His whole body went on alert. He had not imagined someone was here.

"Sammesh?" he said.

Sammesh was the ale-sot's son. Da had caught him once stealing meat from the smoke shed, but instead of putting some fear into the boy, Da told him if he wanted meat, he'd have to bring something to trade. So from that day on, Sammesh slinked in and out of their place with his trade. Sometimes it was fair; other times, it wasn't. He'd once taken a rope and left a small bowl of blueberries for it. The blueberries had been delicious, but they were not worth half the value of that rope. Talen had told his da that he was only fostering dishonesty-Sammesh needed to be taught a lesson. But Da, referring to the many bruises Sammesh often seemed to have, said he had received far too many of those kinds of lessons already.

Talen picked up a short cudgel from the woodpile and walked toward the old house.

"Sammesh! Come out, or I'll thrash the stumps with you."

There was no answer.

"An honest trader doesn't skulk."

Something scuffled behind the old house. He paused and listened, but all was quiet.

Something was there.

Then he realized the back of a figure he'd seen was too small to be that of an adult. Too small for even Sammesh.

"Who are you?" said Talen. "Come out."

Of course, maybe he didn't want them to come out. He glanced out at the meadow. Ke and River were too far away to be of any help; and if this were a hatchling . . . who knew what it might do? He wished he had his dogs. Then he realized he hadn't seen them at all for some time. And that was odd. Where were the dogs?

Talen called for them.

Moments later Blue appeared from behind the old house, exactly where the skulker had disappeared. Blue wagged his tail and gave a happy bark.

Conroy made a low sound and hopped a few paces away. Then, with a great deal of noisy flapping, he flew up to the roof of the smoke shed. Despite Talen's attempts to make them reconcile, the bird and the dog did not get along.

The dog's warren lay underneath the old house on the far side. Blue must have been there the whole time.

But he should have barked at whoever was here.

Talen took a few steps, again giving the corner a wide berth, and peered down the side of the old house.

He saw nothing but Queen wriggling her way out of the mouth of the warren they'd dug underneath the house.

Perhaps whoever it was had run around. Talen darted back to see between the old house and the barn. If it was Sammesh, he'd clobber him. This was no time to be running about stealing meat. But Talen found nothing.

So he yelled and ran about the old house itself; halfway around he reversed directions to trick whoever it was. Blue thought it was some game and followed him with playful woofs.

Talen raced back to where he'd began and found nothing, n.o.body. Yet Talen had seen someone. He wasn't imagining it.

He looked down at Blue. What good was a dog that didn't bark? "You're a fine fellow," said Talen.

Blue licked Talen's hand then wiggled his way between Talen's legs.

Talen groaned and shook his head. Overfed and underworked, that's what that dog was. Talen pushed Blue away and gave him the eye. Then he walked over to the side of the old house where he'd seen the figure disappear. The line of the woods was a good thirty yards from here. It would have to have been an exceedingly lively creature to cover that distance between the time Talen had heard that last noise and seen Blue. And it would have had to run very quietly.

That ruled out Sammesh.

Goh. He gripped the cudgel tighter.

He thought of the sod roof. The edges were low enough for someone to climb. They could be up there getting ready to spring. Talen spun around and scampered back.

But there was nothing on the roof.

He circled the whole house again, scanning the ground for foot prints.

Nothing.

He took a step back and out of the corner of his eye saw something in the gra.s.s: one of their painted wooden spoons lying at an odd angle. He bent over and picked it up. Soft bits of fresh barley porridge still clung to it. Whoever or whatever it was had been in the house and dropped it here.

Talen scanned the yard about him.

The sleth hatchlings were here, in the woods, watching. Talen was sure of it.

He studied the woods and backed away.

For some reason the dogs hadn't barked, hadn't even smelled the intruder when it was only a few paces away. It was said that sleth had some power over beasts. Talen cast a wary glance down at Blue and Queen. Could they have been subverted? He studied the dogs, but could see nothing that might reveal the truth of it.

Talen retreated back to the well. He could run or bluff, but running was not proving a good choice today, so he kept an eye about and drew the first bucket of water. His heart raced, but you had to fight fear; had to fake courage sometimes until it came of its own accord. They were children, Da had said. Only children. Talen needed to show this visitor he wasn't scared.

So he set the bucket on the side of the well, cleared his throat, and said, "One of these days, you beast-loving tanner's pot, we are going to catch you and let you join your mother in the cage."

He waited for a response.

"You've come to the wrong farm, you yeasty boil."

Talen poured the water into the hoggin then dropped the bucket back down into the well.

He scanned the tree line again. If the thing charged at him out of the woods, it would catch him before he got to the pig pen. But then, if the hatchling were going to attack him, it could have done it earlier.

"Sleth child," Talen called out, "As you can plainly see, I do not fear you. Nor do we fear your abominable depredations." He realized his talk had taken the edge off his fear. So he continued, "You want something to eat? Eh? Come out and I'll feed you. How about a moldy crust of bread eaten and shat out by our pig for supper?"

No response, only the leaves of the trees swaying in the small breeze. This hatchling wasn't so fearsome, he thought. And had the Bailiff not said that a Koramite should bring the hatchlings in? Something shifted inside him. His fear deserted him, and he suddenly wasn't thinking about what the hatchlings might do to him. He was thinking of what he could do with them. What they could do for him. And he suddenly realized that the villagers this morning had come after him, probably not out of fear, but dreaming of a fat bounty. Dreaming of this very opportunity.

If he were adopted into the Shoka, he would still be Koramite, still owe duties to his ancestors. Being a Shoka by privilege did not change your blood. But Talen didn't know if the adoption would really change his prospects. He'd still be a half-breed in most people's eyes. However, if he could catch these hatchlings, it might not only mitigate some of the ill-will against his people, but it might also prove the quality of Da's line, prove the quality of Talen's breeding.

Those villagers could dream all they wanted. They weren't going to get the bounty. Oh, no. He thought of the tales of the heroes who had hunted sleth. Not all of them were from the ranks of the high and mighty. Maybe a little Koramite would win a spot in the chronicles.

He could see himself purchasing that fine, Kishman's bow, made of wood, horn, and sinew. There wasn't a people who could make better bows than the Kish. He could purchase a quiver, worked with yellow and scarlet thread. But why settle for a bow? He'd get himself a horse.

Talen drew up a third bucket, emptied it into the hoggin, and replaced the lid.

He addressed the old sod house. "Every soul worth his salt will be hunting your clay-brained trail. You're going to end up a boiled cabbage no matter what you do." He paused. "You should have never begun with the Dark Art, but turn yourself in to me, and you'll avoid a wicked beating. That's a promise you'll not get from any other quarter."

There was no answer, only the voices of Ke and Nettle in the distance.

He realized then if the hatchling were an angry thing, it would kill Talen and stop his mouth. But it was either stupid or scared, for it had thrown away a perfectly good chance. Or maybe it was waiting for its master, the one that slew the butcher's family in the village of Plum.

That thought sent chills up his spine. That was a creature no lone Koramite would take. But he wasn't going to let the fear of such things overcome him. It obviously wasn't here now. And standing at the well all day wasn't going to do him any good either, so he walked to the house with as much ease as he could muster and fetched the some cheese and apples.

When he came back out, he paused. "You're a fool to refuse my offer," Talen called.

There was no response, so he hefted the hoggin onto his shoulder, gave the farm one last glance, and headed back out to the fields. This time Blue and Queen came with him, Conroy bringing up the rear.

It was clear he wasn't going to be able to talk the hatchlings into giving themselves in, which meant he'd have to catch them. But he wasn't going to be able to corner them like normal animals. Oh, no. He was going to need something entirely different.

Talen distributed the apples and cheese and pa.s.sed the water to Ke. Nettle sat on the trunk of tree Ke and River had just felled. Next to him leaned the two-man saw. A strand of Talen's hair fell into his face. After Sabin's yank this morning, Talen was about ready to have Nettle hack it all off with his knife, but he undid the leather strap holding it, gathered his hair up, and retied it. Then he turned to Nettle. "You said you wanted to do something real? Well, we've got ourselves a whale of an opportunity."

Nettle plopped a hunk of cheese into his mouth. "What do you mean?"

Talen faced the three of them. "I spotted the trouser thief."

"Somebody actually stole your pants?" asked Nettle.

Ke rolled his eyes.

"Not somebody," said Talen. "The hatchling. And we are going to get the bounty."

Nettle blinked.

"What are you talking about?" asked Ke.

Talen related what had happened back at the house.

"We need to alert the Bailiff or Territory Lord," said Nettle.

"No, no. That's exactly what we shouldn't do. We don't want some idiot Mokaddian getting the reward."

"Excuse me?" said Nettle. "I don't think Mokaddians were the problem this time."

"I'm not talking about you," said Talen. "You know that isn't what I mean. Think about what people will say when a Koramite brings them in."

"Except we're not full Koramite," said Ke.

"That isn't the point," said Talen. "We have an opportunity."

"Did you see more than a leg?" asked River. "Did you see this thief's face?"

"No."

"Then it could have been anybody. It could have been a beggar. Could have been some stranger pa.s.sing through."

"n.o.body can run that fast."

"Come on," said Ke. "We'd all love to catch us a hatchling, but it takes fifty men to conduct a proper hunt."

"Not to catch children," said Talen. "Besides, I've worked it out. All we need is a counterweight and a rope."

"Have you forgotten Da's last words?" asked River. "This is how innocent people get killed."

"Somebody was there," said Talen.

"Then we keep our wits about us," said River, "and our eyes open."

"And our knives at the ready," said Nettle. He narrowed his eyes at Talen. "This isn't one of your pig-brained jokes, is it?"

"No pigs," said Talen. "And I don't intend on getting close enough to use a knife. I'm perfectly happy to use my bow."

At the far end of the dog warren underneath the sod house, Sugar lay still as stone, her back pressed into the dirt wall. She hugged Legs to her chest. Above her head a monstrous yellow spider scuttled along the underside of the floorboards.

"I think he's gone," said Legs. "I can only hear the breeze."

She was hungry and thirsty. Her hair was full of dirt and filth. She had taken great comfort in the dogs, but now realized how childish that was.

"We're not safe," she said. "This place is not safe."

10.

Battle CAPTAIN ARGOTH KEPT himself hidden behind a screen made by an immense rock and a thick clump of blackberry briar. With him on this side of the steep ravine were fifteen of the best fighters the Shoka had. The same number had concealed themselves on the other side of the ravine. All lay in wait, their bows ready.

The mouth of the ravine opened up onto a wide meadow, deep with brown and dark green gra.s.ses. A stream ran through the meadow and out of sight behind a thick grove of river birch on the far end.

Argoth looked at the group with him, gauging them. There were a few young men here of Nettle's age. He wondered: should he have brought the boy? Nettle was eager. He was of age. And when he'd demanded to know why he couldn't come, Argoth had no answer. Nettle was skilled, but he just wasn't ready.

A fly landed on Argoth's lips and he shooed it away. It was almost midday; where was Varro? It was past time. Him and his ridiculously streaked beard should have ridden into view long ago, leading their quarry into the trap.

Argoth was just about ready to break position and organize a search when Varro burst from behind the grove of river birch, riding his spotted steed at a full gallop.

Moments later a dozen riders rounded the same corner, their horses stretched out, racing to catch him. Most of them wore helmets and shaped-leather cuira.s.ses festooned with various furs. One man rode with a mail tunic, another was bare-chested. All had their faces painted white and black. All of them Bone Face rot.

Varro splashed across the stream then cut through the deep meadow gra.s.s, making straight for the steep ravine where Argoth and the rest of the men waited.

Argoth gave the hand signal to get ready, and his men nocked their arrows. Each man clutched four others in the hand that held their bow.