Moving Targets and Other Tales of Valdemar

Verati stopped so suddenly Willow trotted up her lead rope and smacked into a gleaming white haunch. Tamis, wrapped in every piece of dry clothing he had remaining, looking more like a pile of white laundry than a person, pulled his cane from the saddle ties. “Something’s wrong.”

Then a dog started barking and, between one heartbeat and the next, men and women spilled out of the houses, children watching wide-eyed from windows and doors.

“Heralds! Thank the Lady you’ve come, we’ve had ...” The heavyset woman out in front rocked to a halt and frowned. “Uncle Tamis?”

“Who were you expect ...” The querulous question turned into coughing, his cane tumbling to the ground as he clutched at the saddle horn with both hands.

“What happened here?” Jors snapped, pitching his voice to carry over the coughing and the babble of voices it provoked.

“Quiet!” The heavyset woman turned just far enough to see that she was obeyed, then locked her attention on Jors. “Raiders,” she growled. “They hit around noon, when most were out in the fields and no one much here to stand up to them. Eight or nine of them rode in and tossed a torch onto Kervin’s roof. Same group as has been hitting the farms—ride in and set a fire, grab a lamb here or a chicken there, and ride out thinking no one can touch them. But Bardi—that’s Merilyn and Conner’s youngest girl ...”

A man and a woman, neither of them young, pushed forward through the crowd and stared up at him with grieving eyes.

“... well, she’s a dab shot, and she put an arrow into three of them. Knocked one out of the saddle, hit one in the meaty part of the thigh, and the third up in the shoulder. Well, they didn’t like that, did they? And the one on the ground, I’m guessing he was a brother or something close to him they called their leader because when they saw he was down, and folk were starting to run in, they grabbed her.” Thick fingers closed around a handful of air. “Grabbed her and rode off.”

So much for peaceful and quiet. Jors cursed himself for thinking it ever had to end. “The raider Bardi shot, do the others think he’s dead?”

“No, he was thrashing and yelling.”

“So they’ve probably taken her to trade. Her for him.”

“Then why not do it? Then and there?”

“You said she injured two of them? It’s hard to drive a bargain when you’re in danger of bleeding to death. They’ve ridden just far enough to tend their wounds, and they’ll be back.” He glanced west, at the sun sitting fat and orange just above the horizon. “Tomorrow.”

“So we wait?” A voice from the back of the crowd.

“No!” Tamis answered before Jors could.

“No,” Jors agreed, cutting him off. There was no need for more detail than that. And everyone knew it. Twisting around, he untied the lead line and began tossing unnecessary gear to the ground. “Which way?”

“East. We tried to follow, but they’re on hill ponies, tough and fast, and we lost the trail in the rock. Nearly lost two of our own as well.” Her voice grew defensive. No one wanted the Herald to think they’d given up too soon. “The hills are treacherous if you don’t know them. They do.”

“We can handle the hills.” He checked that his quiver was full. “I’ll find them.”

“We’ll find them,” Tamis protested, struggling to free himself from his wrappings, Verati shifting her weight to keep him from falling. “When I was a boy, I all but lived in those hills. I know their stories!”

:Chosen . . .:

:I know.:

But fate intervened before Jors had to speak as another coughing fit nearly pitched the old Herald out of the saddle. Would have pitched him out of the saddle had the heavyset woman not moved close enough to support his weight.

“Take care of him,” Jors told her. He swept his gaze over the gathered villagers, who needed hope as much as anything. “I’ll mark the trail for those who follow.”

Then Gervis spun on one rear hoof and headed east.

Easy enough, even as the daylight faded, to see where a group of mounted men left the track, following a deer trail into the trees.

:What are you going to do when we catch up?: Gervis asked, barely slowing.

:Depends on what we find.:

:If that woman is right, there’s at least eight of them.:

:But two of them are wounded.: Bending low in the saddle, he tried not to think of what the others might be doing.

:Verati isn’t happy.: