The Demon's Den and Other Tales of Valdemar by Tanya Huff

Author:Tanya Huff [Huff, Tanya]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-625673-56-5
Publisher: Jabberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.
Published: 2018-10-10T16:00:00+00:00

NOTHING BETTER TO DO

Jors stiffened in the saddle, head cocked. He could hear bird song. The wind humming in the upper canopy, leaves and twigs rubbing together as percussion. Small animals moving in the underbrush.

:Chosen?: Gervis turned to stare back over his shoulder with one sapphire eye.

:I thought I heard a baby crying.:

:Out here?:

It was a good question. They were more than a day's ride from Harbert on a path that would lead, by the end of the day, to a new settlement set up by three foresting families who'd been given a royal charter to harvest this section of the wood. Besides the usual responsibilities of a Herald on circuit, Jors had specific instructions to make sure they weren't exceeding their charter.

Jors had never met one of the near legendary Hawkbrothers, wouldn't actually mind meeting a Hawkbrother, and had less than no desire to meet a Hawkbrother because a forester had gotten greedy and begun cutting outside the territory they'd been granted. He'd grown up in such a settlement, his family still lived in one, and he knew exactly how tempting it could be to harvest that perfect tree just on the edge of the grant. And then the tree just beyond that.

Go far enough just beyond in this particular corner of Valdemar, and problems became a lot more serious than re-establishing the boundaries between feuding families.

An infuriated shriek pulled Jors from his reflections and sent a small flock of birds up through the canopy, wings drumming against the air.

:There! Did you hear it?:

:Given that I haven't gone deaf in the last ten paces, yes, Chosen, I heard it. But that didn't sound like an infant.:

:No.: Jors had to admit it didn’t. :Whatever it is, it sounds furious.:

As Gervis picked up his pace, Jors readied his bow. He was reasonably proficient with a sword – he wouldn't be riding courier if he wasn't – but even the Weaponsmaster agreed there were few currently in Whites who could match his skills as an archer. It came from wanting to eat while growing up, as foresters depended on the wood for most of their meat. Small game, large; by the time Gervis had appeared outside the palisade with twigs tangled in his mane and an extraordinarily annoyed expression on his face, Jors had learned to place his arrows where they'd do the most good.

But there were predators in the woods as well, and it wasn't unusual for the hunters to find themselves hunted by something just as interested in a meal.

:I smell smoke.:

Jors flattened against the pommel as Gervis took them off the main track onto what might have been a path, might have been a dry water channel. Either way, branches hadn’t been cleared for a man on horseback.

He could smell the smoke now, too, but it wasn't the heart-stopping scent of leaves and twigs and deadfall going up, it was more pungent. Slower. Familiar…

“Charcoal burner!” he said just as they emerged into a clearing.

There was the expected cone of logs over the firepit.

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