The Sacred Hunt Duology Read Free Page B

had lost precious minutes watching.
    And remembering.

Chapter Two
    T HE BROAD-SHOULDERED, AUBURN-HAIRED NOBLE who rode beside the Hunter Lord was not in a good mood. He spoke gently enough to Stephen, but every time he turned his attention to the lord, his lips whitened around the edges. The Hunter Lord was also angry.
    Stephen did his best to shrink into the saddle and avoid the notice of either of the two large men. It was hard; his legs ached, first from walking and then from riding. Horses had been, at best, a thing to dream about until three days ago. Now, they were incredibly wide, large, and frightening animals that he could, just barely, sit astride.
    The dogs were still the dogs, and if the bitch looked up and growled periodically, she was a good few feet out of range. When the Hunter Lord wasn’t looking, he took the opportunity to sneer at her.
    He’d been fed, clothed in warm furs, and given a real bed to sleep in as they’d traveled along the road to Mother only knew where. But his own mother had told him once that they fed sheep and cows before they slaughtered them, too.
    He stared at his breath as it misted.
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    The red-haired man in gray and green glowered at his Hunter.
    â€œLet it be, Norn,” Lord Soredon said, his voice low and grating.
    Norn of Elseth snorted.
    Late snow fell in a thick, wet blanket that made travel difficult. Inns were cold and not well provisioned to deal with a Hunter Lord’s disgruntled dogs, and Lord Elseth was never capable of dealing with ruffled innkeepers. In fact, Norn thought, as he walked his horse around a particularly tricky bridge—which had iced in the evening and was only visible at all because he knew the roads here well—Soredon wasn’t capable of dealing with people. Period.
    As a prime example, he took the waif who had walked, or ridden, listlessly between them for the better part of the journey. Fright was still upon him and he answered any question with a monosyllable or a silent nod. His winter legs had finally given out two days ago, and he rode now on the packhorse. The four-legged one. Of course the horses couldn’t be further burdened down, not with Lady Elseth’s commands for purchases in the King’s City, and Soredon, stubborn idiot that he was, had refused to take a proper wagon. Norn, huntbrother to LordElseth, carried one half of the boy’s weight in goods, and Soredon, grumbling, took the rest.
    An argument was brewing between the two men, but Norn didn’t wish to have it out in front of the boy. The boy was just too vulnerable and too isolated to have to deal with the tempers of the nobility. And Norn didn’t trust him not to try to effect some sort of escape during such an argument, which would probably kill him in the end.
    Norn glanced over his broad shoulder, shifting so the pack frame didn’t block his sight. Stephen sat sidesaddle across the horse, clutching at the braided manes for dear life. They had had a coat and mittens for him, but the latter he’d removed when he’d been deposited on the beast. His fingers were reddened by cold; Norn feared the bite of frost there.
    He exhaled a fine, billowing mist and looked at the sun’s crisp shadows. Soon, he was certain, they would see the village that sprawled around the manor grounds. And once the boy was safely inside, he had a word or two to say to Soredon.
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    In winter, the light was gone too early from the sky. For the villagers and the farmers, dinner was an afternoon affair. The cost of tallow and wick was high enough that they were perfectly happy to see their hours dictated by the sun. Solstice had passed, and the day was lengthening. Enough so that the Lady Elseth, along with her two small children, took dinner amid the fading pinks that showed through the towering bay window that was the manor’s pride.
    A fire burned merrily against the two walls, and servants