We Will Hunt Together Read online

  Camille stuck a small branch into the fire until it caught. She carried it into the hut, emerging with a lit lantern.

  "Bed."

  For a second, Helgaer's legs rebelled before she managed to stagger to her feet.

  In the small circle of light from Camille's lantern, Helgaer, nearly dead on her feet, recognised a bed with an old straw mattress on it. Lying down caused another spike of agony, but it was muted and distant.

  "Go to sleep. Snore and I'll tip a bucket of water over you."

  Helgaer did not hear the last part.

  Helgaer awoke late the next morning in an empty cabin.

  A moment of confusion and instantly-alert panic (where was she? Who was there?) was displaced by a stab of pain when she tried to move.

  She held herself rigid, her teeth clenched, as memory rushed back, and she pushed down the pain.

  When she felt she could move, she unwrapped herself from the blanket before standing up with extreme care. She was still fully dressed below the waist, including boots, so the cold floor didn't add to her self-pity. Above the waist, she had Camille's makeshift bandaging, her breast bindings and nothing else.

  The memory of Camille undressing her rose up in full force and her cheeks coloured. She said a brief prayer that she had adopted the bindings when she put on men's clothes.

  Part of her expected Camille to walk through the door. Helgaer kept her arms firmly by her sides as she looked around for something to wear. Her skin still kept the warmth of the bed, but it was autumn. The air was chill and she would get cold quickly.

  Her shirt was nowhere in sight.

  She saw some of Camille's spare shirts hanging from carved bone hooks, but she doubted they would fit her stockier—and bustier—figure.

  A cloak sewn out of wolf skins was hanging beside the door, giving her a small shock of nostalgia. It was not as good as a Vreeland cloak, but she lifted it down anyway.

  With the cloak wrapped around her to preserve what modesty she could still claim, she looked with more interest at the insides of the hut.

  Her belt, weapons and bucklers were lying in a neat heap beside the bed, which made her immensely relieved. Despite the pain, she strapped the belt back on underneath the cloak and adjusted her sword and dagger to her satisfaction. After a moment's hesitation, she defiantly strapped her bucklers on as well, although her abilities in a fight would be limited indeed.

  The hut was one room in one rectangle. Shutters fit loosely over windows, making the interior dim but not fully dark. There was only one bed. Camille must have spent the night on a pile of skins against the other wall. There was a desk—just a slab of wood on four crude legs—and a very solid, very locked, chest. The desk carried knives and various tools for working wood, leather and skins. She recognised a fletching knife sitting in front of a bowl full of turkey feathers.

  The desk also held a silver coffee pot with an oil burner. Helgaer felt a sudden stab of longing—it had been a week since she had last had coffee—but pushed it down.

  Spare bows leaned against one wall, unstrung—all simple but impeccably made—next to a couple of quivers and an impressive pile of arrows. A weapons rack held a couple of mismatched swords. A shelf beside the swords held a few daggers. No two had the same blade, handle or sheath.

  An unlocked, much cruder chest held clothes and a pile of old and mismatched wooden bowls and wooden or bone cutlery. There was no food in the hut. There was also, despite the furs piled in every corner, little warmth.

  She warily stepped outside.

  The hut stood with its back to a cliff, a semi-circle of trees around it. The clearing was partly bare dirt, partly straggly grass and partly a shelf of upthrust rock. The tripod over the fire pit, the cauldron, and, she could now see, supports for a spit as well, were made by a skilled blacksmith.

  The trees were all high-altitude pines, giving her a brief and ruthlessly quashed nostalgia for home. They were so tall, the sun hadn't awoken her until late morning. She grimaced at having wasted so much day, but a small voice in the back of her head chided her for not recognising when she needed to rest.

  Only a couple of paths left the clearing. On trees around the clearing, there were archery targets made of tightly coiled thick rope.

  In normal circumstances, she would have spared a moment to appreciate the beauty of where she was.

  There were too many questions for that now. She would have roundly cursed herself for being so trusting of a complete stranger, but, so far, she was still safe.

  "Good morning."

  Helgaer nearly jumped.

  Camille was sitting on the far end of the bench, her eyes closed and her entire posture one of relaxation in the morning sunlight. Three rabbits sat on an old circle of tree trunk at the near end of the bench. Camille's exquisite bow was hanging on two hooks high on the wall of the hut, her quiver of arrows lying on the bench next to her.

  Further past Camille, Helgaer's shirt and cloak were draped over a tanning rack. The shirt was wet and, Helgaer could see even from where she was standing, no longer had blood stains on it.

  "Good morning." Helgaer suddenly realised how dry her throat was and, at the same time, how full her bladder.

  Camille was looking at her from one half-closed eye. "Behind you. Follow the path."

  A worn path lead around the side of the hut, past a wood pile, to a natural cave. The cave contained a chair with a hole cut in it over a bucket and a second bucket holding ash.

  Trying not to feel self-conscious, she carefully unfastened and pushed down her pants and sat down, gritting her teeth against any movement that jarred her side.

  A handful of ash went in the bucket when she had finished.

  Camille stood up when Helgaer returned to the bench.

  "You will need water first and then food to cope with losing that much blood."

  Camille walked around the other side of the hut, so Helgaer followed, sealing her mouth against the questions trying to escape.

  A large barrel sat against the cliff, underneath a small rivulet that was barely enough to wet the rock, but which, drip by drip, kept the barrel full. A battered metal mug sat on another segment of tree trunk next to it. The water set Helgaer's teeth on edge and made her shiver, but she knew the dangers of dehydration after so much blood loss.

  Next to the barrel, where hot sun would never reach it, stood a solid, iron-bound chest.

  Inside, a metal jug of milk stood next to two loaves of bread, a pile of forest onions, woody wild carrots and farmed parsnips.

  Camille started pulling out vegetables. "How much can you carry?"

  The cauldron, already washed, was sitting next to the rain barrel. Camille half filled it with water and carried it easily in one hand.

  Back at the bench, Camille put the cauldron on the ground and pointed at another tree stump for Helgaer to deposit her armload of vegetables. "Can you butcher rabbits?"

  "Pretty well."

  Camille was already drawing the dagger at her belt and picking up a carrot.

  Gritting her teeth, Helgaer sat down in front of the stump with the carcasses on it. She debated for a second how to arrange the cloak so she could work, then set her jaw and started taking it off. She could see her shirt was still too wet to wear comfortably.

  "Wait a moment," Camille said. She disappeared into the hut.

  "Here. That should fit you."

  It was a man's shirt, looking too large to fit Camille comfortably. It smelt musty, unused. Helgaer took it gratefully, wondering if it had belonged to an old lover or even husband.

  It fit her surprisingly well.

  "It came from a farmhouse that was being gutted by bandits," Camille said off-handedly as she sat down again and picked up her knife. "I killed them all. The last one was rather surprised about that. There was a chest of decent clothes, and I didn't want to waste them. Truth be told, I was going to throw them on the fire soon. The man's don't fit me, and I've no use for most of the woman's. You should see w
hat you can use."

  "Thank you."

  The wood in front of Helgaer bore the scars and stains of a thousand meals. A knife with a brightly gleaming edge was sticking out of it. Helgaer selected a rabbit as she pulled the knife, not without difficulty, out of the wood.

  The knife was so sharp she almost split the coney in half before she adjusted to how lightly she needed to wield it. She knew how to skin most small prey quickly and well, and the keen edge on the knife made the job as easy as she had ever had it, so the pain from her side whenever she moved did not handicap her much.

  Camille, who had finished her work quickly, sat and watched with seeming interest as Helgaer finished stripping and segmenting the carcass.

  "That's more work than I would have bothered with," Camille said before picking up the pieces of meat and dumping them in the pot.

  Helgaer took a deep breath. She still wasn't sure whether to be grateful, friendly or distrustful of Camille and was not enjoying the uncertainty. "What about the skin?" She asked, keeping her voice neutral.

  "You did well, getting it off in one piece. If you can clean it, I can sell it. They're valuable."

  Helgaer gritted her teeth, but said nothing. She knew how to skin animals cleanly and how to clean skins, and she knew just how valuable rabbit, wolf, bear, deer, fox and squirrel pelts had been in her village. She wasn't sure if Camille didn't think much of her abilities, was testing her, or simply didn't realise after living on her own that she was being rude.

  She forced her hands to relax before beginning to strip excess fat from the inside of the hide. "What will you do with the other rabbits?"

  "Hang them," Camille replied. "They will keep for a few days."

  "And the offal?"

  "Leave it on the rock for the birds. They take it too quickly for it to attract wolves."

  Helgaer thought of the furs inside. "Wolves have not yet learned to avoid this place?"

  "Well, they may have at that."

  Camille carried the cauldron easily to the fire, hanging it from the tripod, before taking the remaining rabbits inside.

  Helgaer had been wondering where Camille had been intending to hang them where they wouldn't be prey to opportunistic crows or hawks. It probably never got hot enough inside for meat to spoil quickly, even in summer. Helgaer, raised in these altitudes and from a people used to higher, twisted her lips in a sour expression at anybody building such a porous, poorly insulated hut.

  She pushed aside thoughts of seasons and anything else further away than next week by carrying the pile of offal over to the rock outcrop. She took the knife to the rain barrel to wash both it and her hands, careful to let nothing get in the barrel itself. When she returned to the bench, the ache in her side was increasing.

  Camille emerged from the hut carrying the coffee pot and its burner. She put the burner on one of the stumps before carrying the pot towards the rain barrel. "There's a creek down the hill a little way, but it's probably a rough walk while you're healing."

  Helgaer controlled herself with an effort as she sat on the bench. She could have asked—probably should have asked—but was damned if she'd say anything.

  "You know how to deal with a rabbit," Camille said when she had lit the coffee burner with a branch poked into the fire, "so I reckon you weren't lying when you said you were good at traps, and I saw that sling you carry. Slings aren't easy for hunting. And you could handle yourself well against a pack of poor opponents. So who are you, Helgaer Elfriede?"

  Helgaer had been wondering when the questions would start. "I'm a Vreelander."

  Camille simply raised an eyebrow.

  "My family are farmers."

  "So you learned to hunt for food because everybody had to chip in."

  Helgaer didn't bother confirming or denying that. It was, in any case, true. In Vreeland, girls hunted as much as boys, although usually for different prey.

  "So where did you learn to handle a sword like that?"

  "Everyone in Vreeland can fight." It was true. Women did not fight with swords, but the sticks and staves they were taught to use were a good introduction to a blade.

  "I've met Vreeland women. None of them ever carried a sword. Knives and staffs, but never a sword."

  Helgaer silently cursed, but her expression did not change. She stared across the clearing for a minute. No more running. That was her promise. One deception to her parents, for their sake. After that, no more running.

  But, no need to admit to what wasn't necessary.

  "I did grow up learning how to fight, but Vreeland women break heads. We do not cut throats. A hunter taught me." She left it at that.

  "So this hunter got killed by bandits, and you decided to avenge him all by yourself? Does your family know?"

  Helgaer stiffened at the mockery in the question as much as at how close Camille's guess had come. "In Vreeland, vengeance is a holy mission. I have my parents' blessing."

  "In Vreeland, women hunt for vengeance?" There was almost respect in Camille's tone.

  Helgaer's smile showed teeth. "In Vreeland, everyone learns to fight. I told my parents I had been courting a hunter who had been killed by bandits. They told me I could not hope to succeed on my own. I challenged my brother to prove I was weak. When I had knocked him down five times, they let me go with their blessing. They did not send me off dressed like this—not even women who go to battle dress like this."

  "And women from farms court hunters who teach them how to fight."

  Once more, the respect in Camille's tone was mixed with mockery. Helgaer sat up a little straighter, her expression stony. "She was courting me."

  From the corner of her eye, Helgaer saw Camille's head snap around towards her. "You left out an important detail to your family, then."

  "I already knew how and when to lie. I already knew I would not be marrying a man."

  Helgaer waited, but Camille said nothing more.

  "Her name was Tola. She sold skins and meat as you do, but lived closer to the border and traded with the Ortlin village on the other side, so I didn't know about her until I met her one day. I was checking snares, and she was exploring new areas to hunt. She had travelled further than normal, and I was as far as I ever went from home.

  "I had never met anyone so handsome. She was stronger than me—and I'm strong, even for a Vreeland woman—but leaner than most of us. And she was dressed like a man. At the time, I could only wish to wear a man's clothes. My mother would beat me senseless if I did. She would see it as cowardice. 'Women are stronger and should be proud of being women.' I even had to wear skirts when I went hunting in the forest, hiking them up to my knees if I needed to. I was having trouble seeing myself as a woman.

  "The first day I met her, I was attracted to her and trying not to show it, which was making it hard for me to think straight. Then she asked me if I wanted to meet again, and then she asked me if I wanted her to kiss me. The shock was so great I couldn't answer, so she did. I returned home late that night. Albrecht—my brother—was coming out to try and find me.

  "She taught me to wrestle like a man, then how to use a dagger, then how to use a sword and shield. I was happiest with a sword and dagger, which was not her way. Twice a week I would be able to meet her. We would fight, or she would teach me more about hunting, or we would be naked. She tried to teach me how to shoot a bow, but I had never been comfortable with one, which had always disappointed my mother.

  "She made me these pants and my vest and gave me my sword. We loved each other for six months.

  "Then one day, she wasn't there. We always arranged where we would meet next. She wasn't there. I waited, but she was always early. I called out, then I went around our other meeting spots. Finally, I ran all the way to her home, which was a long way from mine.

  "She was there. She died five minutes after I arrived. She had been waiting for me."

  Lost in grief that would burn until she had found vengeance or death, Helgaer did not see the way Camille was looking at h
er.

  "She had been caught by surprise after shooting a deer just inside Ortlin. They had wanted to have their fun with her, not just kill her outright, so she had been able to kill two before being overpowered. They had beaten her before, during, and after raping her. She had made it back to her home, but didn't have the strength to even try to treat any of her wounds. She was coughing up blood anyway. She was already dead; she just hung on until she saw me again."

  "Who was it?"

  If Helgaer heard, she didn't appear to react.

  "I told you vengeance is a holy mission in Vreeland. It must be done properly. I gave Tola a proper burial before returning home. I ran all the way. I met Albrecht in the woods—I heard him calling for me. It was pitch dark, but I could still run safely through those woods. He could not.

  "When we got back home, with me leading him, I told my family the story I had made up. I had not eaten since the morning. I had run for most of the day and dug a proper grave, and I still beat my brother down five times to prove I was strong enough to pursue my vengeance.

  "I left the next morning. I went back to Tola's house, made it tidy, took what I needed and locked it securely, then went straight to the village across the border to find her killers."

  "In a village? They were not bandits?"

  Again, Helgaer did not seem to hear.

  "They had moved on, marching out that morning. It was already past midday."

  "Marching? Who are you hunting, Helgaer Elfriede?"

  Helgaer finally turned to face Camille, who shivered at the look in Helgaer's face. "Their leader is called Captain Ellisar Koda."

  Camille's face blanched. "Oh, you really are looking for death."

  "If I meet death, I will not meet her alone."

  Camille fell back against the wall of the hut, staring across the clearing. "I don't doubt you will kill one or two, but these are soldiers! They're well-trained, well-equipped and disciplined! They may be bastards who break even the laws of their own land, but they're tough bastards!

  "I've heard of Captain Koda. He's the sort who gets sent to wild border areas because the king doesn't want him anywhere near civilised cities, and because who cares what he gets up to out here so long as he gets rid of outlaws? He's not stationed near here, but I'm still worried he'll wander in my direction."