The Lioness

The boot prints showed sign of wear at the outside of the heels. It was the young elf Ander. Kerian looked again but saw no sign of his dog, not any print or droppings or the telltale tufts of fur a thick-coated animal leaves clinging to brush or tree.

Interesting, she thought.

Neither did she see tracks to indicate that Ander had gone north or south along the stream. He hadn’t crossed the water, and she saw no trail of broken branches or crushed vines to indicate that he’d slipped farther into the trees.

Quickly, Kerian made up her mind. Where she had slept cold and hungry last night, this morning she gathered kindling and wood, struck flint to steel, and had a fire among the sheltering boulders. From her pack she took her fishing line and a hook and cut a supple wand from a sapling for a rod. She found a sunny spot on the stream’s bank and settled to wait for breakfast. The morning warmed slightly, Kerian watched the forest across the stream and listened to the woods behind her. She heard only the waking birds, the purling water, and once the sudden rustle of a fox who’d come upon her from upwind and darted away.

Kerian caught three fat trout. By the time the rich scent of cooking began to waft across the stream, her patience had its reward. Ander trudged out of the forest and stood on the far side of the stream, and now she saw that he’d been in some scrapes since last they’d met. Bruises discolored his face, and his lower lip was split and swollen.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, nodding to the trout baking on the flat stone heated in the embers of her fire.

Ander stared at her. “Aren’t you worried I’ve brought half the village with me?

She laughed and gestured for him to cross the water.

“I’m supposed to believe all those people waited in silence through the night till I could catch them breakfast?”

Ander flushed, looking down at his scuffed boots.

Kerian poked the trout, releasing the mouthwatering scent of them into the air again. “Come and eat” She gave him a long, level look. “Tell me where your dog is.”

He crossed the stream in one long-legged leap.

Ander had a ball of hard cheese the size of his fist and a hunk of dark bread going dry and stale to add to their breakfast, “The last of what I came out with.” He showed her the tangle of his snares and told her ruefully that he hadn’t had much luck trying to catch food at night. The rabbits all seemed to hear him coming.

“You’re a miller’s son,” Kerian said, remembering what he’d told her when they’d first met.

“Well, the stepson of a miller.” His widowed mother had married soon after his father’s death. Ander thought about the word “death” for a moment, chewing a mouthful of the dry bread, then added, “My father’s murder.”

His eyes glittered. Startled, Kerian saw an expression hard as any she’d seen on the face of the bitterest exile in Jeratt’s camp.

“Who murdered him?”

Among any answer he could have given was surely an accusation against outlaws, robbers, or bandits. Very suddenly, all her senses grew sharp. Had she invited a vengeance-seeker to share her fire? Kerian didn’t move, but she knew right where her knife was, how quickly she could reach it should she have to defend herself.

“A Knight. A Knight murdered him.”

Kerian didn’t relax. “I’m sorry.”

Ander grunted. “I hate them.” He took another bite of trout, then looked up. “I know who you are. They went around in winter telling everyone about you, telling everyone how they wanted to kill you.”

She kept still.

“They said you killed a Knight in Sliathnost.” He looked up, long eyes flashing. “Did you?”

“Yes. He needed killing.”

“Are you an outlaw?”

“I don’t know.” Kerian poked at the fire, encouraging its warmth. “I certainly am a fugitive, aren’t I? I am outside the dragon’s law now.”

“And the king’s.”

Kerian considered that ruefully. “Yes, I suppose I’m outside the king’s law, too.”

“Because he lets the Knights do what they want.”

Kerian shrugged. “I don’t know much about kings.”

The fire hissed, the embers getting low. The scent of baked trout hung in the air, fading. Ander said, “What about him, the other one? That half-elf.”

“You mean Jeratt?”

“The one who wanted to kill me.”

Surprised, she could only say, “You heard that?”

“I’m not deaf. Where is he now? Did he leave you because you wouldn’t let him kill me?”

That amused Kerian. “Well meet up again. We just thought it was safer to give your neighbors two sets of tracks to follow.”

In the silence between them, the sounds of the forest seemed loud. They heard the call of a raven, the sudden trumpeting of a stag from far up the hill. Kerian rose and began to break camp; Ander wasn’t long in helping. They buried what was left of the trout, only bones and heads, tails and a few strips of skin. They killed the fire, and when they’d done all that, Ander asked her whether she still wanted to know what happened to his dog.

“Yes, I do.” Kerian checked her pack, tied it closed, and leaned against one of the boulders that had made her shelter snug.