The Great Pursuit Page 2

  2

  Lady Wyneth waited outside the king’s office with a bow across her back. Something inside her had changed, had grown and hardened like a grain of sand into a stony pearl. Perhaps it was being face-to-face with Rozaria Rocato and her beast on the Isle of Loch, certain she would not survive. Or perhaps it was her wreck of a life. In the past season she had lost her beloved betrothed, and soon after gained the affections of another. And now that man was to marry her cousin. Wyneth looked down at her gray gown, the mourning color she still wore for Breckon, and she experienced yet another stab of guilt.

  She’d watched in High Hall as Aerity and Lord Alvi held hands, a striking couple, and addressed the frightened people. The very strength of their partnership had seemed to calm the masses. A strong, handsome warrior from the coldlands and Lochlanach’s own cherished princess. Though it twisted Wyneth’s insides with unwarranted jealousy and sadness, she knew that what was done was done. It was good for the kingdom in many ways, and she would not stand in the way. Her hope was that the two would come to love each other and that her own feelings would fade into a distant memory, so far away that they couldn’t hurt her anymore.

  The heavy door swung open, startling Wyneth, and two men rushed out, on a mission. Wyneth’s heart dropped into her stomach at the sight of Lord Alvi’s and Lieutenant Gillfin’s serious faces. They both stopped in their tracks when they saw her, their fierce eyes softening a fraction. Wyneth dragged her gaze from Lief’s to Harrison’s, and a familiar ease filled her. Harrison—so like his cousin Breckon and yet so different.

  “Another hunt is to begin,” Harrison told her.

  A wild urge overcame Wyneth. She bent and grasped her skirts. “I am coming.”

  Harrison’s brow furrowed, and Lief stepped closer. Wyneth kept her eyes on Harrison. It was easier that way.

  “Don’t be absurd, Wyn,” Harrison said gently. “Stay in the castle where you’re safe.”

  Wyneth knew she was being stupid. She was soft and frail in every way, and could barely hit a target with an arrow. Yet she also knew her cousin Aerity had played a hand in killing the first beast, while she herself had swum for help. “They listen to a woman’s command. Don’t you recall?”

  “That was the first beast,” Lord Alvi said. Wyneth still could not look at him. “We don’t know if this new creature will be the same.”

  True. But she had nothing to lose. If there was even a slight chance she could be of help, she would. Harrison tilted his head and studied her. She tipped up her chin, not backing down, and he gave a small grin and shake of his head.

  “She’s got her mind set,” he told Lief.

  “I will ready my horse,” Wyneth told them. She walked swiftly past the men and heard Lief make sounds of exasperation as they rushed to catch up. She couldn’t explain the fire of recklessness awakened in her heart. She’d felt so helpless and terrified when Breckon was killed, and again when trapped on the island between the first beast and Rozaria Rocato. She was tired of feeling weak. “Do your jobs and pay me no mind.”

  When Lord Alvi appeared ready to argue, Harrison said, “Perhaps we should see if she’s right about being able to command the beast.” Harrison turned a warm gaze her way, making Wyneth’s chest bloom with pride at his confidence in her. “But you cannot make any sudden moves, my lady. Remain with us at all times.”

  “Lady Wyneth.” Lord Alvi grasped Wyneth’s hand and she yanked it away.

  “Don’t touch me!” she shouted. “Please . . .”

  Lord Alvi’s arm fell to his side. She finally looked at him, and as they locked eyes, she felt that heaviness inside her transferring to him. Her heart beat erratically and her breaths were short. Beside them, Harrison’s jaw clenched. She knew he wanted to say something more but held back.

  Wyneth spun and moved forward again, her eyes stinging, a sickening lump in her throat. The men said nothing else and did not try to stop her again. When they got to the doors, one of the guards eyed her and opened his mouth as if to protest, but Harrison spoke up. “Lady Wyneth is with us.”

  A blustering sea wind blew Wyneth’s red curls and made her squint as she bounded down the steps and onto the cobblestoned path. Clusters of armed guards and soldiers stood poring over maps, discussing, pointing. Wyneth looked toward the eerily desolate market and shivered. At this time of day it was usually bustling.

  Harrison stopped to talk to the soldiers and she heard him mention Tiern Seabolt. Was the lad to return? That should make Princess Vixie happy. She’d been quiet and forlorn since he’d returned home to Cape Creek after the hunt.

  Wyneth headed left toward the market. The path turned from smooth stones to pebbles and crushed shells, then to dust and hay as they reached the stables. Her legs burned from walking so fast.

  Happiness filled Wyneth at the sight of her bay, Mosby. She cooed softly as she opened his stall, and took a moment to pat his brown coat and run a hand down his black mane. “Don’t be afraid today, boy,” Wyneth whispered. She didn’t know what was in store for them, but it sounded as if the new beast was land dwelling. How that madwoman Rozaria was able to get it onto royal lands was a mystery. She most likely had people working for her, villagers who she’d bribed or threatened.

  Wyneth became very aware of Lord Alvi several stalls down; he was too loud to be missed. She had no idea how he could be stealthy on a hunt when his very masculinity rang out every time he came near: grunts as he worked, his hulking footsteps on the beaten soil, his deep humming voice as he spoke to his horse. Wyneth swallowed hard.

  They led their horses out at the same time, and found Harrison waiting for them on his military steed. Wyneth and Lord Alvi mounted, Wyneth hiking her skirts up to her knees.

  Harrison stared at her with his serious dark eyes before quietly sighing. “The beast disappeared into the north forests. It’ll be blocked by the royal walls and the seas, so unless the bloody thing can fly, it’ll still be in there.”

  Lord Alvi gave an ill-humored laugh. “Are any of your men to accompany us?”

  “Aye. A dozen will flank us, in an arc, with bows and swords at the ready. I’ve ordered them not to advance unless you or I are wounded.”

  Both men looked at Wyneth, who sat up taller, jutting out her chin to ward off any last-minute orders for her to stay behind. “Let’s go, then.”

  “Your father will have my hide for this,” Harrison told her.

  “I’m of age. Even he cannot stop me.”

  “You don’t have to do this, Lady Wyneth,” Lord Alvi said.

  Wyneth dug her heels into her horse and he jumped forward. “Neither do you,” she called over her shoulder.

  “You have nothing to prove!” he hollered from behind her.

  “Neither do you!” she yelled back.

  Harrison caught up, and they galloped side by side in silence. A dozen soldiers on horseback crested a hill and followed. As they passed the west commons and neared the forest, Lord Alvi sped up to Wyneth’s other side. The three slowed their pace and eyed the trees, then the men scanned the ground.

  “There.” Harrison pointed to a spot of slightly uprooted dry grass where it looked as if hooves had dug in.

  Their horses moved at a slow pace, the hunters easily following a path made by the creature. The farther they got into the woods, the quieter and more shaded it became. Wyneth’s heart thumped too loudly and she found herself holding her breath. Her senses became keenly sensitive to each snapping twig and rustling leaf. Her eyes swiveled from side to side. A wild bush to the left looked funny to her, lopsided as if it’d been trampled. She pointed to it and the men nodded, changing their direction.

  “Good eye,” Harrison whispered. Wyneth felt a small bubble of pride.

  They traveled on, led by barely discernible clues, until Wyneth could see the high stone walls signaling the border of royal lands. Where was the creature?

  All at once the three of them stopped as they sighted movement near the wall. Wyneth’s ears buzzed as she
heard a far-off shuffle of hooves, followed by a low, gurgling growl. Her eyes focused and pinpointed through the trees a large, reddish-brown body with a greenish head.

  Deep seas . . .

  Slowly, Harrison moved his arms behind his back, opened his hands wide, and pulled them apart. It must have been some sort of “spread out” command for his soldiers because she heard shifting behind her and in her peripheral vision she saw horsemen closing in on the beast.

  Wyneth’s heart was in her throat. Harrison and Lord Alvi moved ahead slowly. No sudden movements. As they neared, the creature made a hissing-growl sound and began to stamp the ground in agitation with a front hoof. Wyneth suddenly wished she had a more substantial weapon than a bow, a sword perhaps, but only the most well-trained soldiers carried swords.

  The closer they got, the more detail Wyneth could make out. The head was that of a marsh reptile—an elongated jaw with rows of gleaming sharp teeth. The neck was strong, like a horse’s, but scales traveled down to its forequarters, where it became a mash-up of smooth fur and patches of scales. Wyneth stared in horror at what Rozaria Rocato had constructed with her magic. How could a person’s mind work in such a way? She tried to imagine what these poor animals had been through, to be kept alive as they were cut into parts and pieced back together, then forced to grow and expand unnaturally.

  At twenty paces away, Wyneth’s horse’s nostrils flared and his head whipped from side to side. She’d only seen him behave this way once before, when they happened upon a coiled snake. She should have anticipated her horse’s fear. Before things could get any worse, Wyneth gently slid from his back and gave him a pat on the rump, sending him lumbering back toward the stables.

  This had been a mistake. The beast did not wait to see what would happen next. It charged.

  Lord Alvi’s arrow was pointed before Wyneth could take a breath, but the beast wove behind a stand of trees.

  “Stop!” Wyneth yelled in Kalorian as the beast burst out from behind the trees. It reared up, obeying her with reluctance, and Lord Alvi let his arrow fly. The arrowhead shallowly pricked the thick skin at the beast’s chest and fell out as the animal came back down hard on its front hooves.

  Harrison and Lord Alvi jumped from their horses. Harrison, quick and agile, got to it first and dodged to the side as the beast snapped its reptilian teeth, just missing him. Wyneth gasped.

  “No!” She searched her Kalorian vocabulary, wishing she were as adept as Aerity.

  While Harrison distracted it, Lord Alvi shot another arrow. Wyneth was certain his arrows were flying with great strength, but the beast’s skin was extremely thick, allowing only minor flesh wounds. Lord Alvi swore.

  Wyneth fumbled for her own bow and an arrow from over her shoulder, nocking the arrow and pulling the bowstring tight. The beast heaved forward and flung its long head upward, catching Lord Alvi by surprise and knocking his bow away, before turning back to Harrison, who slashed with his sword, slicing upward against a line of scales at the creature’s chest. It reared and let out a shrieking whinny of pain. Wyneth finally recalled a Kalorian phrase. “Be still!”

  The monster stopped, leaning back on its haunches, but stretched its mouth wide in a growl of pain and frustration. It appeared torn between its obligation of obedience and its instinct to kill. With a yell, Wyneth released her hold on the taut bowstring and watched in shock as her arrow lodged itself in the roof of the creature’s mouth. It came down hard on its front legs, thrashing.

  Lord Alvi leaped on its back to hold it down and Harrison used all his power to thrust his sword deep into the soft spot where its chest met its front leg. Wyneth saw blood and felt an uprising of pity and remorse as the beast let out a high whine, kicking out as it fell. It seemed to convulse forever before going still.

  Wyneth went to her knees, shaking, and dropped her bow. All around her she saw soldiers on their feet. They’d circled close during the fight and she hadn’t noticed. The men surrounded the monster, tying it with ropes, led by Lord Alvi.

  She felt capable arms gathering her close, lifting her to her feet. “Come, Wyn,” Harrison said softly. “Take my horse.” She was in a daze as Harrison helped her mount. All she could see was blood. So much blood and death.

  As he was about to send her on her way, she grasped his hand and looked into his forlorn eyes.

  “Don’t leave me,” she whispered.

  Harrison’s entire body seemed to shiver with surprise as he stared up at her. He glanced back at the busy soldiers and called out. “I’m taking Lady Wyneth back to the castle. I will let them know the grounds are safe for now.”

  Lord Alvi narrowed his eyes at Harrison from where he tied the end of the rope to his steed. Before he could say anything, the lieutenant pulled himself up behind Wyneth and pressed his heels into the horse’s sides. His free hand went around Wyneth’s waist. She was shaking uncontrollably. Her hands took his wrist and pulled his arm tighter around her. He felt so safe.

  “Must they drag the creature?” Wyneth asked. “It’s shameful.”

  “It is too large to carry. And it killed people, Wyn,” he reminded her.

  “It’s a victim in all of this. It can’t help being made.” She recalled its suffering as they killed it—the role she had played in bringing it pain—and a sob rose up in her throat.

  Harrison pulled her closer, pressing her back to his chest. She could feel his breath at her ear. “Some things cannot be reformed or redeemed, sweet Wyn. That creature . . . it could not be tamed into a pet or kept alive for pity’s sake. It had to be killed. It’s out of its misery now.”

  She leaned her head back onto his shoulder and shut her eyes. “I won’t try to accompany you on any more hunts.” She was useless. She couldn’t even help kill a foe without feeling sorry for it.

  Harrison’s voice was as steady as always. “You were brave. And I’m glad your heart is still so tender after all you’ve been through. I’m proud of you . . . and Breckon would be too.”

  With those words, Wyneth allowed her tears to run freely.

  Chapter

  3

  In order to get to the drylands where the Zandalee tribe lived, they had to pass through hotlands jungles. Paxton wasn’t a fearful man, but being in the jungle did not put him at ease—he wasn’t particularly fond of the giant bugs that insisted on taking chunks out of his skin while he slept, or the rattling of overgrown snakes that he knew were near. It did, however, help his frame of mind to be surrounded by warrior women who seemed to fear nothing and never complained.

  It was early morning, and though the temperature was not necessarily hot yet, a layer of moisture permeated the air at all times, stagnant and humid. Oversized birds cawed their loud screeches in the overhanging branches as the Zandalee fed their sleek black stallions. Paxton packed the last of their things and then stood, pushing his hair off his damp forehead.

  He’d lost track of time. How long had they been traveling? A week? Two? Time no longer mattered to him. Days ago he’d asked the Zandalee leader, Zandora, how they’d made it to Lochlanach so quickly for the hunt when the trip back to their home seemed to be taking so long. She’d wryly responded, “We did not have a man to haul along with us.”

  Aye, he’d become accustomed to their humor and the jabs at his gender. And he thought perhaps they were taking him on the scenic route, attempting to ease his dark mood before dumping him on their tribe.

  By now they must have realized his temperament was here to stay, because in the last day or so they’d picked up the pace. The jungle seemed to be thinning. Fewer roots to step over and vines to wade through amid sinking mud spots. The only ones who seemed to dislike the jungle more than Paxton were the horses.

  He opted to walk today rather than share a saddle with the younger of the sisters, who wasn’t at all shy and enjoyed the nearness of a man very much. Zandora had said, “She tells us she prefers your brother, Tiern, but you’ll do in a pinch.”

  “Isn’t she newly married?” Paxton
had asked.

  “Oh, jes. And she would slice off your fingers if you tried to return her advances. Zaleek only likes to play.” Zandora had winked.

  Seas almighty, these Zandalee women. In truth, though, he appreciated them. And he was glad for the distraction of their company. The last thing he needed was to be left alone with his thoughts.

  By midday the sun was glaring, and the moisture of the air was overpowering. He sorely missed the cool breezes of Lochlanach. It was early winter there. He’d be able to see his breath in the morning air while hunting. . . .

  Paxton shook the thought away.

  They trudged for hours, chewing venison jerky from Paxton’s stores, the only respite coming when the three Zandalee would raise their voices in a tribal song, harmonizing and keeping the beat with one hand smacking their thighs. Their voices rang like jewels, vibrant and clear. Paxton let it soothe him as the sun lowered, another day gone.

  As they pushed through a mass of leaves as large as two hand spans, Paxton heard a distant noise and stopped, holding up a fist. The Zandalee halted their horses, and the four of them surveyed the area.

  Muted voices sounded from ahead. The youngest Zandalee pointed upward at a thin plume of smoke rising in the hazy sky above the trees.

  “We are not far from the Zorfina border now,” Zandora whispered, her brow furrowed in suspicion. “I do not know of any Kalorian tribes near Rainiard after the slaughters.”

  “This is Lake Rainiard?” Paxton asked. His grandmother’s words about the rumors of safety for Lashed at Lake Rainiard came rushing back to him. A place of freedom that may or may not have been a myth. “What slaughters?”

  “It is said that the last act of King Kalieno before he became ill was to have all the inhabitants surrounding Rainiard killed. He wished to silence the rumors of Lashed safe havens in his kingdom once and for all.”

  “Deep seas,” Paxton muttered, his chest tight.

  The middle sister, Zula, whispered something in Zorfinan and Zandora nodded. “Tribes always have scouts placed along the borders of their territories, but there are none here.” Her eyes grazed the trees.