The sound of horses carried through the woods, and the bear’s muzzle came up as it sniffed the air. A questioning growl escaped its throat as it rose on hind legs, followed by an angry roar as it smelted horses and men. “Damn!” said Martin as he stood, drawing his bow. He had hoped to get a cleaner shot, but the animal would turn and flee in a moment.
The arrow sped across the clearing, taking the bear below the neck in the shoulder. It was not a quick killing shot. The animal pawed at the shaft, its growls a bubbling, liquid sound. Martin came around the pond, his hunting knife out, his three companions behind. Garret, now Huntmaster of Crydee, let fly his own arrow as Martin raced toward the bear. The second shaft took the beast in the chest, another serious but not yet fatal wound. Martin sprang at the bear while it pawed at the arrows embedded in its thick fur. The Duke of Crydee’s large hunter’s knife struck deep and true, taking the weak and confused animal in the throat. The bear died as it hit the ground.
Baru and Charles followed, their bows at the ready. Charles, short and bandy-legged, wore the same green leather clothing as Garret’s, the uniform of a forester in Martin’s service. Baru, tall and muscular, wore a plaid of green and black tartan - signifying the Iron Hills Clan of the Hadati - slung over one shoulder, leather trousers, and buckskin boots. Martin knelt over the animal. He worked at the bear’s shoulder with his knife, turning his head slightly at the sweetish, rotting stench that came up from the gangrenous wound, then he sat back, showing a bloody, pus-covered arrowhead. He said to Garret in disgust, “When I was Huntmaster for my father, I often ignored a little poaching here and there during a lean year. But if you find the man who shot this bear, I want him hung. And if he has anything of value, give it to the farmer’s widow. He murdered that farmer as much as if he had shot him instead of the bear.”
Garret took the arrowhead and examined it. “This arrowhead is home-cast, Your Grace. Look at this odd line running down the side of the head. The man who cast these doesn’t file the heads. He’s as sloppy in his fletchery as his hunting. If we find a quiver of arrowheads with the same flaw, we have our man. I’ll pass word to the trackers.” Then the long-faced Huntmaster said, “If Your Grace had reached that bear before I’d hit it, we might have had two murders to charge the poacher with.” His tone was disapproving.
Martin smiled. “I had no doubt of your aim, Garret. You’re the only man I know who’s a better shot than I. It’s one of the reasons you’re Huntmaster.”
Charles said, “And because he’s the only one of your trackers who can keep up with you when you decide to hunt.”
“You do set a fast pace, Lord Martin,” agreed Baru.
“Well,” said Garret, not entirely appeased by Martin’s answer, “we might have had one more good shot before the bear ran.”
“Might, might not. I’d rather jump it here in the clearing, with you three coming, than try to follow it into the brush, even with three arrows in it.” He motioned toward the thicket a few yards away. “It could get a little tight in there.”
Garret looked at Charles and Baru. “No argument as to that, Your Grace.” He added, “Though it got a mite close out here.”
A calling voice sounded a short way off. Martin stood. “Find out who is making all that noise. It almost cost us this kill.” Charles hurried off.
Baru shook his head as he regarded the dead bear. “The man who wounded this bear is no hunter.”
Martin looked about the woods. “I miss this, Baru. I might even forgive that poacher a little for giving me an excuse to get away from the castle.”
Garret said, “It’s a thin excuse, my lord. By rights you should have left this to me and my trackers.”
Martin smiled. “So Fannon will insist.”
Baru said, “I understand. For almost a year I stayed with the elves and now you. I miss the hills and meadows of the Yabon Highlands.”
Garret said nothing. Both he and Martin understood why the Hadati had not returned. His village had been destroyed by the moredhel chieftain Murad. And while Baru had avenged it by killing Murad, he no longer had a home. Someday he might find another Hadati village in which to settle, but for the time being he chose to wander far from home. After his wounds had healed at Elvandar, he had come to Crydee to guest for a while with Martin.
Charles returned, a soldier of Crydee behind. The soldier saluted and said, “Swordmaster Fannon requests you return at once, Your Grace.” Martin exchanged a quick glance with Baru. “What’s afoot, I wonder?”
Baru shrugged.
The soldier said, “The Swordmaster took the liberty of sending extra mounts, Your Grace. He knew you’d left on foot.”
Martin said, “Lead on,” and they followed the soldier to where others waited with mounts. As they readied themselves for the return to Castle Crydee, the Duke felt a sudden disquiet.
Fannon stood waiting for them as Martin dismounted. “What is it, Fannon?” said Martin as he slapped at the road dust on his green leather tunic.
“Has Your Grace forgotten Lord Miguel will arrive this afternoon?”