together and the short amount of time in the Aerilyan military camp. I wonder how she acquired her skills. Zoe had not met very many women, but from what she had observed, she and Shyla were oddities among their own kind.

Just then, Shyla pulled her dark brown horse to an abrupt stop. Zoe followed suit, tugged back on the reins of the gelding who snorted and tossed his head at the sudden move. Shyla dropped her knotted reins and lifted her hands to her mouth. She whistled loudly, three short blasts and then one long one.

They waited a moment, the only sounds being the shifting of their horses and faint jangle of the bits being chomped. Finally an answering whistle sounded, the reverse of Shyla’s call: one long blast and three short ones. Zoe glanced at Shyla, and the woman silently motioned her to follow. Zoe urged the gray gelding forward, alert. For the last three days, Shyla had shown herself trustworthy, but now came the final test. Was she a traitor or not?

They slowly picked their way forward and Zoe scanned their surroundings for signs of movement. A flicker in her peripheral vision to her left arrested her attention and she wheeled the gelding around just as three men swung down on long ropes from the top of a tree to land on the snowy ground. Startled, the gelding backed quickly away with a snort. Zoe calmed him with her hand on his neck and murmured, “Shhh.”

“G’day, m’lady,” the first doffed his dark brown hat with a rakish grin and a long dimple appeared in his right cheek. He and his two companions all wore clothes of the same color as his hat—dark brown, so they blended in with the tall maple trees bark perfectly. Even with the tree stripped of its leaves, Zoe had not spotted the threesome before they swung down. Her eyes darted warily between them and she did not reply to the first man’s greeting.

Shyla rode forward and smiled at the three. “Greetings, Lance. Is all well?”

“Yep. Good to see you again, Shyla,” the man called Lance replied. “Who is this with you?”

Shyla turned and her eyebrows rose at Zoe. Zoe cleared her throat and said guardedly, “I’m a friend of the Hunter.”

“That’s all we need know here,” a dark haired man said from Lance’s left. “Welcome and well met. M’name’s Hartley.”

“I’m Geoffrey,” added the third, a boy who looked to be about fourteen or fifteen. Zoe masked her surprise at his youth and nodded to them all.

Shyla spoke again. “She wishes to speak with the Hunter. I’m bringing her to him.”

“You’re in luck, then,” Lance said. He waved his hat vaguely to the west and said, “He’s back from his latest mission, as of two nights ago, in fact.”

“Right on schedule,” Hartley added proudly.

“When ain’t the Hunter on time?” Geoffrey scoffed. Zoe hid her amusement; obviously there was some hero worship going on.

Shyla said, “We’ll see you all when you’re off duty. Thank you.”

“Anytime, Shyla,” Hartley grinned. “You know the way in. The Hunter oughta be ‘xpecting you. Warrick went on ahead to let ‘im know you were coming.”