The Vampire & Her Witch

For a moment, the group of lords fell silent, each one lost in thought as they considered Lord Reynold’s words.

Around them, the mists clinging to the towering hemlocks and shaggy red cedars began to thin, revealing a sharp bend in Coldwater Creek where the imperial bull elk had broken free of the encirclement to the south by charging up a bank that was almost as steep as the one Erling and his companions had waited atop when it first appeared.

Horns sounded again and again from the far side of the creek as the beaters and the other hunters attempted to redirect the elusive elk while the sounds of baying hounds grew further and further away.

”Hold here for a moment,” Erling said, holding up a hand and making a fist in a gesture for the others to stop.

”What are we stopping for? The elk is still headed -OW-,” Serge Otker started, only to cut off with a cry of pain when Lord Reynold struck his leg with the butt of his long spear.

”Look there, and there,” Erling said, pointing at the opposite bank where the tracks of the elk and the pursuing hounds could be seen. But a few paces to either side of the tracks, there were faint signs of older tracks running nearly parallel to the current ones. ”And look at the trees over there, about head height for a tall man,” he said, pointing at a pair of cedar trees that looked like they’d had low-hanging branches stripped bare of their needles.

”It’s been browsing here,” Reynold said, squinting as he looked at the faint track across the creek. ”You have sharp eyes, Baron Erling,” he praised. The signs that Erling had pointed out were clear enough once you knew exactly where to look for them, but the baron had spotted them from across the creek while the group was riding at a steady walk...

Sharp eyes didn’t begin to cover the young baron’s observational skills, and Reynold struggled to think of more than three men among his own family’s best trackers who could match what Erling had just done.

”What does it matter?” Tulori Leufroy said, furrowing his brow as he tried to see what the older men were making such a big deal over. ”We’re supposed to stay on this side of the creek and head south,” he reminded them. ”Anything that happens over there isn’t our concern.”

”It is our concern if the elk doubles back,” Erling said, glancing at Wes beside him. ”If it turns out I’m right, can you handle the horn?” If it were just a matter of making noise, he’d rather have left the task to Tulori or even Serge, though, on second thought, he suspected that Serge would drop the horn as soon as the powerful bull elk emerged from the trees.

But if Erling was right, and the elk visited this area regularly, then it would be working to lead its pursuers into places where it had an advantage... Somewhere that the hunters might not have expected it to go.

If that was the case, then Wes wouldn’t just be responsible for sounding a horn to frighten the elk, he’d need to use the right series of short and long blasts of the horn to summon the rest of the hunters and tell them which direction their quarry had fled in.

”You can count on me,” Wes promised. ”But where do you think it’s going?”

”The rapids we passed a few minutes ago,” Erling said, thinking back over the terrain they’d ridden through since the column of hunters split up to encircle the elk. ”The elk is tall enough to ford the rapids, but the hounds aren’t. Crossing there would likely work against wolves or cougars just as well as it would work against hounds.”

”If you’re wrong, we’re all but taking ourselves out of the hunt,” Reynold pointed out. He wasn’t objecting, but he wanted to be very clear about the consequences of acting on Erling’s hunch. ”Lord Owain won’t be pleased if the elk is driven to the hollow where he intends to face it and the only barons attending the hunt are absent,” he said, making it equally clear where the blame would land for the decision.

”If I’m wrong, we either arrive late or we miss the kill,” Erling said, tapping the sides of his horse with the toes of his boots and turning his horse on the trail. He said it with an almost habitual humility that had long been part of the camouflage he wore in order to be underestimated by the Lothian Court. He could easily be wrong, and he was honest enough with himself to admit that. He was hardly an infallible hunter.

Yet every instinct he had clamoured that he wasn’t wrong.

”But if I’m right and we don’t turn back,” Erling said. ”Then the hunt will take half a day longer for the hounds to pick up the scent again, and we might not find the elk before dark.”

”We could split up,” Tulori offered in an attempt to recover from his earlier blunder. ”Serge and I could go on ahead to meet up with Lord Owain in the hollow while you circle back, just in case. We’d cover both outcomes that way. Isn’t that the wiser choice?” Tulori asked, receiving an eager nod from Serge in reply.

Clearly, the Otker heir wanted to reach the end of the hunt as quickly as possible, and Tulori’s suggestion gave him a way to do just that.

”You can’t hedge every bet, boy,” Reynold snorted. ”This isn’t an exam at your fancy school. Elk aren’t predators, but they’re still lethal in a fight. Do you and Serge really think that you could survive an encounter with an angry bull on the run without the three of us to fight for you?”

As he spoke, Reynold had already turned his horse to follow Erling. For years, he’d heard men refer to the shorter man as the Coward Baron, but there was no cowardice in Erling’s decision or his movements, and Reynold found himself reassessing what he knew about the latest Baron Fayle.

”What’s your plan if we see it?” Reynold asked as he pulled up close to Baron Erling. ”My lord,” he added belatedly, realizing for the first time how lax he’d been with his etiquette toward the younger man.

”Hopefully, we don’t need to do anything more than block its way and direct it back toward the south,” he said, reaching back to run a finger along his bowstring, testing the tension once again. From the feel of it, he still had a few hours yet before the damp air forced him to replace the string.

”We’ll block the trail north of the rapids,” Erling said as he thought through the best and worst possibilities. ”But if it tries to break past us to head further east, I’ll need you and your spear to bar its path.”

”And if it forces a fight?” Reynold asked, wondering how far ahead the baron had planned.

”I don’t want to,” Erling said, dropping one hand down to the quiver at his hip and sorting through his arrows by feel. ”But if need be, I’ll try to lame it. Wes, you may need to brush off your sword skills to keep it busy until Lord Owian arrives.”

”Fair enough,” Baron Iriso said, easing the longsword at his hip in its scabbard. ”And if Lord Owain isn’t fast enough?”

”Then you kill the elk, or I do,” Erling said firmly. ”I’m sorry, Reynold,” he added, giving the burly man an apologetic glance. ”It’s not that you aren’t capable, it’s just that...”

”I know,” Reynold said, holding up a hand to reject the apology. ”Lord Owain might not have ascended to the throne yet, but he thinks of himself as a Marquis in all but name. If I kill his quarry, my father will pay a steep price to keep my head from being mounted next to the elk’s,” he said with a bitter laugh.

”You know he won’t be happy with you if you take the kill,” Reynold warned one last time.

”I know,” Eriling said. ”But it’s better that Wes or I take the kill than that the elk kills any of you while we try to keep it busy. If Lord Owain wants someone to blame... I imagine he can’t think much worse of me than he already does,” he said with a smile that looked every bit as forced as it felt.

”If it comes to it, I’ll shoulder the blame...”