Hunter and Fox (15 page)

“Yes, that is what I am told.” The Caisah's eyes were now hooded. Whatever emotions he had in such moments he always kept to himself. “He is not much prey for my worthy hawk, but he is an annoyance and thus justifies a piece of your puzzle. It should be an easy piece…”

He enjoys seeing you hunt, foolish Vaerli
. The Kindred's voice was like salt in an open wound, but she did not flinch or reply. To show weakness before the Caisah was something she would not allow.

It was an easy piece for her to claim and she wondered at it. What could be his motivation? Was he bored with their game after all these centuries, or could it be that this Finnbarr was more of an adversary than he was letting on?

Why do you puzzle over it? You will bring him back dead or alive to your master's feet, like the hunting hound you are.

She turned on her heel, acknowledging neither the gold-cast Caisah nor the entrenched Kindred. Nothing was to be gained in doing so, and she was well used to ignoring the irrelevancies of life. For the moment she had her prey and prize to consider.

I
t would have been better for Finn and his friends if the moons had not been as full—but they had to work with what they had. Still, Perilous was quiet. All the hustle and bustle of the day was packed away, and only the desperate or the dangerous were out on the street. Finn couldn't pinpoint exactly which of these groups he belonged to.

Lighting was sparse, with only a few lanterns hung at street corners. They moved quickly and quietly to the outermost edge of the city. The gates were shut for the night, but Finn's friends knew plenty of people who would shelter them until daylight.

He had to admit to a surge of nervousness. The houses here drooped over the streets like conspirators in some ancient plot, and he did not like being unable to see the sky. The neighborhood had a reek of urine and wine, and the lack of people responsible for either of those made it unbearably spooky. He was a talespinner, so he knew spooky intimately.

Admittedly, he shouldn't have been surprised when a figure appeared in the dim light, barely discernible from the rest of the darkness except for the length of blade that she carried before her.

“I do believe you are out after your bedtime,” she said quietly.

Finn was, for the second time in less than a day, looking into the eyes of Talyn the Dark—and this time he felt the thrill of fear. He froze, knowing she already knew any move he would make and could be there before him. He was in that instant very aware of his life and its fragility. It was her only gift to her victims.

Even then, he couldn't give up; his talespinning training wouldn't let him. He smiled at her while his friends watched with undisguised horror. “You don't need to do this, Talyn. You don't really want me to die.”

“You presume much,” Talyn replied, though he thought he detected the faintest of blushes. It was just possible that the Caisah's Hunter did not want it revealed that he had kissed her lips…or even more.

“What I said was your people's story. I made them listen, even if just for a moment. If you let me go, I will continue to speak the truth and the Vaerli will be known. People will care what happens to them.”

Talyn frowned but did not move.

“You don't need that butcher. He killed your people and he is doing the same to you by inches.”

“Careful, boy.” Varlesh kept his voice low, as if the Hunter were some frightened horse.

“It is a terrible thing I do,” Talyn replied, her eyes not meeting Finn's, “but I sacrifice myself for them…”

She was blind—he saw it now. “And what about the innocents, Talyn? What about the orphaned children? The poor wives and husbands crying in the night? The fathers and mothers whom you rob?” He yearned to grab hold of her and give her a shake.

His words had the opposite effect of what he wanted; her sword came up and her eyes now met his with dark and deadly force.

“That's broken it,” Equo stated the obvious. “Run!”

They all obeyed, knowing it would do them no good.

Talyn could have found Finn by his aura alone. With him named as her prey their bond was unbreakable, except with his death or capture.

His eyes were no longer calm and she recognized the fear in them with some relief. So he was just a man capable of feeling emotion, and not some vengeful spirit. He could be brought down and his bounty collected.

They ran—which was to be expected. The before-time blurred around her. Then her prey stopped, and Talyn dropped out in confusion.

“Wait.” His voice was honeyed and tempered with the power of a talespinner. She was fully aware she mustn't pause for him to bind her with any spells or mind-myths.

The world reeled. In her shadow the nameless Kindred keened in the high voice of Chaos, momentarily halting her step and blinding her senses.

Talyn spasmed as it ripped its etheric form free, and tasted metal as it burned out of her throat. For a moment, conscious thought was impossible.

When her eyes cleared it was to horror. The Kindred was all around Finn in a visible nimbus of fire. Talyn's body went cold. It could not be!

The nameless Kindred cried out a name in Vaerli through Finn's throat. The cry set the walls ringing and the ground to heaving. The sword dropped from her fingers in shock, just as the Kindred fled deep within Finnbarr's shadow.

It was impossible, and yet Talyn felt its power shuttering around the four men.

Only then did the Hunter move with the speed and grace of her people, but it was far too late. The Kindred took them through the earth, and she was left touching only a cooling piece of stone.

Kneeling there for a moment, her fingers traced the spot while her mind wandered far ahead. The Kindred were her people. The Great Pact had been between them and no other. Why would one protect a Manesto? It went against everything she knew.

“I think you met your match, little flower.” Talyn's chest tightened, and the world became stranger still as she heard the pet name from a voice she hadn't expected to hear ever again.

Shaking with a rush of anger and hope, she turned.

Her father was not tall even among the Vaerli, but he had always had presence. Her eyes could not drink in enough of him, the strange golden hair that marked him out from the rest of their race, the deeply set gray eyes, and the smile almost hidden beneath an immaculate mustache.

Who was crying? Why could she not breathe?

“Am I dead?” Talyn finally gasped.

His eyes were full of tears too, but he held out his hand. “Don't fear, daughter. Neither of us is.”

Reality and the past were now intruding. She backed away from him. “But the Harrowing…how are you here? Where is the pain?”

His gaze dropped and his shoulders sagged. “I heard,” he whispered softly. “They finally told me what you had become, what you have been doing since that awful day.”

Talyn shut her eyes and willed him not to say such things. It had been so long since she had heard his voice, and to hear it now condemning her was unbearable.

“I read the Wyrde they had left for me, carved into the places where we used to meet. They told of my beloved daughter and never had such despair touched me—even when your mother was killed. They said that the time had come to stop your treachery to the memory of our people.”

In her mind, Talyn had already considered the possibility that one of her own would find her and take her into the fire with the conflagration of the Harrowing. It was almost surprising that they had taken so long to reach the same idea.

Her father's voice continued on, wrung out with sadness and shame. “Even when I heard what you have done, I could not stand by and let you die. So I went to the Hill of Sorrow in the Salt Plains and performed the trials of Sundering, the
goroa'shan
.”

Talyn's shocked exclamation burst from her body—a sudden explosion of horror and guilt. She'd not been expecting that. Only now did she see the gray hairs amongst the golden. Flinging herself into her father's arms, she hugged him tightly.

It was true, then. No flames arose to claim them, but then neither was there the taste of empathic joy. The only sensation was the feeling of his tight embrace. She couldn't feel the rush of joined minds and feelings. He had cut himself off from that, and all for her.

She cried until her body ached and her throat broke raw. He held her, stroking her hair, whispering inane and pointless words. All the time, between them was the void where none should have been.

“
Mathiel
,” she finally found her voice with the endearment, “that is for criminals, evil Vaerli who must be exiled from the people. Why would you do such a terrible thing?”

He touched her hair and smiled. “You have no children, little flower, or you would not ask.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“Which I am, in a way. Ah, but it is good to see you again. You are so very like your mother to look at.” A deep frown etched itself on his brow. In the time before the Harrowing the Vaerli married for life or until love faded; there was nothing they did not share. How that moment when the bond was broken had felt to her father, Talyn could only imagine.

“But nothing else of me is like her…” Bitterness crept into her words.

He did not answer but, taking her hand, held it tightly. “No time for anger now, little flower. I cannot stay long. Your brother too is in great danger; he walked my dreams this month past. I have been told where I can find him, and I hope I may be able to do him some good.”

“I felt it,” Talyn whispered. “If only for a little while. I…I didn't know what to do. Tell me this danger he is in.”

“I cannot, and you know why. You are the Caisah's creature.”

She kicked a stone away and tried to control her temper. Her father had not always been like this. The one she remembered had been sunny and full of laughter.

Her disappointment must have been written large, for he squeezed her hand. “We are all changed. It has been centuries of pain and anguish for each of us. Try to remember that.”

It was hard, this talking about emotions, especially when empathy had once been there instead—so many ways to be misunderstood and to misunderstand.

“Then will you not help me as well?” She fought back the urge to cry again.

“I have been able to go places, see many things, since I set myself apart from our people. You must give up this bounty you seek for the Caisah.”

She flung his hand away. “Give it up! I am so close now. So few pieces remain. I cannot just abandon it when I have done so much…hurt so many people. It would all have been for nothing.”

“You were young when you started on this path, daughter. We were all lost in our pain. No one will blame you for this.”

Yet she did blame herself. Talyn bit the inside of her cheek to keep those words from flying out. At least if she won out in the end, she could know she had reached her goal. To give it up would mean she'd been wrong and others had suffered needlessly for it.

His hands clenched, so obviously he didn't need to be empathic to feel her anger. “He will demand you bring back this Finnbarr, and he will probably demand you help his Swoop quell yet another rebellion in the east. Will you add to the crimes you must repent for? How many will you trample beneath you?”

It was by far easier to be angry and push him away than to take his words in. Anything else was unthinkable. Perhaps one day he would see it had all been worth it.

“I will never repent,” she cried hotly. “I will pay for what I have done, but if I burn at least I will be happy knowing my people are safe. At least I will have done something!”

He flinched at that, knowing an accusation when one was thrown his way. Her father went on softly as if she were some skittish colt in need of guidance. “You know what will happen if you do this.”

She was well aware, but she would not tell him of the anguished days and nights she'd spent before accepting the Caisah's offer, or how she'd cried aloud for her mother who could never come again. He would take it as weakness. Instead, she replied evenly and looked into his eyes so he would know she was as determined as he was. “No price is too high to end the Harrowing. These are our people, living in desperation and pain for hundreds of years. Wouldn't you do anything to stop all that?” Her voice cracked with the depth of her emotion.

His expression changed, a shifting from determination to endless grief. She had just told him she was prepared to risk greater pain than death itself.

His hands dropped to his sides, palms out in supplication to a world that had long since abandoned them.

It was the hardest thing in the world not to embrace him one last time, but Talyn did not. “Go now,
Mathiel
. Leave the words you must for our people. I will not be swayed. Let them send their messenger of death if they will.”

He ran a tired hand through his hair. “You are like your mother in more than appearance. I hope we shall meet again, but I cannot tell if we will.”

Then the darkness claimed him, and there was only the hollow where his presence had been. Terrible times she had seen, but to Talyn this was the worst of them all. Before, she had at least been able to imagine she was doing this for her people, and spun a story in her mind of her father's pride. Now there was only harsh reality.