Aeva swallows back whatever question she was considering. It might just be my imagination, but I think I discern a new measure of respect in her manner.
That night, I find it nearly impossible to sleep in spite of my exhaustion. Every time I close my eyes, I see Matelaine’s cold, dead face, and I want to rail at myself for being so long detained by the hellequin. If I had gotten to Guérande earlier, could I have prevented her death?
Just as I finally start to fall asleep, the ground begins to rumble and I come fully awake.
The hunt.
I freeze, as if holding still will keep them from finding me. The rumble grows louder, and the ground trembles against my cheek as they draw closer. I turn to look at the others and find Tola’s eyes open. “Do not worry,” she whispers. “The wards will hold.”
And they do. But I can see the dark ghostly figures riding just on the other side of them. One rider draws to a halt and stares at our camp. Even though I cannot see who it is from this distance, my skin recognizes the dark, brooding caress of his gaze, and I shiver.
The following day, we draw close enough to Vannes to see the spires of its churches. We also run into the first of the French soldiers. They have commandeered a local farmer’s ox cart as well as what looks like the very last of his slim winter food stores. Since the new crops will not be in for weeks yet, they may well have just sentenced the family to death by starvation.
There are six of them, two on the driver’s bench and four more flanking the cart to guard it. Luckily, we left the main road over an hour ago and have been traveling alongside it, hidden in the smattering of trees that rise up on either side of the road. The Arduinnites exchange a glance and draw their bows. Anticipation prickles along my skin as I realize what they intend to do. I draw my bow as well, for I will not stand idly by and hand Aeva an opportunity to question my skill or commitment.
Floris gives me a faint nod, then motions in silence to assign each of us a soldier. I am to take one of the men in the rear.
It is no different from the targets at the convent, I tell myself. But that is a lie. It is altogether different, for these men are flesh and blood, their bodies still pulsing with life.
I take a deep breath and sight along the arrow. The French soldier is thin and dirty and is boasting to his fellow Frenchmen about how the farmer nearly pissed himself in terror as he teased him with his sword. In that second, everything shifts, and it is precisely like shooting at the targets.
My vision narrows until the entire world is reduced to the French soldier. I squint against the pale winter sun, block out the soft chirping of the birds, and calculate the force of the light breeze.
But when I am ready to take the shot, for a brief moment my fingers refuse to let loose the arrow. I curse inwardly, then wrench my fingers from the bowstring and let the arrow fly. So no one will suspect that I hesitated, I quickly nock a second arrow and fire it as well. The air is filled with a brief series of thuds, and I watch as my arrow strikes the forward guard seconds before Aeva’s does. She whips her head around and glares at me. “He was mine!”
I shrug. “He was going for his knife. I had no idea how accurate he would be at throwing it.”
Aeva looks at me with a mixture of grudging admiration and annoyance.
Floris begins issuing orders. “Tola, turn the cart around and see if you can get it back to its owner. Aeva, go with her. You might suggest they hide their supplies better, unless they wish to eat nothing more than new grass and dirt clods.” I avert my eyes, not wanting to watch as Aeva and Floris toss the bodies around like old sacks of grain, and I must fight to keep the sour churning in my belly from making me ill. It is the excitement, I tell myself. Excitement that I have finally made my first kill.
Even though this is what I have been trained to do, it does not feel nearly as joyous or righteous as I thought it would. I must remind myself that these are French soldiers who have killed any number of Bretons—and would do so again, even if only by confiscating all of their food.
Once Tola has the cart turned around, Aeva scrambles up onto the bench beside her. We arrange a place and time to meet later. As they head down the road, Floris sends me a sideways glance. “That was fine shooting.”
“Thank you. I have had years of practice.”
“You beat Aeva to her second shot,” she points out.
An apology begins to form on my lips, but instead I say, “I thought the element of surprise was important.”
Floris nods solemnly. “It was, but Aeva does not like being bested.”
I turn and meet Floris’s gaze head-on. “Neither do I.”
She smiles widely, then changes the subject. “It could be hours before they return, so you and I are going to do a little scouting to see if the French have hunkered down in the city or spread themselves throughout the countryside.”
We spend the better part of the afternoon riding through copses and crawling on our bellies through shrubs and brambles to get close enough to assess the enemy’s position. More than once I find myself wishing for leather leggings and thick hide to armor myself against the sharp twigs, thorns, and brambles we encounter.
It is a most productive afternoon, even if it is a disheartening one. The French man the city gates as well as its walls. Additional guards have been set out along all three roads leading into the city. The largest of the farms and manor houses nearby have been seized, and I can only hope the soldiers were merciful to those whose homes they have stolen.
As the sun dips lower in the sky, we make our way back to the assigned meeting spot to see if Tola and Aeva have returned. They have, although they’ve been waiting for only minutes.
As Floris tells the others of what we found, I try to decide how best to get around Vannes and continue on to Guérande. Will the roads outside the city be blocked as well? And if so, how far north will I have to travel to avoid the French troops?
That night, we steer our horses well north of the city, toward a heavily wooded area. As we draw near, I hear the sounds of voices and movement and horses. I look questioningly at Floris. “It is our main encampment,” she says. “For we are not here by accident, but by design. We are tasked with protecting the innocent, just as the hellequin are tasked with escorting souls from this world.”
The road brings us upward in a series of switchbacks until we are at the top of a small rise. It is a good defensive spot, for we can see in all directions. As we clear the final switchback, the Arduinnites’ camp comes into full view.
There are maybe a hundred Arduinnites in the camp, all of them dressed in tight leather leggings and rough-looking tunics. There are a scattering of tents set up, a handful of large ones and a number of smaller ones. To the south of the camp they have erected a fence around a large pastured area where they keep a herd of some of the most beautiful horses I have ever seen. I turn to Floris. “Aren’t you afraid the French scouts will find you?”