Fires of Aggar (17 page)

Disgruntled, the Amazon unstrung her short bow and slid it away behind her knee. For being less than a tenmoon old, this buntsow was remarkably adroit in choosing its ground. And for all practical purposes, the appearance of the sandwolves hadn’t alarmed it in the least — had merely sent it into its favorite defensive maneuver. That was out of character for a wild sowie certainly, but not so much for one accustomed to human idiosyncrasies.

Gwyn reminded herself to be careful.

Then again, being cautious wasn’t going to get rid of this particular little demon. The den was too well protected. She knew the scavenger was counting on her to dismount and come in on foot. She only hoped it didn’t also count on meeting a Niachero’s strength.

The thorn hedge shook with positively elated, panting sort of grunts as Gwyn drew out the silent, graceful length of her sword. The grunting got louder as she dismounted. Beyond on the arching root, Ril and Ty began a lumbering, back and forth shift of weight — keying their tension and alertness to a fine pitch.

Well, Gwyn mused, despite the wicked lair, the advantage might just be theirs. After all, the three of them had worked together for a very long time.

Her back to Cinder, Gwyn took a moment more to gauge her position afoot; the lifestone began its warm thrumming beneath her gloved grip. She spied a quick retreat of the ebony curled tusks and jagged teeth that marked the protruding undercut of the buntsow. Like its schefea cousins, the buntsow had a nasty talent for using those teeth to dismember joints; fortunately — unlike its cousins — the buntsow wasn’t venomous.

Keen, little eyes peered through the tangle, and Gwyn swallowed hard, feeling that measuring gaze as the beast went utterly still. It was now or never. She pushed forward into the waist-high brambles towards that small clearing before the sowie’s thicket. A piece of her absently applauded the foresight that had made her don her hard leather leg sheaths.

The buntsow snorted once, then went silent again.

The sword shifted to her right hand as she emerged into that trampled flat — she had every intention of dodging a charging run. She’d bait it until her packmates could close and help.

But the creature surprised her; it did nothing.

Z’ki Sak, Diana? The corners of her mouth tensed, disturbed. What had she missed? This near she couldn’t risk a searching glance to answer that. Ril or Ty would have noticed if there’d been signs of a mate around, so that couldn’t be it… nehna?

Warily she began to circle right, away from the dangers of getting cornered against the stone ridge. Concentrating with her peripheral vision, she sought any clue to this unexpected show of patience.

Maybe it was more uneasy of her packmates than she’d credited?

The tautness in her stance eased minutely at the thought — and the thing charged! She scrambled backwards.

It grunted its victory, thinking her trapped against a tree between the bracken. But Gwyn went straight up in a leap. Her left arm snaked out to clutch the burly overhanging limb and her feet tucked high quickly. The beast shrieked as it rammed into solid wood. It shook its ugly, tuft-haired head and bark bits went flying. Then suddenly the sandwolves were there, nipping at its heels. It spun, tusks slashing sideways. The pack pair retreated, feigned in and retreated again.

The buntsow rasped at the sandwolves, shaking its head and whole body in rage. Then it stilled in that instinctual half-breath before the attack — and Gwyn dropped from above. Her sword sizzled blue, descending with the weight of her body in a two-handed plunge. Her feet landed square as she straddled the beast and drove her blade deeper.

The thing’s shrill whistle protested. It twisted and bucked, but its own neck shell kept it from reaching her — until it went down under the thrust, blood splattering. It gnashed and writhed. She sank the sword through and into the ground, pinning the sowie — holding on for dear life! Spasms finally took it, then lessened… then at last, eased it into death.

Gwyn straightened stiffly, taking her weight from her sword with an unsteady breath. She forced a stern calm over the quivering in her stomach and stepped away for a moment, not quite willing yet to totally trust that the thing was dead. Then the bloody mess of gloves and clothes registered — for the umpteenth time, she found herself appreciative of her Marshal’s clothing. There’d be no permanent damage to most of it, save for her shirt. The thick, shiny leathers of her leg sheaths, jerkin and gloves were all well oiled and would come clean, if she tended them soon. And she had to soon — for her sanity’s sake.

This had been anything but a clean kill, and she was not proud of the fact. Ril whined in sympathy as the bondmates nosed into Gwyn reassuringly. She consoled herself with their safety and with the reminder of the maiming and killing this sowie had managed.

With a steely resolve, Gwyn left it at that.

The split rail fence beneath Gwyn’s elbows went ‘whack’, but Gwyn had been half-expecting it. She only grinned at the young boy scrambling frantically to catch his lost footing and clear the top. Then Ty bounded up and lightly nipped his collar before twisting away.

“Arghh!” the lad bellowed, near falling off the railing. “She got me!”

“That she did,” Gwyn agreed and rubbed a hand through his raggedy mop of hair. Ty whined, panting hard with her flanks heaving, and Gwyn gave her a fond ruffle as well. “She always does, you know. I’ve never met anyone who can dodge her.”

“But I almost out ran her!” Sek grinned rakishly, hair half-hiding his bright eyes.

Gwyn laughed and leaned back against the fence, shaking her head at his exuberance.

“Anyone ever do that? Out race her, I mean?”

“On foot? Never.”

“Not even you?” His eyes widened in astonished disbelief.

“Not even me!”

“Eieh!” Sek looked at the tatter-eared sandwolf with renewed respect. Then, still dangling from the fence, the lad suddenly asked, “How long you had her?”

“Had her?” Gwyn’s smile softened her rebuke. “I don’t ‘have’ her, Sek. I don’t own her any more than you do your mother. However, the three of us have been together for a little more than four tenmoons.”

“But… I mean, you can’t leave them anywhere without you. Can you? They’re like those Council shadow-things—”

“Shadow-things?” Gwyn cocked a quizzical brow at him. “Do you mean shadowmates? The guardian-guide people?”

“Shadows are real people?” Again his young eyes grew saucer-wide.

“Of course they are. What did you think they were?” Gwyn felt amusement fade a little in the face of such ignorance. What era had these Khirlan folk gotten lost in?

“They’re… aren’t they supposed to be Council spirits? Like made by the Seers and… and they have to do all the stuff the Council orders… only they do it outside the Keep, in the places the Council doesn’t live.”

Ahh, then it’s not necessarily Khirlan folk — perhaps just a little half-understood information the boy had overheard. Gwyn relaxed and settled more comfortably against the rails. Ty promptly lay down on a boot and rolled her weight into Gwyn’s calf, that silly, slit-eyed grin of hers appearing.

“You ever met one?”

“A shadow? I have. A couple of them.” Well, she was certain of Sparrow, and she had strong suspicions about a few of the other Marshals’ apprentices, especially the ones who’d served in the Wars and were still apprentices. Not that it was that unusual to decline the full-status of a Marshal; some simply never felt prepared for the challenge of full responsibility.

“What’re they like?”

Gwyn shrugged. “A lot like you or me.”

“No — they can’t be.” He was genuinely crestfallen at that. “They’re suppos’d to be special.”

“They are,” Gwyn assured him. “And so are you and I.”

“I’m just a hoe farmer. Don’t even get to herd the milkdeer from one moss batch to another yet.”

“Well, that’s how lots of shadows — and Marshals! — start out. But then they go to the Keep or to Churv to get trained. At the Keep, the shadows learn about Aggar’s history. They study all sorts of things like agriculture, healing, weapons play, and sometimes even languages.”

“Ugh,” he made a face. “I know my numbers and ’nough to read the People’s Book.”

“Good to know the law,” Gwyn inserted soberly.

“Ole Ma Tessie says the same. An’ I need to write and read so I can keep the farm accounts when I get older. But I don’t like books and study so much. I’m better with my hands — you know I can thatch a roof hole all by myself? An’ I’m just coming on five seasons old now!”

“Very nice.” Suitably impressed Gwyn gave a measure more of respect. “I also noticed how you handled Nia the other day. You’ve a fine touch with animals.”

He beamed at her proudly. Then he abruptly switched thoughts to ask, “What did they teach you in Churv? You know, to be a Marshal?”

“Law — and some weapons play.”

“Laws? That’s all? The People’s Book isn’t that big!”

Gwyn stifled a laugh. “I didn’t study just one book, Sek. I studied all the books. All the books for all the districts for the last hundred seasons or so. And all the books on why the laws were written the way they are and what the intentions of the monarchs were at the time they helped to make those laws. There are an awful lot of details involved, you see.”

“Just so you could go fight Changlings?”

Lips pursed, Gwyn studied the boy for a long moment. Finally she asked, “What do you think being a Marshal is about, Tad’l?”

He considered that seriously, then he gave a gradual nod of understanding. “You’re not just soldiers, are you? You do more figuring and studying then regular sword carriers.”

“And why do you think we do that?”

“Because…,” he puzzled this one through more quickly. “Because lots of times you have to think about a problem. Just fighting with whoever’s to blame… well it doesn’t always solve everything, does it?”

She encouraged him with a faint nod, and more sure of himself, Sek’s shoulders squared off as he balanced one-footed on his rail perch and concentrated. “It’s like when Padder’s sowie got loose and started hurting people. Maybe it was his fault more’n other folks, for the trouble being there. But fighting him ’cause he was to blame wouldn’t have stopped the trouble. Makin’ him pay a fine — well it might keep other city folk from comin’ out here and trying foolish scheming, but it wouldn’t have solved the worst problem. The sowie would still be out hurting people.

“And them city Swords, they were all ready to fight the Clan’s parties to keep us farmers from getting hurt, but they didn’t want no part of this. Wasn’t very fancy stuff to them. But what’s the difference between Padder getting his head sliced off from the sowie’s tusks or a Clan’s sword?

“Seems to me…,” he chewed on the thought a second or two more, before confidently concluding, “they didn’t think about the problem enough. So what’d we get? Another fellow hurt so bad, he lost an arm.”

“Now answer me this, Sek. Are these city Swords to blame for that crippling? Should I go after them?”

A frown creased deep between his brows, but only briefly ’til the boy asserted, “Yes, they are to blame some. Not all of it, though. It was a lot of things — Padder trying something that went wrong, them Swords choosing wrong, but mostly it was the buntsow itself. And what the Swords were doing out here is necessary too. If the Clan’s raiding nearby, that needs to get stopped. You go arrest the city Swords, then the Clan only rides around free until someone else gets out here to chase after them. That would hurt more people, so maybe it’s better to just wait until the city Swords are through with their work and then… I don’t know. Maybe sit ’em down and explain how impor’ant feral stock is to farmers’ safety, and… and maybe fine’m to make’m remember real good.”

A small smile broke through at that last phrasing, but Gwyn was pleased. “Aye, it might be a good reminder at that. Adults have a way of remembering when it costs money, especially if they hadn’t expected to spend it. And I agree with you, these Swords were only partly responsible.”

“That why you’re going on to the Khirla Feasts instead of after them?”

“Partly — and I have other business to attend in Khirla or more folks may be hurt later. See Sek, that’s what Marshals try to do most often — help people settle problems without using our swords or arrows or fists. We try to make sure as few people get hurt as possible, and not just for today. We try to think about what might happen tomorrow or the day after — or ten seasons from now! Because sometimes what we do now, affects what your own children are going to be arguing about someday.”

“So’s you studied all those books about laws that used to be and about laws in other districts to learn how to do the best thing for everybody, eh?”

“That’s why.”

“An’ that’s why you decided goin’ after the sowie was more important than goin’ after the Swords or to the Khirla Feasts, and why you had to go huntin’ for it every day instead of waiting for it to be seen attacking someone again? You didn’t want to risk anybody else getting his neck sliced like Padder did.”

“True enough.” But that was the second time he’d said “sliced,” Gwyn noticed uneasily. Something tumbled about in her mind and abruptly she remembered Kora had also described Padder’s death in a similar way; she had said “cut.” Now that was odd — not torn, not gashed or ripped, but cut and sliced? That implied a clean severing, not the usual messy style of a buntsow. “Sek, can you help me on something?”

“Maybe.” He said it with considered attentiveness.

“Were you there when they found Padder?”

“Ah no.” He was more disappointed at not being able to help her than he was at the idea of that grisly scene. “I was out in the west patches weeding the sweet beets an’ knobby nips.”

“Nips?” Gwyn was thoroughly confused at the strange term.

“Turnips,” he enunciated promptly.

“Ah — can you tell me what you did see of Padder, if anything?”

“Not much. They’d moved him in and set up the pyre ’fore I was back. His pieces were all wrapped tight for burning by the time I saw him.”