clarity. He saw the huge figure of his pursuer silhouetted and silvered against the moonlit clouds. It perched at the very edge of the precipice over which Tal had run, seeming to debate whether to leap down after him.
'Rusk!' called a harsh voice from behind the beast. Before Tal could see whether the thing would turn away or leap down after him, the dark ground rose up to smash him senseless.
A pixie kept beating his skull with a tiny club, so Tal reluctantly opened one gummy eye. He tried to swat the pest but managed only to poke himself in the eye. His arm was feeble, and his fingers felt thick and limp as cold sausages.
That thought made the pixie's accomplices jump with laughter from their lair in his stomach. Tal rolled to one side and vomited onto the floor.
Blinking, he peered into the thin yellow mess, expecting to see the soggy little nuisances wringing out their caps and cursing. Maybe he could squish one.
There were no pixies in his vomit, and Tal began to realize that the rhythmic pounding came from outside.
He swallowed painfully. The vile taste in his mouth was familiar. What nasty medicine had he been fed? How long had he been sleeping? With an effort, he rolled onto his back and blinked at his surroundings.
He was in an unfamiliar cottage. Of course, any mere cottage should be unfamiliar to a scion of the Uskevren family, whose Stormweather Towers was among the finest mansions of Selgaunt. Instead of the warm scent of incense, Tal smelled the earthy odor of wood smoke. Rather than rich tapestries, he saw bunches of drying herbs and clusters of garlic, onions, and a confusing variety of other roots hung from the rafters. Amid it all was a squat stone fireplace, its flames dancing upon a trio of withering logs.
Cold fresh air and thin rays of morning light swept in from under the crude wooden door and through the simple shutters. Tal took a deep, cleansing breath. Even through the sickness, it felt grand to be alive, and better still that someone other than his father had rescued him from the disastrous hunting expedition. Recovering in a woodsman's home would give him time to put a better face on the fiasco.
Tal stopped kidding himself. This was far more serious than spending a night in jail for a tavern brawl. For all he knew, he was the only one of the hunting party to survive.
Tal tried sitting up, but his head spun. Only then did he begin to feel the stiff pains of his wounds. He cautiously lifted the woolen blanket and surveyed the damage.
His left arm was neatly bandaged and bound against his chest, which was swathed in more bandages. His scalp itched, and he felt more dressings on his head. Tal gently probed his skull but thankfully found no boneless wound. Whoever had found him must have been a skilled healer, perhaps even a priest. Tal wasn't particularly observant of the gods, but he made a mental note to donate next month's ale money to the shrine of Tymora back in Selgaunt. She had certainly showered him with enough good fortune to make up for the regrettable mistake of the cliff.
Tal tried rising once more. He managed to put his good elbow under him and swing his feet over the side of the bed. His back prickled and ached from lying too long on the straw mattress. He realized that the chopping sound had stopped, replaced by muted voices.
Tal rose from the bed but couldn't unfold his body completely. He shuffled hunchbacked to the window and peeked through the shutters. Snow glare made him blink at first, but then he saw a neat row of firewood and the flat-hewn stump that served as a chopping block. Upon the stump sat a figure so heavily bundled in shawls and coats that Tal knew it was a woman only by her voice, rough but strong as old hide. She was speaking to someone Tal couldn't see.
'… gone already. Fetch some from Abell. Hurry, and you'll be back before night.'
'What if it doesn't work?' replied another, younger woman's voice. Tal fumbled to unlatch the shutter for a better look, but the younger woman added, 'We'll have to kill him, won't we?'
Tal left the shutters closed. He crouched down, just in case one of the women should glance his way.
'If we can keep him sleeping another tenday,' said the old woman, 'and if Dhauna Myritar approves, and if he submits himself to Her will…'
'And if the search party doesn't return,' said the younger woman. 'Even with the fresh snow, I don't think they believed…'
'Feena,' interrupted the old woman. 'None of these ifs matter unless you run your errand soon.'
'Yes, mother,' replied Feena contritely. Tal heard her reluctant footsteps crunching in the snow as she walked away.
'Don't dawdle,' called Feena's mother. The sound of chopping resumed. 'He's a big lad and getting his strength back.'
A thrill of fear surged through Tal's veins. He had no idea why these women might kill him, but it had to have something to do with the attack on his hunting party. Did they command the owlbears that charged through the camp? If so, why hadn't they killed him already?
The obvious answer was ransom.
Thamalon Uskevren, Tal's father, had objected to his hunting trip for many reasons. Among them was the constant threat of kidnapping the child of one of Selgaunt's most wealthy and influential men. In the city, Tal was almost always in the public eye, and he always suspected that his father sent bodyguards to shadow him and his siblings. Tal tried not to care, as long as he never saw them and they never interfered with him.
Kidnapping didn't seem like the right answer, though. True, the hunting party consisted almost entirely of young scions of wealthy Selgauntan families, but the sounds Tal heard the night of his attack were not those of young men and women being captured. It was of their being torn to pieces.
Tal shivered. The fire was burning low. Soon, he knew, Feena's mother would return with more wood.
He considered climbing back into bed and pretending to sleep, waiting for a chance to escape, but he realized that this might be his only chance. He considered the position of the door in relation to the old woman. Yes, she would see him if he tried to slip outside.
His mind racing, Tal looked for his clothes. There was no sign of his shirt, but he found his boots stuffed under the bed. He tried putting them on with the use of just one hand and nearly overbalanced himself. Frantically, he searched for a blade among a jumble of cabinets, finally turning up a short paring knife.
He cut his arm free of his chest, then gingerly extended it, wincing at the anticipated pain. Surprisingly, the arm felt good, if a little numb from long restraint. He cut away the bandages. Underneath, the scars were pink and faint. Even if someone had used magical healing on him, Tal had expected scabs, at least.
How long had he been sleeping?
Tal used the knife to make a slit in the middle of two woolen blankets. He cut himself a twine belt to secure his makeshift tabard. Finally, he used both hands to put on his boots. Not only did his wounded arm not hurt, but he felt a surge of exhilarating power. He knew it was the thrill of fear, but it cleared his head and gave strength to his limbs.
He crept to the door and turned his head to listen. He heard no sound of chopping, just a muted grunt and a creak as the door was grasped from the other side. Tal felt a sudden bout of indecision. He wasn't sure whether he could bring himself to hit an old woman. On the other hand, he was quite sure he couldn't let her kill him. Without thinking, he snatched a burlap sack from the wall, wrapped it around his hand, cocked a fist, and waited for a target.
The door opened, and Tal saw a short lump of clothes clutching a huge bundle of wood. Tal's punch landed squarely in the center of the bundle. Logs scattered in all directions, and the old woman fell to the floor, stunned.
'Sorry!' blurted Tal. He felt a sharp pang of guilt as he saw the old woman's surprised face, round, matronly, and even kind, but he remembered that she might be the spell-caster who had healed him. One word from someone like that would be enough to defeat him.
'Sorry,' he said again, and knocked her head against the floor. This time her eyes rolled straight up, then closed. Grimacing, Tal put his ear to her mouth. He heard a breath, much to his relief.
He lifted the woman in his arms and carried her to the bed. She was much lighter than he'd expected, or else he was stronger than he felt. He made her as comfortable as he could, then bound her securely to the bed with the
