The Lioness

Whether he dropped or stumbled, Kerian wasn’t sure. Relief washed through her to see him go down, to hear the thock! of Jeratt’s arrow hitting the pine just above him.

Jeratt cursed, the dog shot past Kerian, fangs white and glistening. She heard the hiss of another arrow coming from Jeratt’s quiver.

“Boy!”

From the ground, his face covered in blood and dirt, the boy screamed, “Ulf! Drop! Drop!”

The dog fell, a bright splash of blood on the stone beneath him.

Leaping to his feet, the boy cursed. He flung himself past Kerian and past the dog itself. Startled, Kerian realized he was heading for Jeratt and that the half-elf had another arrow in hand. She reached to grab the boy’s shoulder and jerked him hard behind her.

“Jeratt—”

“Get back,” he snapped.

“He’s a boy. Look—he’s no threat.”

Out the corner of her eye, she saw the boy draw a gleaming knife from his belt. Whirling, she grabbed his wrist, twisted it until the knife fell ringing onto stone. She kicked it away, cursing.

Jeratt snatched up the knife, the boy snarled a curse, and Kerian jerked hard on his wrist. She saw now he was not so much a boy as she’d first thought. Still gangly with youth, dressed in warm clothes and high leather boots only a little down at the heel, he looked like a villager’s son. Half-grown, he couldn’t have had more than sixty years.

“Where you from?” Jeratt demanded.

The young elf glared without answering. In the stillness, the dog whimpered, struggling to rise. The elf turned, alarmed.

Kerian increased pressure on his wrist. “It’s not all decided yet, boy. Where are you from?”

The dog’s fate weighed heavier than his own. His eyes on Ulf, the boy said, “Down west in the valley.”

“Bailnost?”

He nodded sullenly.

“Your name?”

The boy didn’t answer, watching as the dog staggered to its feet and moved stiffly toward him. Jeratt’s arrow had scored a painful path across the dog’s shoulder, but luckily the dog was not hurt badly.

Ulf put his head under his master’s hand, and the boy said, “My name is Ander. I’m the miller’s son.” His long eyes narrowed, taking in their rough clothing, patched and mismatched. “You’d better let me go or I’ll be telling my father and all who’ll listen about the outlaws up here.”

Jeratt’s laughter rang out, harsh and unfeeling. “Boy, you ain’t going to be alive long enough.”

Ander’s face paled, his bravado flown.

“Stop,” said Kerian, to Jeratt and to Ander. She looked from one to the other. “Ander didn’t offer us any harm. We injured his dog and almost killed the boy himself. Let it go now.”

Jeratt frowned. Before he could speak, she turned to the boy. “Go on. Your dog should make it home.”

Ander eyed her narrowly, then nodded. He muttered something that sounded like thanks and turned his back on them, walking away.

“Addle-headed fool,” Jeratt growled.

Kerian shook her head. “Why, just because he—?”

Jeratt snorted. “Not him. You. That boy knows we’re from no village around here, he knows what we look like—we’re either ragged outlaws hunting dinner. Or trouble.” He looked up at the sky, the lowering clouds. “It’s worse than that. He knows what you look like, and there’s Knights around would pay him to learn where you are, Kerianseray. You know for sure he’s offhome and not off to settle a score with us and get him a handful of steel coins to boot?”

She didn’t know that. Cold wind whirled snow on the ground, and now snow began to sift down from the darkening sky. Dry in the mouth, Kerian said, “What should we do, Jeratt?”

“Go kill him. Throw him down the hill, make it look like an accident. Kill the dog too, make it look like whatever you like.”

She stared.

He spat. “Still a little squeamish from your last killing?”

“I—he’s a child!”

“Child could be the death of you. Of all of us if he gets to talking.” In the cold and the darkening day, he looked older.

“He won’t find us, Jeratt. The Knights won’t.” She looked around, at the forest and the ways down the west side of the hill. “He saw us here; we could be miles from where we normally are for all he knows. By the time he tells this story to anyone, we will be miles away.”

He looked at her long, but said only that they’d missed their chance for first cuts at a good supper tonight and that it was time they moved on. “Ain’t goin’ back empty-handed,” he muttered. Then, darkly, “Ain’t leading no Knights or nosy villagers to the falls, either.”

They followed the silver stream through the rising forest to a place just below the tree line where tall boulders and embracing trees would shelter them from the wind. The stream ran swift and wide here, and Kerian took out nets from her pack and caught enough pink-sided trout to feed them well. They sat in silence while they cleaned and cooked her catch, in silence while they ate. Kerian took the first watch, keeping the fire hot and high while snow spat down fitfully. To her surprise, she slept deeply when Jeratt relieved her watch.