Hunter's Moon Read online

  The sensation returned again, sharp and strangely insistent. With a glance back in the direction the squad had gone, he turned and ran the opposite way. He could catch up with them.

  He kept his footfalls light as he followed the winding, empty street away from both gatehouse and keep. In contrast to the damage done elsewhere, this part of the town was as yet undisturbed. If not for the smell of smoke and absence of people, it could have been a normal spring day.

  The clash of steel echoed between the buildings, followed by cries of pain. Tormjere rushed around the corner but was unprepared for the scene that greeted him.

  A man was collapsed on his knees next to two bodies. Three other men stood over him with naked blades. He fought valiantly to his feet, but the three surrounding him stabbed with their swords, again and again until he stopped moving. Backed against a wall behind them, a girl in a simple but finely cut riding dress crouched in fear, low enough that her long, loosely gathered blond hair reached almost to the ground.

  The three men turned and spread out around her. She snatched a sword from the ground and stood, waving it back and forth awkwardly in her left hand to keep them at bay.

  “Come on, now,” one of the attackers said. “There doesn’t have to be any more blood.”

  “Go away!” she shouted.

  “You’re coming whether you want to or not. It’s already been arranged.”

  The girl’s panicked, somehow familiar, blue eyes met Tormjere’s from across the street, pleading for help as clearly as if she had said the words aloud. Unwilling to watch her be butchered as her guard had been, he rushed forward.

  She took a step to her right, inadvertently doing the best thing she could have. The men shadowed her movement, which kept their backs to him.

  Tormjere struck down the closest with a slash to the neck. The second man spun towards him without hesitation, lashing out with his sword. Surprised by the speed, Tormjere barely ducked beneath the blade. He cut low with his sword, severing the man’s leg above the knee.

  The last attacker was on him before he could recover, ignoring the dying man as he struck at Tormjere repeatedly. The attacks were well-timed and sophisticated, and Tormjere was forced onto the defensive by the powerful blows. He tried to counter, but his opponent was quick with his blade and each attempt was foiled.

  Tormjere was rapidly beginning to tire and searched for an advantage over the larger man. He moved sideways, careful not to let his eyes wander back to the girl but still aware of where she stood. The attacker followed, stepping between them.

  Recognizing the opportunity as he had hoped she would, the girl threw her sword.

  It struck the man’s shoulder and bounced off. Though not a solid blow, it was enough to disrupt his rhythm. Tormjere batted aside his blade and slashed across his face. The man spun to his knees, clutching his mangled nose even as he reached for the dagger at his belt. Tormjere struck again, and the man toppled to the ground and lay still.

  “Are you hurt?” Tormjere asked the girl urgently.

  Her blue eyes were wide and her entire body trembled, but she shook her head.

  “Into that building. There are goblins everywhere.”

  She ran towards where he was pointing, a tailor’s shop by the look of the sign. Tormjere watched her long hair bounce as she ran, certain that he had met someone with eyes so blue only once.

  “I’m pleased to see you again, my lady,” he said after barring the door, “though the situation is less agreeable.”

  “I knew it was you! You helped me with Bessie last year.”

  Tormjere nodded, remembering the dog he had helped raise, and who had later been sold and ended up with the girl.

  “Where is she?”

  “Home. I had to leave her when…” She trailed off uncertainly.

  “I’m Tormjere, now with the King’s Rangers.”

  She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it as she struggled with some thought. Their eyes met, and she made her decision. “Princess Kataria.”

  That was a surprise. Tormjere had assumed her to be a member of the nobility, but he had never imagined that she was that important.

  “Why are you here?”

  “We were to meet a trusted advisor who would take us to… to Fallhaven.” Her left hand went to the finely crafted silver disk hanging from her neck. The size of her palm, it was ringed by a decorative outer edge that was divided into three sections, while a large pearl was set low in the center of the flat interior. “I am to join the temple of Eluria there.”

  She jumped at the sound of guttural shouts just outside. They sank down behind the table as a group of goblins ran past.

  “Those were guards with you?”

  “Only two, and they are both dead.” Kataria shook her head sadly. “It was a small group so that no one would know who I was. We were trying to get out of town when the attack came, then ran into… those men.”

  Something in the way she said it caught his attention.

  “Did you know them?”

  “No, but they seemed to know me.”

  “Not even the Baron is aware you’re here?”

  She shook her head. “No one was to be told. If he knew, there would be dinners and balls and half the kingdom would know where I was.” She must have realized how much she had shared with him already and paused with concern. “You will not tell anyone, will you?”

  “Not unless you wish it. Regardless of who knows, it isn’t safe to stay here.”

  Tormjere considered their options. Drex expected his return, but Halthon’s keep was undoubtedly still under attack and it would be foolish to risk fighting his way back there with her. The senior Ranger could never have anticipated this.

  “I’ll see you to your meeting, Your Highness. Where was it to be?”

  Her relief was plainly visible. “We are to rendezvous just outside of town, along the road to Fallhaven.”

  “We came in from that direction earlier, as did the goblins.”

  “Then I worry for those I am to meet. We must go there at once. I could not bear it if they should come to harm while waiting for me.”

  “Then we should move quickly. With luck, the market gate is now secure.” He looked out the window and saw the street was again empty. “Stay close.”

  She slipped out the door behind him, and they backtracked the way Tormjere had come.

  Shouts came from somewhere ahead, and they ducked between two buildings as another group of goblins ran by. Tormjere glanced back to see how she was holding up, and she gave him a nervous smile.

  Once the goblins were well past, they crossed through the square where the squad had battled and took the street towards the gatehouse. Sounds of fighting greeted them as they drew close. Tormjere stuck his head around a corner and saw the gatehouse under assault. The door was now barred, but goblins had climbed the wall and were attacking from the upper door as well. It would only be a matter of time before they broke through and the defenders were overrun. Tormjere’s hands clenched in frustration. He could make a difference in the fight were it not for the princess standing beside him.

  He hesitated, then turned from the scene, knowing what he had to do.

  “We’ll find another way out.”

  Kataria twisted her hair. “Can nothing be done for them?”

  “No. We have to get you to safety.”

  “How will we get out with the gate blocked?”

  “We’ll follow the wall towards the river and find one of the bridges. That way was clear earlier.”

  They skirted the fighting at the gatehouse and made their way along a street that followed the city wall. They scrambled beneath a covered doorway as a small group of goblins appeared, but she wasn’t fast enough this time, and one of the goblins shouted.

  Tormjere met them head on as they attacked, determined to keep them away from the princess. His sword cut the first goblin almost in two. The other creatures stopped short and scrambled to defend themselves, unprepared for
his assault. In no mood for finesse, he pressed his attack. Two more fell in short order.

  The last goblin turned to flee but stopped in surprise as its eyes fell on Kataria. Tormjere cut it down from behind before it could reach her.

  “Quickly now. Make for that tall house by the wall,” he said.

  “Did you see how it looked at me?”

  The cuts on his shoulder from the goblin’s nails were starting to burn and he had a fresh cut on his arm, but he tried to ignore them as he led her down the street.

  “Goblins look at everyone like that. Hurry.”

  The door was barred, so he took a stone from the garden and smashed in a window. He squeezed through the opening, careful to avoid the sharp edges. The house was vacant, or perhaps the inhabitants were hiding in the cellar. He reached for the door, but Kataria was already climbing in behind him. Her dress tore on the remnants of the window, but that was the least of their worries right now.

  He led the way up a set of narrow stairs to the third level, where they found a small balcony overlooking the wall. The owner’s need for a pleasant view thankfully satisfied their current requirement to escape.

  The distance was such that Tormjere could have jumped it, but he saw no reason to take chances with the princess. He returned to a bedroom, flipped the bed upside down, and pulled the wooden slats from beneath the stuffed mattresses. These he laid side by side across the gap between balcony and wall, and then held them firmly in place.

  Kataria looked at him skeptically, but tossed her long hair behind her back and crawled slowly across without protest. Tormjere followed as soon as she set foot on the battlement. Below them, a travelling market with numerous stalls and tents was arranged against the outside of the wall, but no vendors remained to hawk their wares.

  “I’ll lower you down as far as I can,” he said, “then let go.”

  Kataria looked back toward the keep. Black smoke rose from near the walls, and even from this distance they could see goblins on the surrounding roofs. She steeled herself and moved to the edge of the wall.

  He gripped her arm tightly as she eased herself over the edge. When she was as far down as his arm would allow, she let go, falling onto a tent below. She bounced once before sliding ungracefully onto a cart.

  Tormjere looked towards the gatehouse and saw that goblins had breached the door. Angrily, he kicked the makeshift bridge down and followed Kataria over the wall, landing hard but still upright.

  “Stay low so they don’t see us,” he said, “and we’ll avoid any further unhappiness.”

  * * *

  The afternoon was waning as they crawled through the underbrush and peered down into a small clearing where five men waited with horses. One, nobly dressed in fitted doublet and breeches, paced back and forth. The other four appeared to be common fighting men but showed a discipline to their movements that marked them as something more. For a camp at the edge of a war, they seemed far more relaxed than the situation warranted. Jonrin was lost in the trees behind them, but sounds of the conflict still carried to their ears.

  “Is that him?” Tormjere whispered, pointing to the pacing man.

  “Yes. The one in the middle is Erbac, steward of my father’s household. I was surprised he offered to come himself.”

  It did seem odd that someone so senior would be here in the middle of the woods, but she was a princess after all, and he supposed that would warrant the added concern.

  “Let us get you to your meeting, then.”

  An Unexpected Turn

  “Master Erbac!”

  The steward’s head snapped around in surprise as they stepped into the clearing. “Kataria, my dear,” he said, extending his arms.

  She rushed to him, and he hugged her close.

  Tormjere followed a few steps behind, keenly aware of the wary gazes of the surrounding soldiers. Three had swords and one a warhammer at his belt, and hints of mail were visible beneath their tunics.

  Erbac looked at her in concern as he released her.

  “We saw the fighting and feared for your safety. Where is Sir Worston? How did you avoid capture?”

  “Tormjere,” she said, stepping back beside him. “He is a Ranger and guided me here.”

  “Excellent work, good sir,” Erbac said. “I thought all of our Rangers were in the east. We are indeed fortunate that you were present.”

  “Sir Worston and his second were killed trying to save me,” Kataria said. “It was horrible! We were attacked in the town by men who—”

  Erbac cut her off gently. “Hush, now. No need to relive such unhappy memories. You’re safe.”

  “But—”

  “We shall speak of it later, Your Highness, once free of danger. We must be on our way now.” Erbac turned to Tormjere. “Thank you again for your aid in this matter.”

  “It was my duty,” Tormjere replied. “But you are correct that you must move. Will you make for Fallhaven?”

  “The road we travel is, unfortunately, to remain a secret,” Erbac said. “In the interests of Her Highness’s safety, you should tell no one that we were ever here.”

  “The woods are lousy with goblins,” Tormjere said. “At least three hundred struck the town and may be seeking their way out as we speak. Surely you could use the help in avoiding them.”

  Kataria looked pleased at his offer. “That would be—”

  “Rest assured that we have the situation well in hand now.” Erbac’s brow was furrowed and his voice held an edge to it. He paused and smiled smoothly. “You are to be commended for your dedication, and I shall speak of you to the King. You may return to your duties now. I am certain that there are many others who could use your aid during these troubled times.”

  Kataria glanced at Tormjere nervously and took a half step further away from Erbac, clearly unsettled by his behavior. The steward’s eyes flicked to one of the other men, who moved behind her.

  That silent command changed everything. Tormjere might have assumed this as simply a case of a noble being unhappy with a commoner such as himself, were it not for the fact that the men were now focused on the princess as much as him.

  “I just wish to leave,” she said.

  “And we will, Your Highness. It has all been arranged.”

  Tormjere heard Kataria’s sudden intake of breath and watched the uncertainty in her blue eyes change to fear. Those same words had been used by one of the men who had attacked her earlier.

  Erbac’s face hardened as he turned again to Tormjere. “But we do not need anyone else with us.”

  Why were they speaking so casually with such a large raid taking place? His eyes swept the clearing again. Everyone was faced inwards with hands hovering near their weapons. They were beyond talking now.

  Tormjere dipped his head in acknowledgment, and the steward relaxed. His eyes met Kataria’s once more, and she stared back as if she already knew what he was about to do and was ready for it.

  He drew his sword and slashed past her, killing the man at her back. Erbac jumped forward, reaching towards the princess. Unwilling to swing his sword so close to her, Tormjere pulled his knife and plunged it into the steward’s chest. Erbac went down with a scream.

  Tormjere stepped in front of Kataria to meet the oncoming attacks at the same time she stepped behind him.

  The soldier with the warhammer threw his own dagger at Tormjere as he charged. Tormjere jumped towards him rather than dodge sideways. His maneuver caught them by surprise, and the one running at him stumbled as he tried to check his advance.

  To close for an effective cut, Tormjere stabbed upwards. The broad tip of his sword should have stopped at the guard’s mail shirt and pushed the man back. Instead, it penetrated both mail and flesh and exploded through his back as his momentum carried him down the blade.

  The man stared at him in shock, and his warhammer fell from his fingers. Tormjere had no time to ponder what had happened, barely freeing his sword in time to block the next attack.

  The two
remaining soldiers came to a stop. They regarded him warily, then advanced in unison. So ferocious was their assault that Tormjere struggled to defend himself from their blows.

  He retreated, careful not to let either get too far around his side. They countered by spreading further apart, and attacking from different directions at the same time. Tormjere barely dodged one as he parried the other.

  One of them kicked him hard in the leg and he stumbled sideways, seeking space. The man pressed his attack but lost his own footing as he stepped across the gnarled roots of a large tree. His blade dipped, just enough.

  Tormjere took the opportunity, knowing that he was overextending. He cut hard, cleaving the man’s jaw from his head and sending him spinning to the ground with a tortured gurgle.

  Tormjere twisted desperately to avoid the blow he knew was coming from the remaining soldier. White hot pain exploded in his side as a blade skidded off his ribs, followed by a gloved fist that slammed into his face. Stars streaked across vision as he reeled from the impact. A heavy boot smashed into his chest, sending him flying backwards. Struggling to breath, he raised his sword as a shadow loomed over him.

  A hammer came crashing into the back of the soldier’s head with a hollow thud, and he collapsed in a heap beside Tormjere.

  Kataria stood looking down at them both in surprise, the weapon held uncertainly in her hand.

  Tormjere tried to rise, but the world spun around him and he collapsed back to the ground.

  Kataria knelt beside him, unsure of what to do. The wounds looked bad.

  “Heal…,” he said through clenched teeth.

  She looked at him uncomprehendingly.

  “Are you… a cleric… or not?”

  Kataria wasn’t, actually, and she knew it. Despite the symbol of Eluria hanging from her neck, she possessed far more desire than actual knowledge. But he needed help, and no one else was there to offer it. There was a prayer she had seen used before, by Sister Grace—but how did the words go? Use the correct prayer for the correct results, she had been taught. She held her hand above the deep cut in his side, hesitant to touch it for fear of causing more pain.