“The curfew has only been lifted for men,” began one of the guards. “It’s still instated for youth, women, and children—” began another guard, but a villager cut him off.
“The beast killed my wife’s brother! It’s attacking us in our own homes and we won’t stand it any longer!”
The men let out a roar of cries, raising their makeshift weapons.
“This could be brilliant,” Tiern whispered behind him.
Paxton nodded. Lord Alvi stepped up beside him and spoke to the guards. “Let them in, and send one of your men to oversee the conversation. Take news to the king that some townspeople and their youth will not be adhering to the curfew.” Paxton nearly laughed at the looks of shock the guards gave one another. He wondered if they would dare to argue with the Ascomannian lord. In the end, Lief did not give them the chance. He simply cocked his blond head toward the maps and barreled on. “Come, we have much to discuss before tonight’s hunt.”
They set off at dusk, Paxton and his three fellow Lochlans, seven Zorfinans, and twenty-odd Ascomannians. The wealthy Lochlan hunters had pulled out of the hunt after their friend was carried off in the beast’s mouth, and the parents of the two younger lads came to cart them back home to relative safety, much against their wishes.
Tonight, the men spread their ranks along the Eurona River, where townspeople and watermen would line their boats offshore. The river would take them farther into Lochlanach than they’d hunted before. It wasn’t an area where the beast had attacked in the past, but it gave them the best hunting advantages—brush and trees were less dense along the riverside, and their voices could carry farther to one another if a sighting was made.
In attempts to draw the beast out, the hunters felled two fat squirrels and dabbed their exposed skin and clothing with its fresh blood. Not a single hunter had washed that day, hoping their natural scents would lure their prey.
As they walked several miles in the waning sun, they spotted older lads, lasses, and women scattered about high in trees along the way, camouflaged and holding horns and bows. Tiern grinned and Paxton nodded.
The day had been unseasonably warm, but the moment the sun dropped, all heat seemed to siphon from the air, sending a prickle of chill across Paxton’s bare forearms. He should have brought along his overcoat. Autumn in Lochlanach was temperamental. No matter. Paxton prided himself on having thick skin.
Paxton and Tiern took the southernmost tip of the hunt. Hours passed, with Paxton hunched against a pine tree and Tiern’s still form in the distance, sitting with his knees pulled to his chest. A three-quarter moon was barely visible through the mist of quickly moving clouds. The rushing tinkle of river water was the only background noise. Even the crickets were quiet.
They waited. Paxton knew the beast was unpredictable, but he wasn’t looking forward to listening to the gripes of Volgan and his men if the monster didn’t come to them, or if it attacked elsewhere. If tonight didn’t work, he’d have to concede to Volgan’s idea to spread their numbers sparingly over the land.
He was still contemplating the sight of Volgan’s gloating face when, at the sound of a horn some distance away, Paxton went rigid. The beast had been spotted.
Paxton eyed Tiern, and ever so slowly, the brothers nocked arrows to their bows and turned in crouching positions to stare into the darkened woods. The clouds had thickened as the evening wore on, obscuring details of the land. Paxton’s eyes darted about for any sign of movement in the dark, while his body remained motionless.
Another horn sounded from the south, and another, getting closer.
“Should we go to it?” Tiern whispered.
“No. It’s heading this way.” He knew other hunters were nearby, just north of them, and he didn’t want to move from their range of hearing.
Several quiet minutes passed, but Paxton remained silent with expectation. Then he saw something—at first he thought the creature crouching on all fours was a bear that had ventured down from the mountains. But then he heard a snuffle and snorted grunt.
Blood thrummed through Paxton’s body to his fingertips where he held the bowstring taut as he aimed. But he couldn’t yet shoot—the beast was still sniffing at the ground, head swiveling side to side. It appeared agitated, probably from the sounds of the horns.
Paxton had to hit the neck or nothing. If he shot now, it would only alert the beast of their presence. He had to wait it out.
Paxton saw Tiern move in his peripheral vision. His brother had picked up a small rock and was staring at him with question. Ah . . . he wanted to throw it, to get the beast to raise its head. It could either work brilliantly or cause the beast to run. Paxton stared at the rooting beast a moment longer before giving Tiern a nod.
Tiern slipped behind his tree where the beast couldn’t see him, and he threw the rock up into the treetops. Paxton never took his eye from the beast. It snorted loudly and looked up, revealing a patch of furry neck as the rock hit high and began tumbling down.