had penetrated two boot soles and a book before stopping, as well as my best white shirt and a wool sock embroidered by Darla with my initials.
The kid saw and went pale. I shrugged. Let them think I spend every day casually picking crossbow bolts out of everything from my laundry to my oatmeal. If I needed to shake in fear, I’d do so later, in the privacy of my own locked room.
Gertriss came to stand close to me and wiped pine needles and loam off her knees. “They’re gone?” she whispered.
I nodded. “For now.”
I could tell by her look she was having second, third, and possibly fourth thoughts about life as a highly paid finder. But in the end, she picked up her bag and made for the wagon, giving the leering kid a good hard country glare as she marched.
I followed, and we got ponies and dogs and wagons turned around then headed down the ruined road toward the Banshee’s Walk.
Chapter Six
The ride was slow and rough.
The sun peeked through, but not often, and as we entered Wardmoor proper the high, thick boughs overhead blotted out even the narrowest shafts of daylight.
And naturally, in the shadows, the huldra came out to play.
I saw shadows flit and tumble between the limbs and the massive black trunks. I heard whispers and sighs just beneath the soft rush of the wind and the ever-present scratching of branch and leaf. The deeper we went, the louder the whispers became. The closer they came to forming words. Strange words, words not spoken in Kingdom, words that only a sorcerer or their dark kin might understand.
It’s been that way since the night I held the huldra. Even though I broke it, even though I let it fall from my hand, I cannot deny that I told it my name. And even broken, even burned to ash in Mama’s black iron cauldron and scattered over an ogre’s manure-cart, the huldra still has a hold on me, at least in the dark.
The wagon jerked. Gertriss fell against me, and caught my hand. At once, the tumbling shadows vanished, and the whispering was just the wind.
“I am awful sorry about that,” she said, looking at the deep scratches she’d raked across my face when I’d tackled her. Although most of the bleeding had stopped, I could feel them oozing and beginning to itch. “I just didn’t know what had got into you.”
I shrugged and forced a grin. “I’m just glad you didn’t whip out that knife. I need both my kidneys.”
She blanched and bit her lip.
“Not much farther,” said Marlo, the wagon driver. “Round the bend and across another creek. Might have to wade the creek—hard enough on the ponies without a load.” Marlo turned around and regarded us quizzically from beneath his furry white eyebrows. “Now, what you reckon is a’ goin’ on with the Mistress and them there surveyin’ stakes?”
I wiped fresh blood from my chin and pondered my reply.
I don’t generally like to talk shop with the hired help until I get them all in the same room. That way they hear the same thing, and I eliminate the inevitable wild rumors that fly when private conversations get retold a few dozen times.
I gave Gertriss a sideways glance that I hoped meant here’s an old finder’s trick.
“Too soon for me to have much of a reckoning,” I said, amiably. “But you live there. You see everything, hear everything, know everybody.” I tilted my head just so, furrowed my brow with just the right mixture of interest and concern. “Why not tell me what you reckon is going on?”
Marlo laughed. “Now what makes you think an old dried up road apple sech as me knows anything ’bout the goins’on in that there House?”
“You’ve got a good pair of eyes and a sharp pair of ears. I bet you knew about the stakes on the grounds before the Mistress did.”
That made sense. It would be a gardener or a stable boy or a driver who found the first surveyor’s stake. I doubt Lady Werewilk, or any other Lady, did much traipsing around in the weeds as a part of her daily routine.
Marlo
The kid saw and went pale. I shrugged. Let them think I spend every day casually picking crossbow bolts out of everything from my laundry to my oatmeal. If I needed to shake in fear, I’d do so later, in the privacy of my own locked room.
Gertriss came to stand close to me and wiped pine needles and loam off her knees. “They’re gone?” she whispered.
I nodded. “For now.”
I could tell by her look she was having second, third, and possibly fourth thoughts about life as a highly paid finder. But in the end, she picked up her bag and made for the wagon, giving the leering kid a good hard country glare as she marched.
I followed, and we got ponies and dogs and wagons turned around then headed down the ruined road toward the Banshee’s Walk.
Chapter Six
The ride was slow and rough.
The sun peeked through, but not often, and as we entered Wardmoor proper the high, thick boughs overhead blotted out even the narrowest shafts of daylight.
And naturally, in the shadows, the huldra came out to play.
I saw shadows flit and tumble between the limbs and the massive black trunks. I heard whispers and sighs just beneath the soft rush of the wind and the ever-present scratching of branch and leaf. The deeper we went, the louder the whispers became. The closer they came to forming words. Strange words, words not spoken in Kingdom, words that only a sorcerer or their dark kin might understand.
It’s been that way since the night I held the huldra. Even though I broke it, even though I let it fall from my hand, I cannot deny that I told it my name. And even broken, even burned to ash in Mama’s black iron cauldron and scattered over an ogre’s manure-cart, the huldra still has a hold on me, at least in the dark.
The wagon jerked. Gertriss fell against me, and caught my hand. At once, the tumbling shadows vanished, and the whispering was just the wind.
“I am awful sorry about that,” she said, looking at the deep scratches she’d raked across my face when I’d tackled her. Although most of the bleeding had stopped, I could feel them oozing and beginning to itch. “I just didn’t know what had got into you.”
I shrugged and forced a grin. “I’m just glad you didn’t whip out that knife. I need both my kidneys.”
She blanched and bit her lip.
“Not much farther,” said Marlo, the wagon driver. “Round the bend and across another creek. Might have to wade the creek—hard enough on the ponies without a load.” Marlo turned around and regarded us quizzically from beneath his furry white eyebrows. “Now, what you reckon is a’ goin’ on with the Mistress and them there surveyin’ stakes?”
I wiped fresh blood from my chin and pondered my reply.
I don’t generally like to talk shop with the hired help until I get them all in the same room. That way they hear the same thing, and I eliminate the inevitable wild rumors that fly when private conversations get retold a few dozen times.
I gave Gertriss a sideways glance that I hoped meant here’s an old finder’s trick.
“Too soon for me to have much of a reckoning,” I said, amiably. “But you live there. You see everything, hear everything, know everybody.” I tilted my head just so, furrowed my brow with just the right mixture of interest and concern. “Why not tell me what you reckon is going on?”
Marlo laughed. “Now what makes you think an old dried up road apple sech as me knows anything ’bout the goins’on in that there House?”
“You’ve got a good pair of eyes and a sharp pair of ears. I bet you knew about the stakes on the grounds before the Mistress did.”
That made sense. It would be a gardener or a stable boy or a driver who found the first surveyor’s stake. I doubt Lady Werewilk, or any other Lady, did much traipsing around in the weeds as a part of her daily routine.
Marlo
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