An ill-fated hunt

Previously: Mira, a freelance historian loosely in the employ of Queen Phedera, is alone in a small town and running out of coin when she stumbles across a potential story. As she investigates, she is kidnapped and taken out of the city and plopped down in the center of a clearing and threatened further by a small group of men. Fearing for her safety, she forges an uneasy truce with them. Now they prepare to share their stories...

"What of you? How did you come to bear the mantle of the Falcuhn...?"

I sat back and looked down at the fire, then picked up a stick and poked at it. I asked myself that very question throughout the years, when I was involved in one bizarre situation after another, or sat, cold and hungry, outside some city I didn't have enough coin to enter. There were plenty of opportunities to question it, to question myself, to question the very world around me and to wonder why I didn't just settle down with some well-meaning and congenial farmer who would offer sturdy walls and a warm bed. Or, better yet, a brewmaster with his own tavern. But there would always be people to toil in the fields, to provide people with their vices and to wash up after them and not—as I learned long ago, someone to care that they did, or even that they lived.

My first memory that mattered was of a wisp of smoke curling above the pointed trees that dotted the hillsides in Kenemeh. I had survived five or six winters by then, and my father had grudgingly come to accept my presence. He and I walked along the the base of the hills, weaving in and out of the forest, he with his bow ready and me stumbling over roots, rocks and ducking branches as I tried to stay close to him. So far, my first hunting lesson was similar to those handed down as he taught me how to plant seeds, milk a goat or the proper way to act at mealtime: stay quiet and try to keep up.

I tugged at the bottom of his shirt, eliciting a hiss of frustration. He stopped and turned abruptly, face painted with impatience, probably expecting me to tell him I was tired, cold or needed a bush. All three, in fact, were true, but even then I knew better than to speak of my many wants or needs. Instead, I just pointed to the black smear over the horizon. He followed my wavering finger and swore quietly.

"Too much smoke to be a campfire," he muttered. He ran a calloused hand through his thinning hair, then looked down at me. "Can you find your way back on your own?"

He must have seen the terror in my eyes. We had been walking for hours and I lacked his memory of the land. I saw myself wandering, cold and crying, until my whimpers attracted a pack of hungry wolves. I shook my head, my lip quivering.

He crouched and gripped each of my shoulders. "Girl, you must know the way by now." If it weren't for my mother, I wouldn't know my name.

I shook my head again. I didn't want to leave his side.

He stood up and scratched his head with a barely concealed grunt of disgust. He slung his bow over his shoulder and loosened his knife in its sheath. "We won't get too close. I only want to see what happened and if anyone needs help. We'll need to be careful, too, so..."

"Be quiet and try to keep up," I mumbled.

"There's a good girl." He scanned the horizon again, looking for some kind of clue, then started up the slope. We would stay among the trees now, I knew, and move as quietly as we could. I suddenly realized why we had seen no game yet that day. The woods were utterly silent; the skies free of birds. All the woodland creatures were cloaked in shadows, hiding in their dens or concealed thickets. We were the only things moving in the forest and I felt very much out of place. Every twig I snapped sounded like a thunderclap.

My father moved ahead of me like a shadow while I clumsily stumbled behind him, shivering in the ominous silence.

Next: The Wounded Man's Gold continues in: Ashes and dolls

The Wounded Man's Gold, Part 5

"I am Esmiralda," I answered after a long pause. "If I decline your offer, will I be carried back to the city, or must I find my own way?"

Merrick's initial response was a slow, mischievous grin that made me a bit nervous.

"Or will I be allowed out of this clearing...?"

He shook his head. "Nothing quite so nefarious, I assure you. You would be free to go as you please and continue your travels. We are harmless."

He didn't sound too sure about that, but I was intrigued. It seemed a strange group of people and I wondered what their purpose was. Besides, my coin was dwindling. Perhaps the tales he referred to would translate into more.

"Then I accept your offer," I said. He nodded as if that was the expected answer and beamed.

Broo-Fang stepped forward and bowed his head briefly, like a child ducking a thrown stone. "I am...pleased...to make your...acquaintance," he said. His voice was soft, his speech slow and lilting. I am not sure if that was due to an unfamiliarity with the language or some form of speaking impressed onto him by his temple tutors, for he was surely some kind of monk. His robes identified him as one, although I could see no insignia so I could only guess at his order. I bowed in return.

"Well met," I said, then frowned. That wasn't exactly true, but of all the men I had met that night he, at least, had not threatened me, carried me or begged any of my coin. Perhaps that was the best I could hope for. "It is good to see one such as yourself about in these troubled times. The Robes of Peace are a most welcome sight."

Strangely, that intended compliment had the opposite effect. Broo-Fang Tane's face clouded over and he lowered his head and stepped back into the shadows. He might have whispered, "Of course," or it might have been something else, entirely.

"We've little food to share," Merrick said after clearing his throat and stepping in front of the smallish man. He shot Seymuhr a glare. "We weren't expecting any other companions. You are welcome to share our fire. It is small out of necessity, but warm, nonetheless."

If Sehmuhr sense any irritation from Merrick, he gave it no sign. He merely walked to the edge of the clearing and peered into the darkness, flexing his muscles until his armor squeaked.

"I thank you." It was not very cold, but I found that after my recent capture and wild flight through the city, I felt chilled to the bone. My fingers trembled as I reached them toward the glowing coals. Perhaps it was a natural reaction from one who thought death was imminent only moments before. I reminded myself to get an opinion from a priest or healer at some point on that topic; perhaps that information would be worth a mention in a medical journal? "What are you doing out here?" Surely there are rooms within the city walls that would be safer and...shielded from the elements?"

Merrick chuckled. "I suppose it depends on which elements you wish to shield yourself from," he said. "There will be time for our tale later, if my alternative plans have worked out. We'll know soon enough. What of you? How did you come to bear the mantle of the Falcuhn, and what fortune has brought you to our fire?"

Tane leaned in from the shadows and I heard Sehmurh approach, as well. I hesitated and licked my lips. They seemed innocent enough—besides the travel manners of the brute that tossed me there—yet I was reluctant to tell much of my tale. I never thought it was that interesting, for one thing. Perhaps that was the best way to learn more about these men—and fully decide if I was indeed safer in their company or out in the forest, hiding from wolves.

"As to the 'fortune' that brought me here, you know that well enough," I started, with a glance up toward Sehmurh, who stood with his massive arms crossed over his chest. "As to the rest? You would have to know me as a little girl...."

Up next: Mira tells her story