The Sacred Hunt Duology Read Free Page A

that.”
    â€œI,” once again he used Stephen as punctuation, “am the man who caught him.”
    The black and white answered with a low, warning growl.
    â€œIn my books that makes me the one who gets the reward. But I ain’t a greedy man. I’ll share it with you.”
    â€œMarcus—please. . . .” Stephen’s voice was a rasping choke.
    â€œShut up.” No openhanded slap, this. When Marcus’ hand drew back, it was bloodied.
    Lord Elseth stared hard at Marcus for a moment. When he moved his mouth, it formed no words, and the lift of his lips was no smile. “Corwel.” The Lord took a step back. “Yours.”
    He lifted the horn to his lips.
    The dogs sprang, their feet covering the short distance as if they needed no ground to run on. Marcus’ eyes grew wide, and with a loud cry, he threw Stephen at them. He ran into the old building, yelling as if they had already reached him.
    Corwel’s voice joined his in the music of hunter and hunted. Without pause, he followed through the open door.
    The Hunter Lord ignored the sounds that came out of the building. Quietly, he walked over to the huddled bundle of youth that lay at Maritt’s feet.
    No, Maritt
, he sent softly.
Go and join Corwel.
    She needed no other word. Like the breeze, she passed them by, leaving almost no trace.
    The Lord knelt, unmindful of the snow that immediately began to melt into his knees. He reached out with one large hand, saw the horn that it held, and stopped to return it to his belt.
    Stephen was too tired, too weak, to offer any more resistance. He lay on his side, his face covered by hands that showed red. What Marcus had done had takenthe last of his spirit and guttered it. It had been stupid to come here. But even if Marcus wouldn’t let him in, he didn’t have to—didn’t have to . . .
    Lord Elseth reached down gently and drew Stephen’s hands away from his face. “Come, boy. Let me see it.”
    His lips were already swelling. Very gingerly, Lord Elseth probed at the bruised jaw. Stephen gasped.
    â€œIt may be dislocated. Can you walk?”
    Nodding, Stephen tried to rise. His eyes were dark, their blue lost, as he glanced furtively up at the larger man.
    â€œWe don’t go to the Justice-born, lad. We go to the Mother-born. There’s a temple not far from the lower city. I’ll make the offering.” Lord Elseth rose and put his hands under Stephen’s arms. He set the boy on his feet, saw that he wobbled dangerously, and lifted him up instead.
    The child weighed almost nothing.
    â€œBoy?”
    Stephen shook his head, flailing weakly, although he had almost no strength for it. Then he sank into the furs that surrounded the Lord. They were soft, and so very, very warm.
    â€œDogs?” He muttered, an edge of fear in the solitary word. His lids were already too heavy and he missed the expression on the Hunter Lord’s face, which was just as well.
    â€œThey’ll be along soon. When they’ve finished here.”
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    The silver mists rolled in over the scene like fog across the lowlands. She sat in an inn half a continent away, in Everani, a fishing village downcoast of Averalaan, her palms cupped around a glowing, crystalline sphere.
    At her back, she heard the whispers:
seer-born.
She did not disillusion them; it gave her privacy for the moment, and besides, it was not altogether untrue. But she was more, and different, than simply talent-born.
    Stephen of Elseth
, she thought, as she pushed strands of hair back into the privacy of her hood.
You’re so young. We don’t meet yet.
But she knew where she was, and more important, knew
when
she was.
    The mists obscured the young boy completely before she looked away. She was Evayne a’Nolan, and quite alone. She straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and rose. It was time for work now, not for dalliance, and she