Moving Targets and Other Tales of Valdemar

Jem’s mouth tightened, and his eyes got that hard, determined look Ree hardly ever saw. He said nothing.

Rather than waste time, Ree slipped away while the younger boy was getting Garrad into his chair in the main room. If it started to snow again, he might never be able to follow the horse’s tracks.

He found the horse easily enough—the mare hadn’t run far. She stood by a stand of half-frozen grass, nipping the few green blades free. Ree smelled nothing worse than horse. The animal let him get close before she lifted her head and snorted into his chest. Ree sighed and caught a handful of mane. He should have brought rope for a halter. “Come on, girl.”

Ree kept talking softly as he walked her back through the dim, snow-covered forest.

The snow in front of him erupted. The horse shrieked and tried to rear, almost wrenching Ree’s arm out of its socket. He struggled to free his fingers while the mound of shaggy white fur unfolded arms and claws that could gut him without effort.

How did I miss it when I came this way before? Ree twisted from a clumsy slash, his head ringing and his arm and shoulder burning. The horse backed away, bringing Ree with it. Between the animal’s retreat and the white-furred beast’s attacks, Ree couldn’t untangle his hand from the horse’s mane. He struggled to avoid the creature’s claws—he couldn’t use his own.

The creature howled. It lurched a step toward Ree and the horse, spun away. A sharp crack made it howl and lurch again. Ree pushed himself and the horse to the side as the creature lost its balance and fell toward them. He heard his shirt tear, smelled blood.

By the time he’d got the horse standing still, his arm ached and he was shivering, but the creature lay on the snow with a pitchfork buried in its back. The handle quivered, but Jem stood steadily, reproach in his eyes. “You shouldn’t have left without me.”

Ree swallowed. He couldn’t talk.

“Oh, never mind.” Jem shook his head. “Let’s get back. I’ll bring ugly here—” He indicated the dead creature. “Fur like that should be worth something.”

Ree wrinkled his nose as he stirred the furs in the barrel. The ammonia reek of the tanning mix made his eyes water and burned his nose. His shoulder still ached, a dull pain that flared every time he shoved the wooden paddle against bulky fur.

He blamed Garrad’s sense of humor. “You killed ’em, boys, you can fix ’em.”

The sound of arguing echoed from the nearest road. Ree looked up. It looked like a group of men approaching. He stepped away from the barrel to where he could breathe cleanly.

Humans, none too clean. “Garrad, Jem! Company!” Ree returned to the tanning as soon as he’d called. He’d best not be too obvious.

Jem supported the old man—whom he’d taken to calling Granddad—as he hobbled out into the field, his other hand clutching the walking stick Ree had carved him.

The visitors reached the far fence at about the same time as Jem and Garrad did. Ree’s stomach tightened, but Garrad seemed unconcerned by the pitchforks and hoes his visitors brandished. “So what brings you folks up from the Rivers?”

“Monsters came out the forest and killed two of Kederic’s best pigs.” The speaker was younger than Garrad, with dark hair graying at the temples. “We chased ’em off, but they came up this way.”

Garrad snorted. “It took you all of a week to follow ’em? You’re a bigger coward than your da was, Meren Anders son, and that’s saying something.”

The leader paled, and then flushed, then cast about, clearly wanting to say something. “So where did these strangers you’ve got come from?” He looked straight at Ree.

Ree let the paddle fall and stalked over to where Garrad and Jem stood. “I’m not human enough for you?” His voice shook with a fury that surprised him. “You can see clear up this valley from town, I’m told. Three cold days without smoke and not one of you humans thought to see if anything was wrong? Not even for valuable livestock? Without us there’d be nothing alive here.” He spat the words out as though they tasted bad. “No need to worry about those creatures, either.” He turned his back on the men—a deliberate act of contempt that made the skin between his shoulders crawl—and stomped back to the barrel, where he used the paddle to heave one of the half-tanned furs out.

The white fur glittered in the cold light, sun catching on every drop of water. Ree let it drop back in with a splash.

Garrad spoke before anyone else could. “They’re not strangers. They’re my grandsons,” he growled. “My boy sent ’em to me. Being with the army, he couldn’t come himself, but he made sure I’d have someone who didn’t need to be nagged into seeing I was well. Who wouldn’t ignore others as needed help.”

The lead townsman gaped. “You ... They never came through town.”