“Vaelin Al Sorna,” Vaelin shook the hand. “Novice Brother of the Sixth Order, awaiting confirmation.”
“Yes, of course.” Tendris sat back in his saddle. “Test of the Wild is it?”
“Yes, brother.”
“I certainly don’t envy your Order’s tests.” Tendris offered a sympathetic smile. “Remember your tests, brother?” he asked Makril.
“Only in my nightmares.” Makril was circling the clearing, eyes fixed on the ground, occasionally crouching to peer closely at a mark in the snow. Vaelin had seen Master Hutril do the same thing, but with considerably more grace. Hutril gave off an aura of calm reflection when he looked for tracks. Makril was a sharp contrast, constantly on the move, agitated, restless.
The crunch of hooves on snow heralded the arrival of three more brothers from the Fourth Order, all mounted on Asraelin hunters like Tendris, and possessing the hardy, weathered look of men who spent most of their lives on the hunt. They each greeted Vaelin with a brief wave when Tendris introduced him, before going off to scour the surrounding area. “They may have tracked through here,” Tendris told them. “The dogs must have scented something beyond a likely meal in our young brother here.”
“May I ask what you’re searching for, brother?” Vaelin enquired.
“The bane of our realm and our Faith, Vaelin,” Tendris replied sadly. “The Unfaithful. It is a task charged to me and the brothers with whom I ride. We hunt those who would deny the Faith. It may be a surprise to you that such folk exist, but believe me they do.”
“There’s nothing here,” Makril said. “No tracks, nothing for the dogs to scent.” He made his way through a heavy snow drift to stand in front of Vaelin. “Except you, brother.”
Vaelin frowned. “Why would your dogs track me?”
“Have you met anyone during your test?” Tendris asked. “A man and a girl perhaps?”
“Erlin and Sella?”
Makril and Tendris exchanged a glance. “When?” Makril demanded.
“Two nights ago.” Vaelin was proud of the smoothness of the lie, he was becoming more adept at dishonesty. “The snow was heavy, they needed shelter. I offered them mine.” He looked at Tendris. “Was I wrong to do so, brother?”
“Kindness and generosity are never wrong, Vaelin.” Tendris smiled. Vaelin was disturbed by the fact that the smile seemed genuine. “Are they still at your camp?”
“No, they left the next morning.
They said little, in fact the girl said nothing.”
Makril snorted a mirthless laugh. “She can’t speak, boy.”
“She did give me this.” Vaelin pulled Sella’s silk scarf from under his shirt. “By way of thanks the man said. I saw no harm in taking it. If offers no warmth. If you’re hunting them perhaps your dogs scented this.”
Makril leaned closer, sniffing the scarf, nostril’s flared, his eyes locked on Vaelin’s. He doesn’t believe a word of it, Vaelin realised.
“Did the man tell you where they were going?” Tendris asked.
“North, to Renfael. He said the girl had family there.”
“He lied,” Makril said. “She has no family anywhere.” Next to Vaelin the dog’s growls deepened. Makril moved back slowly, making Vaelin wonder what kind of dog could provoke fear in its own master.
“Vaelin, this is very important,” Tendris said, leaning forward in his saddle, studying Vaelin intently. “Did the girl touch you at all?”
“Touch me, brother?”
“Yes. Even the slightest touch?”
Vaelin remembered the hesitancy as Sella reached to him and realised she hadn’t touched him at all, although the depth of her gaze when she found something in him had felt almost like being touched, touched on the inside. “No. No she didn’t.”
Tendris settled back into the saddle, nodding in satisfaction. “Then you were indeed fortunate.”
“Fortunate?”
“The girl’s a Denier witch, boy,” Makril said. He had perched on the birch trunk and was chewing a sugar cane that had appeared in his weathered fist. “She can twist your heart with a touch of that dainty hand of hers.”
“What our brother means,” Tendris explained. “Is that this girl has a power, an ability that comes from the Dark. The heresy of the Unfaithful sometimes manifests itself in strange ways.”
“She has a power?”
“It’s better we don’t burden you with the details.” He tugged his horse’s reins, guiding it to the edge of the clearing, looking around for tracks. “They left yesterday morning, you say?”
“Yes, brother.” Vaelin tried not to look at Makril, knowing the stocky tracker was subjecting him to an intense, dubious scrutiny. “Heading north.”