The Hunter's Haunt Read online

  "Stop!" the old hag barked. "This is not a fit subject for genteel company."

  "Then I take it you vote against me, milady?" I said sadly. "I wonder if anyone will grant a dying man a drink?" The fire was sinking again, and the shadows creeping in on us. Perhaps the storm was not quite as loud as before, but that was still killer weather out there.

  The silence was pregnant, slightly.

  The soldier coughed. His weathered face was scrolled with fine wrinkles, roads on a map. A map of a long and probably full life? Had I been at liberty to select a playmate from among the company in that beery taproom, then Frieda would have won hands down, with the actress a close second. But had I wanted a staunch companion at my side in a tight spot, that old campaigner would have been the only choice. Well, for real mayhem perhaps Fritz with a battle-ax …

  "The stranger?" the soldier said. "The one who took the god? You did not tell us his name. Do you know who he was?"

  "Yes, Captain. But that is another story."

  The actress shrilled a girlish laugh. "Naughty Master Omar is playing a very old game with us!"

  I flicked my brows in a short of shrug: We all know that story!

  "Very well," the dowager said. "Let us decide whose tale was the better."

  "If I have a vote, my lady," the minstrel muttered hoarsely, "then I cast it for Master Omar."

  "I'm not sure that is quite proper. Let us go around the circle. Burgomaster?" She beamed her much-wrinkled lips at the merchant. The proposed procedure would give her the final voice.

  The fat man pouted and glanced at his companion. "You are more conversant with the arts than I, my dear. You cast both our votes."

  "Oh, Master Omar's tale was quite shocking, of course." The actress studied my expression blandly for a moment, knowing that I was well aware of the arts with which she was most conversant, and hence was capable of telling much more shocking tales than that one. "But I do believe it was better told, so let us say he won the first round."

  The minstrel had already voted. Frieda smiled faintly at me, Fritz scowled predictably.

  "The decision is far from easy," I said, "but on the whole I vote for me."

  The notary shifted on the bench, turning to frown at me. "How long ago was all this?"

  Why in the world did that matter? "About two hundred years ago, I suppose. Perchance a little more."

  "I found both tales inappropriate. I decline to vote."

  The maid said nothing.

  "I believe I shall vote for Master Omar," the soldier growled. "As the lady says, he is playing an old game with us, but I am not quite ready for bed yet. He may do better as the night goes on."

  "Then I have a majority!" I had not been seriously worried. The minstrel had thrown that round. "Does no one wish to buy a flagon for the winner?"

  No one duly volunteered.

  Fritz rose and strode forward to throw more wood on the fire. I fingered the mysterious note in my pocket but left it there. The giant hefted the copper jug from the hob, looking around hopefully. Still no one wanted to buy. He returned to his seat, wearing a surly pout that would not endear him to anyone.

  "So who shall be next to tell us a story?" The dowager crouched in her chair like a long, furry, black caterpillar. Or a spider, perhaps.

  "Oo!" The actress clutched her hands together excitedly and looked to her benefactor for support. "Do you think, dearest? … Do you think that little me could dare? … Will you let me try, beloved?"

  "Go ahead, my sweet dove."

  "Oh, very well!" she said, letting him talk her into it.

  I gathered up my flagging wits. Fritz had started to smile, which was very bad news, but he could count as well as I could.

  With her cute rosebud lips and her feather-duster eyelashes, the actress could collect all the men's votes merely by reciting a recipe for borscht—not that she was likely to have set eyes on a recipe in her life. I could not imagine anyone voting against the minx, except perhaps the dowager. And hence her maid, of course. Moreover, the company was growing sleepy. Regardless of the merits of the tales, the contest might terminate without malice, just through inattention. The instant the tally went against me, Fritz would demand his due.

  I had not meant to kill his accursed dog! Had I known he was so fond of it, I would have dragged its body off into the forest before I left. That way he would never have known what happened and would have been saved distress.

  "Let me see," our new narrator began in her childlike tones. She adjusted her snowy ermine cloak over the green of her gown. "I have to start by saying who I am, right? Well, my name is Marla. I was a foundling, abandoned one bitter winter night nineteen years ago on the doorstep of the convent of the Goddess of Purity in Luzfraul, so I can tell you nothing about my family, except that they must have been of noble blood, because the blanket in which I was wrapped had a crest embroidered in one corner in silver and gold thread. Alas, the blanket was later stolen, and by the time I grew up no one could remember what the insignia had been.

  "I was raised in the convent, of course. I was just about to take my final vows, when—goodness, it must be four or five months ago now!—poor Sister Zauch received really terrible, terrible news! Her dear brother, the only relative she had left in the world, was dying! Well, Sister Zauch was very old herself, so Mother decided to send me along with her on the journey, to care for her. And so I came out into the big world like a frightened little chick peering out of its nest for the first time."

  If this was just her introduction, then her story was going to be spectacular.

  "And there in Schlosbelsh, I met dear Johein and we fell in love at first glance, didn't we, my beloved?" She turned to the merchant.

  "We did indeed, light of my life."

  The fevered minstrel on her other side stared at me with a very odd expression: eyes bulging within their red rims, lips pressed white. Fists clenched? Was he about to have a fit? Ah, but then I recalled that the entertainments provided in the establishment where I had first encountered the lady also included music. Young Gwill might very well have performed there, at the Velvet Stable. Not for gold, of course—he would have been given his pay in trade. Such houses usually reward their artists that way, singers, musicians, storytellers … so I have been told. Gwill might know the lady more intimately than I did, but he had certainly not met her in a nunnery.

  The self-named Marla was gathering self-confidence like an avalanche entering adolescence. "I'm going to tell you a much nicer, more romantic tale than Omar's! Gentle lords, fair ladies, may my tale please you! Did I get that bit right, dearest?"

  "You're doing wonderfully, rosebud."

  Nineteen? She was twenty-five if she was a day. Her name was not Marla, she had never been near a nunnery in her life, and she had tattoos in unmentionable places.

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  7: The Actress's Tale

  When King Vandok had shamed White-thorn before the city leaders and his own men, he had her taken away under guard to his camp. The rest of the day he spent in looting and despoiling Kylam. It was all horrible! Houses were burned and people killed all over the place! I shall spare you the dreadful, terrible details.

  That night he had White-thorn brought to his tent, and again he lay with her. He made love to her several times against her will. He was so big and strong that her struggles were useless!

  All the next day she was kept prisoner, although her guards were not cruel to her, because they knew she belonged to the king. In fact, they brought her lots of food to eat and nice clothes to wear. They told her how beautiful she was, even in adversity.

  And the next night again, the king summoned her and took his pleasure of her. Again she straggled in vain against his terrible strength, but he did not deliberately hurt her. He was just irresistible!

  The next day he led his army on to Jombina, and there he exhibited her in the marketplace in chains, to show that the daughter of the man who had led the revolution was now in his power
. She wore a simple black dress and no jewelry, but she looked so beautiful that everyone who saw her wept!

  Vandok sent her back to the camp and that afternoon he came himself to visit her, and brought her some beautiful clothes he had looted from the city, and some rich jewels. She knew they were stolen, but she decided to wear them because she feared that if she angered him, he would just be even nastier to the poor people of the city. She could smell the burning houses!

  That night she was brought to his tent again, but she was very beautiful in her beautiful dress and all the lovely jewels. He told her so!

  "I have known many beautiful women," he said, "but none more lovely than you."

  She saw that he was clean and freshly shaved and much better dressed than before, in a silk robe, so he looked more like a king. He was a very handsome man, with his long shiny hair and his thick gold mustache and his bright blue eyes. He insisted she dine with him, and later he undressed her very gently and patiently and when he finally clasped her against his hard, muscular chest, all tickly with golden hair, she began to fear that she might start falling in love with him, because she had never lain with any man before him, and it is very difficult for a woman not to fall in love with the man who makes love to her for the first time, even if she hates him!

  Of course, if she loves him to start with, it is quite impossible!

  I don't mean that White-thorn had forgotten the man she truly loved, Sea-breaker, or how she had parted from him in anger, because she had not dared tell him that she was going to try to kill the king of the enemy. She hoped that Sea-breaker had escaped to a fair land across the ocean and that he would be happy always.

  The next day the king led his army on to … to the next city. When they arrived, he rode up to the coach in which White-thorn was riding and said, "My lady, I am going to show you to the people here, also, but I want you to ride at my side on this beautiful white horse, and I want you to wear beautiful clothes and I have brought many even more beautiful jewels for you to wear, and they will all weep to see that you are helpless in my power, because you will be so beautiful."

  "Oh, Your Majesty," White-thorn said, "I beg you not to shame me by making my people think that I have betrayed them. I beg you to put me back in chains, so that they will know I am your helpless slave!"

  The king frowned, but then he agreed to do as she asked, and he had a golden chain made and hung around her neck and he held the other end of it. So White-thorn rode on the beautiful white horse through the city, and she wept bitter tears to see their suffering! And all the people saw how beautiful she was, and how helpless in the king's power, and they all wept, too! And even some of the Horsefolk soldiers wept, she was so beautiful, and so helpless in the power of the strong king!

  That night she came to his tent and he jumped up and kissed her. "Oh, beautiful Princess White-thorn," he said. "I have conquered all this land and everything in it belongs to me, and all the people must do whatever I say, but you are the most precious to me, because you are so beautiful and so brave. I want to bring peace to the land by making you my queen and uniting our two peoples."

  Then White-thorn wept.

  "Do not weep!" the king said. "I want to see you smile, because you have never smiled at me. Why do you weep when I offer to make you queen over all this land and the land of my savage people, also?"

  White-thorn wanted to tell him that she could never love him, big and strong and so handsome though he was, because she loved another man and would always love him, even if she never saw him again, but she was afraid that the king would then be angry with her and take out his rage on the poor people.

  "Your tears move me greatly," the king said. "I will not force you against your will ever again. Will you lie with me from choice, of your own free will?"

  Then White-thorn dried her eyes. "Your Majesty," she proclaimed, "if it will bring peace to my land and stop my people suffering, then I will do whatever you ask of me."

  "This is not enough," the king sternly said. "You must truly tell me that you love me as a man, because I love you as I have never loved any woman."

  But White-thorn did not answer him, because we ladies cannot bear to tell lies.

  So the king called for his guards and had White-thorn taken back to her own tent. And while she was lying there, all alone, staring at the darkness and wondering whether she should marry the king to bring peace to her people, she heard a strange noise. And then the flap of the tent opened and a man came in.

  She opened her mouth to scream, and a voice in the darkness said, "Is that you, my beloved? Is that White-thorn, who is ever in my dreams?"

  And White-thorn knew the voice and her heart almost leaped out of her breast with joy, and she said, "Yes, that's me. Truly are you Sea-breaker, my only love?"

  "I am Sea-breaker," the man said, "and I have risked death to come and find you and rescue you."

  Then White-thorn jumped up from her bed—I forgot to mention that she was still respectably dressed because she had been too unhappy to remove her beautiful gown and all her beautiful jewels—and she embraced Sea-breaker, and he was even taller and stronger than the king, and she loved him more than life itself and she thought how wonderful it would be to have Sea-breaker make love to her every night, well, almost every night, I mean, instead of Vandok.

  "Tell me, my darling," she said, "how you came here in the middle of the camp of the fierce Horsefolk?"

  "It is a sad story, my love," Sea-breaker answered. "When I left you, I went down to the docks to board the ship that would take me away to safety, and then I could not bear to go, for I knew that life without you would not be worth living. So I told the captain to sail without me, and I went back to look for you. But the fierce Horsefolk had taken you away before I got there, and they were burning houses and killing people. I fought several of them, killing them all, but I could not find you.

  "Then the enemy army rode away to Jombina and I followed, with some loyal friends. We learned that you were the king's prisoner and we made plans to rescue you, but it has taken us all these long days to find a way. Now we have a ship waiting, which will bear us away across the seas to safety, so that you and I can be married and live happily ever after."

  "Then let us go at once," White-thorn said, "because truly you are the only man I have ever loved, or will ever love, and King Vandok is a horrible man."

  Then they went out of the tent, but the night was all bright with flaming torches, and King Vandok stood there with hundreds of his fierce warriors all around.

  "Who is this intruder?" he cried.

  "I am the White-thorn's true love," Sea-breaker shouted, and drew his sword.

  "Then you must die," the king said, "because I also love her and I will let no other man have her!" And he drew his sword, also.

  Then the two of them fought, Sea-breaker and King Vandok, while White-thorn watched in horror, praying to the gods that the man she hated would not kill the man she loved, and all the fierce warriors stood around and watched, also.

  The king was a famous swordsman, who had slain many men and fought many battles, but Sea-breaker was more than a match for him. Their swords clashed and flashed in the torchlight, and they leaped about, while all the warriors watched, amazed at seeing such swordplay!

  Then the king paused for a moment to catch his breath, panting with his exertions so that the sweat gleamed on his heaving chest. "Truly, Sea-breaker," he said, "I have fought many great swordsmen and killed them all, but never one like you!"

  "That is because I am fighting for the woman I love!" Sea-breaker replied. And he was very cool, and not puffing hardly at all!

  Then they fought again and at last Sea-breaker struck the sword from the king's hand and put the point of his own sword at the king's heart.

  "Now I will kill you!" he said, "because you have shamed my beloved."

  "Then all my fierce warriors will kill you in turn and her, also," said the king. "White-thorn, if you will tell me that you love me, then I
will spare his life and let him go."

  "I cannot tell such a lie," Princess White-thorn cried. "I love only Sea-breaker, and if you kill him, then I swear that I will kill myself, also. Maybe you can watch me now, but you will not be able to watch me always, and one day I will manage to kill myself, or else my heart will just break and I shall fade away and die." And she threw her arms around Sea-breaker.

  "Alas!" the king said. "It is I whose heart is breaking! I love you, also, because you are so beautiful and because you are braver than any woman I have ever known. White-thorn, I can deny you nothing. Go, then, with this brave swordsman of yours, and may the gods make you happy."

  So the king let White-thorn and Sea-breaker leave the camp, and they galloped away to the ship, and sailed off across the ocean together.

  I hope I have pleased you, gentlemen? My tale, I mean. And ladies, of course.

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  8: Interlude

  I felt sick to my stomach.

  The merchant was beaming proudly. His wife sat with downcast eyes, smirking under her lashes.

  Young Gwill was doubled over, face in hands. Judging by the heaving of his shoulders, he was being racked by some powerful emotion.

  Frieda's face was expressionless, while the great oaf beside her grinned like a rabid timber wolf.

  The dowager had arranged her web of wrinkles into an approving smile; the old soldier looked stunned, as if his sword had melted in the midst of a battle; the maid wept tears of joy. I had not seen her face properly before. She was surprisingly pretty and I might have believed that her fine-drawn features denoted sensitivity and intelligence, were she not now so obviously overwhelmed by all the romantic rubbish.