Jasquenel looked at Creed and Tal, and declared, “It is just. They get mercy as they gave it.’’
Creed looked uncomfortable, but he nodded. “Not a lot of sentiment for Raven’s crew out there, but some of the boys won’t like it. We’d best be for the south come first light.’’
The horse arrived, and Tal said, “I need a full waterskin.”
A woman ran to her hut and returned a moment later with a full skin. She also held up a bundle. “Food, for the chase.’’
Tal nodded. He gathered up his weapons—his sword and bow—and retrieved a full quiver of arrows. He waved, then put his heels to his horse’s flanks and headed out of the gate and into the night.
HUNT
Tal halted.
He had pushed his horse through the night and let the animal have a short break. Since leaving the village of Queala he had dismounted three times to ensure that he wasn’t losing Raven’s trail.
As he had suspected, Raven chose speed over stealth and kept to the main trail south, the most direct route to the city of Coastal Watch. Tal looked to the east, where the rapidly approaching sun had turned the sky steel grey, and knew that dawn was less than minutes away. He guessed that Raven would make camp and set up a sentry and rest before moving on, probably at midday. At least that’s what Tal would do if he thought no one was following him.
He decided to take a short rest himself; then he would start down the trail slowly, looking for sentries or ambushes. He found a small, grassy clearing, less than two hundred yards across and perhaps twice that long, unsaddled the horse, and staked her out with enough room to graze. Then, using the saddle for a pillow, he lay down under a tree.
He checked the position of the sun, then closed his eyes and fell into an exhausted sleep.
Two hours later, as he had planned, he awoke. The sun beat down with unexpected intensity for the time of year. Tal could feel the air suck the moisture out of his skin even before perspiration could form. It would be hot and dry for days, if these mountains were anything like his homeland.
He saddled his horse and set off down the trail. After a while, he found a small brook and let the horse drink at it while he refilled his waterskin. Then he continued on. Half an hour later, he smelled campfire smoke.
Tal dismounted, tethered his horse, and set off on foot. Moving through the trees just a few yards off the trail, he found the going slow, but he knew he would be far less likely to be seen as he overtook his quarry.
Quickly and quietly, he wended his way through the trees, stopping to listen every few hundred feet. The fourth time he paused, he smelled horse dung and could just make out the faint sounds of horses moving around and cropping grass.
Slowly, he made his way through the trees, each cautious step bringing him closer to his enemies. In the distance he saw that the tree cover was thinning, and he anticipated a small meadow or clearing ahead where Raven and his surviving riders would most likely be resting.
He moved cautiously from one tree to the next, his bow clutched in his left hand, an arrow held alongside the bow, so that he could draw and shoot in an instant. Every nerve was drawn taut as he expected the raiders to sound an alarm at any moment. At last he could see the horses, staked out in a picket line a short distance from the trees, near a small brook that bubbled down a narrow dale. The horses lifted their heads as he neared, so he paused and waited until they returned to their grazing.
A fire had been allowed to burn out, but the smoky smell still hung over the area. Five figures lay near the cold campfire site, while six horses grazed. Tal glanced around, trying to find the sentry.
He crept along just inside the trees, the thick boles hiding him from view. He saw a flicker of motion near the point at which the path entered the little dale, and he froze.
Someone was standing so close to a tree that he was all but invisible in the dark shadows cast by the branches overhead. Tal knew that he must be tired, for otherwise he would surely have spotted the man critical seconds earlier. He took a deep breath and crept forward.
The sentry was watching the trail, his back to Tal. Tal glanced back toward the camp and saw that the other five figures remained still.
He considered his options. He could kill the sentry, but could he do it silently? Slowly, he nocked his arrow and drew the bowstring. The sentry leaned against the tree, but Tal waited.
Then the sentry stretched, flexing his shoulders, and Tal let fly the arrow. The shaft struck the man at the base of the neck, and he went down without uttering a sound. But he hit the ground with enough of a thud that one of the horses shied, whinnying. As soon as the scent of blood reached them, the other horses also looked to where the body had fallen.