Priestess of the White

Emerahl smiled and crossed her arms. “No.”

“I am Head of Corel and—”

“Corel is down there.” She pointed. “I have lived here since before your grandfathers’ fathers built their first shack. You have no authority over me.”

Erine laughed. “You’re old, but you’re not that old.” He looked at his companions. “See how she lies?” He turned back. “The village doesn’t want you harmed. They want to give you the chance to pack up and leave in peace. If you’re still here when we come back in a few days, don’t expect us to be nice about it.”

At that, he turned and stalked away, gesturing for the others to follow. Emerahl sighed. Fools. They’ll come back and I’ll have to teach them the same lesson I taught their great-grandfathers. They’ll sulk for a while and try to starve me out. I’ll miss the vegetables and bread, and I’ll have to go fishing again, but in time they’ll forget and come looking for help once more.

Six men waited outside the Forest Edge Wayhouse: three priests and three locals. The blue trim of the priests’ circs looked black in the fading light. The other men wore the simple clothes of farmers and carried packs.

Adem flexed his shoulders to shift the weight of his gear into a more comfortable position, then stepped into the street. From behind him came the reassuring footsteps of his fellow vorn-hunters. One, then all of the priests and their companions turned to regard the newcomers. He smiled as they eyed his clothing with obvious dismay. Hunters travelled light, especially in the forest. They might carry one spare set of clothes to change into after a day’s butchering, but those, too, quickly became stained with blood and dirt.

In the trade, clean clothes were a sign of a failed hunter. Adem wryly noted the spotless white circs of his employers. He supposed dirty garments would not be an encouraging sign on a priest. It must be a chore keeping them clean.

“I’m Adem Tailer,” he said. “This is my team.” He didn’t bother introducing the men. The priests would not remember a list of names.

“I am Priest Hakan,” the taller of the priests replied. “This is Priest Barew and Priest Poer.” He gestured to a gray-haired priest, then a slightly portly one, and then waved at the three locals. “These are our porters.”

Adem made the quick one-handed gesture of the circle to the priests and nodded politely at the porters. The locals looked apprehensive. As well they might.

“Thank you for volunteering your services,” Hakan added.

Adem gave a short bark of laughter. “Volunteer? We’re no volunteers, priest. We want the skins. From what I hear these vorns are big bastards and all black. Pelts like that will fetch a high price.”

Priest Hakan’s mouth twitched up at one corner but his two companions grimaced in distaste. “I’m sure they will,” he replied. “Now, how do you recommend we proceed?”

“We look for tracks where the last attack happened.”

Hakan nodded. “We’ll take you there.”

Faces appeared in windows as they passed through the village. Voices called out, wishing them luck. A woman hurried out of a door with a tray of small cups, each brimming with tipli, the local liquor. The hunters downed theirs cheerfully, while the porters gulped their share with telling haste. The priests took one sip before returning their cups to the tray unfinished.

They moved on out of the village. The dark shapes of trees pressed in on either side. The portly priest lifted a hand and everyone was dazzled as a bright light appeared.

“No light,” Adem said. “You’ll frighten them off if they’re close. The moon will rise soon. It should give us enough light once our eyes are used to it.”

The priest glanced at Hakan, who nodded. The light blinked out, leaving them to stumble forward in darkness until their eyes adjusted. Time passed slowly, measured by the tread of their boots. Just as the moon struggled up from the tops of the trees Priest Hakan stopped.

“That smell... this must be the place,” he said.

Adem looked at the portly priest. “Can you make a soft light?”

The priest nodded. He extended a hand again and a tiny spark of light appeared. Adem saw the remains of a platten ahead. They walked over to the vehicle, which was listing to one side on a broken wheel. The stench grew stronger as they approached and its source proved to be the corpse of an arem, gouged out where the vorns had eaten part of it.

The ground was covered in tracks - huge pawprints that set Adem’s heart pounding with excitement. He tried to estimate the number of them. Ten? Fifteen? The prints congregated in a mass of churned ground. Fresher human ones crossed them. Adem noticed something glittering. He reached down and plucked a short length of gold chain from the trampled soil. It was covered in a crusty substance he suspected was dried blood.

“That’s where they found the merchant,” Hakan murmured. “Or what was left of him.”

Adem pocketed the links. “All right, men. Scout about and find tracks leading away.”

It did not take long. Soon Adem was leading the priests into the forest, following a trail that wouldn’t have been easier to follow had the giant footprints glowed in the dark. They were a day behind the hunt, he estimated. He hoped the priests were prepared for a long trek. He did not call for a stop until the moon was directly overhead, then gave them only a few minutes to rest.

After a few more hours they reached a small clearing. Vorn tracks filled the space - and human. A single set of bootprints marked the forest floor. They had found no human footprints since the site of the attack. Adem’s men scurried through the forest.

“Looks like they stopped last night,” he murmured.

“They went this way,” one called softly.

“Any human footprints leading away?” Adem asked.

There was a long pause.

“No.”

“Witnesses say he rides one of them,” Hakan said.

Adem moved to Hakan’s side. “Wouldn’t have thought it possible. But I guess they’re big enough. I—”

“Sentry!” one of his men hissed.

The hunters froze. Adem cast about, searching the forest and listening.

“Sentry?” Hakan whispered.

“Sometimes the hunt leaves a single member behind to wait and see if they’re being followed.”

The priest stared at Adem. “They’re that smart?”

“You’d better believe it.” A faint sound drew Adem’s attention to the right and he heard his men suck in a breath as they, too, saw a shadow slink away. A huge shadow. Adem cursed.

“What’s wrong?” Hakan asked.

“The hunt knows we’re coming, I doubt we’ll catch them now.”

“That depends,” the priest murmured.

“Oh?” Adem couldn’t hide the skepticism in his voice. What did priests know of vorns?

“On whether the rider slows them. Or wants us to find him.”

He has a point. Adem grunted in reluctant agreement.

“Let us continue,” Hakan said.

For the next few hours they crept through the forest, following a trail now half a day fresher. The darkness thickened as the night reached that time, just before morning, when all was still and cold. The priests yawned. The scouts trudged after them, now too tired to fear. Adem’s fellow hunters walked with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. He had to agree. Their chances of catching the hunt were slim now.

Then a human scream tore through the silence. Adem heard several curses and unslung his bow. The sound had been close. Perhaps one of the trackers...

The forest filled with leaping shadows and snapping teeth.

“Light!” Adem shouted. “Priest! Light!”

More screams came. Screams of terror and pain. Adem heard a soft patter and turned to see a shadow leap toward him. There was no time to nock an arrow. He grabbed his knife, ducked and rolled, and thrust upward. Something caught it, ripping the blade from his grip. There was an inhuman garbled cry of pain and the sound of something landing heavily nearby.