Hern looked around at the others. “None of our men have horns,” he said finally.
Khollo’s heart stopped, stuttered, then started back up again. A vertag? Here?”
“You are . . . certain?” Rowert asked.
Hern nodded. “I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I wasn’t. But as we were making for the gate, I looked back and saw something in the bushes. Whatever it was had horns, big curling horns that sort of gleamed.”
Janis, liberated from his saddle and standing on the ground now, straightened. “What happened?” he asked, of nobody in particular. “We were outside the fortress, and now . . .” he looked around. “Well, we’re inside now,” he finished. “Why don’t I remember – ?”
“We’d better get up to the council room and fill Ondus in, then figure out our next move,” Khollo broke in hastily. “Besides, what matters is that we’re all safe.”
A few of the others seemed vaguely puzzled by Khollo’s terse response, but nobody said anything. Khollo draped Janis’ right arm around his shoulder and started to help him towards the keep. “Rowert, have someone see to the horses.”
“Of course,” Rowert replied. “Leonard, fetch the stable hand and a couple of others.”
“On it,” Leonard replied scurrying off.
As the excitement and tension of the near ambush drained away, so did Khollo’s strength. By the time he stumbled up the steps to the keep with Janis, he was exhausted. Sermas and Hern and the hunters didn’t look any better.
When at last the small band made it to the council chamber, Ondus was already there, staring blearily at a roll of parchment. A wax seal attached to a ribbon lay by his left hand. When Khollo and the others trooped in, he looked up in surprise.
“You’re back! I thought it would be a couple days more – why are you carrying Janis?”
“Took a blow to the head,” Khollo said sheepishly, not meeting Ondus’ eyes. “I’ll explain in a moment when we report on the mission.”
“The mission? Did you find something?” Ondus asked eagerly.
“We found a couple of somethings,” Sermas said grinning. “Six somethings, actually.”
“Watch it boy,” one of the hunters growled. “We may have accepted that you didn’t burn our village, but that doesn’t mean we like you.”
“Survivors?” Ondus asked, intrigued. “Were you there, then? What happened?”
“Slow down,” Khollo said, sinking into his customary chair. “I’ll explain everything when everyone is seated.”
The others found seats around the table. Sermas and Hern helped Janis to his chair, then retreated to positions by the door, appearing somewhat stunned that they had been admitted to such a discussion.
Khollo began by outlining their stop in Holwey, starting with the remains of the village and what appeared to have happened, and ending with the shield they had found.
“Janis has the shield somewhere,” Khollo said when Ondus asked about it. “It’s probably with the horses right now. We’ll show you later, but there’s not much to tell other than the symbol on the front.”
“The symbol is what disturbs me the most about our findings in Holwey,” Janis broke in, apparently recovered from his knock to the head. “The rubble and bones I had seen before, hallmarks of vertaga activity. But the emergence of this symbol as a . . . unifying element between multiple groups is concerning to say the least.”
“So you left Holwey the next morning,” Ondus guessed. “But there’s no way you got to Reoth and back since then.”
“We didn’t,” Khollo confessed. “We were caught in the mother of all blizzards, forced to take shelter or be buried. When we woke up in the morning, these fine men were pointing arrows at us. They thought we had destroyed Reoth, you see.”
“Not one of our more perceptive ideas,” one of the hunters admitted drily. “We’ll try to rectify that by helping you though,” he added, patting his bow.
Khollo smiled. Then, his good humor faded. “I don’t know your names,” he realized. “We never got around to introductions while we were all pointing weapons at each other.”
The hunter who had spoken up snorted. “I’m Gort,” he replied. “These others are Kel, Lief, Dem, Farren, and Hunter.”
“A hunter called Hunter?” Sermas asked from his position by the door, smiling slightly.
“Remember, boy, we don’t necessarily like you,” one of the hunters, presumably Hunter, growled.
Khollo grinned. He couldn’t help but like the newest defenders of the West Bank. Unfortunately, he doubted he would learn their names any time soon. Muffled up as everyone was, Khollo couldn’t recognize any major differences in build, height, weight, or features. They were all cloaked in forest colors, all armed with bows and quivers of arrows, and all had hard, grim faces, etched with lines of grief and tragedy. Altogether, there was little to distinguish them.
“So you are from Reoth?” Ondus asked, dragging the others back on topic.
Gort nodded. “Aye, we were. We weren’t there for the attack. Went on a three-day hunting trip in the hills north of the village. Heard the deer had moved up there recently. When we came back . . .” he faltered, and Hunter picked up the thread of the conversation.
“Gone. All gone,” he said grimly. “Friends, Family. Everything. Nothing but ash and bones. The bones were piled all together, picked clean, some broken open. We didn’t know what to do, other than to hunt the ones who had done this.”
“We picked up their trail headed east,” one of the other hunters continued. Khollo thought this was Dem. “But then the blizzard hit and we lost the trail. Next morning, we get up and find ourselves looking at a shelter filled with armed men.” Dem looked over at Khollo. “Fortunately, we talked with you before shooting.”
“We really do appreciate that,” Khollo said. “Especially as I was the one two feet from an arrowhead.”
“Think nothing of it,” Dem replied airily. “We’re
