DEBTS (Vinlanders' Saga Book 3) by Frankie Robertson

moss. Unlike most, the turf roof sported a collection of wildflowers like a colorful bonnet and a long wide porch supported by peeled logs spanned the front. Off to the right of the cottage half a dozen chickens scratched in the herb garden. The whole sat in the center of a wide clearing surrounded by forest. It looked as though the mistress of this domain might step out the door at any moment to toss the wash water, but to Aren it felt empty. The soul of the place was gone.
    Aren dismounted, tied Pinter to the rail, and went inside. Broken crockery testified to a hasty departure, or perhaps a careless search. The hearth was cold, its fire burned down to grey ash. The cot in the corner and the bed in the alcove had both been stripped of their blankets. The women were not coming back.
    Aren went back outside to walk around the building, going first to the garden. Two rows looked to be planted with vegetables, the rest in herbs. He knelt there. This was Annikke’s livelihood. A place she nurtured and depended on. He traced the tender shoots, surprised to find their growth so far advanced for the season. His Tandra had the Talent of nurturing plants, but not so strong.
    Was this Annikke’s Talent? Or Benoia’s?
    No matter. Aren rose and continued his circuit of the cottage. On the other side he found the way they’d taken. The rain had obliterated any mark, but his Talent put him on their trail. He knew exactly where they’d slipped into the trackless forest, hoping to elude pursuit.
    Aren mounted his horse and followed.
    *
     
    Late afternoon light slanted through the trees as Annikke and Benoia crested a rise near the end of the day. Annikke lifted a hand to shade her eyes to survey the terrain. What she saw made her heart fall.
    “Odin’s Eye!”
    Before them a deep cleft cut across the landscape like a giant furrow plowed by the gods, disappearing into the forest in both directions. Only a bird could cross something like that.
    Benoia groaned and sat on the rocky hillside, letting her carry sacks rest beside her.
    Annikke knew the general direction Quartzholm lay in, but not the terrain. She’d never left her village, nor seen a map of the area. That ignorance would now cost them precious time. She’d avoided the road on purpose, not wanting to make it easy for Lord Tholvar’s men to intercept them. Now they’d have to either go far out of their way to cross the Rift at the lowlands near the Nuvinland river, or back-track to the road, putting them at risk of discovery. Either way held risks. All they could hope was that Tholvar’s men wouldn’t be looking for them this far from the village.
    “We’ll rest here,” Annikke said to the girl already sitting on the ground. Annikke’s bones ached from hiking over rock-strewn terrain and sleeping on the unforgiving ground.
    Benoia shook her head and scrambled back to her feet. “No. We need to find a thicket to conceal us. And water.”
    Annikke nodded. Their water-skins were growing light. “Lead on, then. My choices haven’t served us well.”
    Benoia’s head came around. “You got us out of the cottage so Tholvar’s men didn’t find us that first morn. It’s not your fault that your Talent isn’t Pathfinding.”
    Annikke’s throat tightened at hearing the girl’s staunch defense, but she waved it off. “Even a blind hog can find a truffle now and then.”
    Benoia’s lips thinned, but all she said was, “Let’s try this way.”
    *
     
    Aren’s keen observational skills were of little use to him as he followed the women’s trail into the forest. All that led him was his Talent, that
knowing
where a person or animal had gone. His Talent had its limitations. He couldn’t
Find
his quarry, he had to
follow
, though if he encountered two intersecting tracks he knew which was the most recent. His Talent had emerged in his thirteenth summer and it had served him well, along with the hunting skills he’d also learned, to feed his family after his father