Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [264]
The thought comforted me as I lay down to sleep in my snow wallow, blankets wrapped around my clothing, the farmer's widow's fur hat snug on my head. I watched sparks drift upward from my campfire and listened to my horse snuffle and snort behind the windbreak a few yards away. In the morning, I would think about the rest of my life and how I would begin to live it. Tonight, I didn't.
I fell asleep and slept without dreaming.
I woke to panic.
Not mine; my horse's. Its hooves stamped dully on the packed snow as it let out a low whicker of alarm. I was on my feet before I realized I was awake, fumbling for my sword-hilt with one mittened hand. The fire was burning low, casting a very small circle of light. Somewhere out there in the darkness, somewhat large was moving. Somewhat large enough to make the snow creak and groan. There was a rank, musky smell.
"No," I said. "Oh, no.”
A bear roared.
My horse trumpeted with sheer equine terror and bolted, breaking its tether. I shouted a curse and dropped my sword, scrambling for the hunting bow. Flung off my mittens and nocked an arrow, tracking the darkness. A vast shadow moved; fast, faster than I remembered. I shot at it and missed. And then it was moving, fleeing. It could have killed me, but it didn't. It fled. Branches snapped in its wake. I ran blindly after it, floundering in the snow and crashing through branches, trying to fit another arrow to the string.
Gone.
I stopped, panting. I'd lost him. I'd also lost my hat, and probably my horse. I wasn't sure I hadn't lost myself. I closed my eyes and willed myself to breathe slowly.
There were stars overhead, but no moon. In the woods, there wasn't enough light by which to see. Still, a fleeing bear leaves a considerable path. I turned around and began the long, tedious process of following it backward by feel.
I don't think I'd chased the bear for more than a few moments, but it seemed like hours before I saw the flickering light of my campfire. With no hat or mittens, I was truly freezing. My horse was gone. I was lucky the fire hadn't gone out. I donned my abandoned mittens, then built up the fire with stiff, trembling hands and huddled beside it. My lungs ached from the exertion. My scars ached from the cold, from the memory the sight of him evoked.
"Damn you, Berlik," I said aloud. "Why now?”
It was him. I didn't harbor any doubts. In the deep winter of Vralia, any ordinary bear would have been slumbering until spring. I don't know why I'd been so damnably sure his magic was broken. He'd broken the oath he'd sworn on the troth that bound him to his diadh-anam. It didn't seem fair.
Then again, life seldom did. At least not mine.
I dozed a bit, waking periodically to stoke the campfire. Mostly I waited for sunrise. I kept the hunting bow across my lap, an arrow at the ready, because it would have been foolish not to. I didn't really think he'd be back, though. If Berlik had wanted me dead, he would have killed me while I slept. I didn't know what the hell he wanted.
In the morning, I went to find out.
He'd left a trail a blind man could follow. So had my horse, but I reckoned he was halfway to Miroslas by now. I hoped so. And if I followed him, I would lose Berlik's trail. I ate a breakfast of pottage. Scoured my kettle with snow, melted snow to refill my waterskin. I packed my bags, slung them over my shoulder, and began trudging after Berlik.
On that journey, I counted.
It took seven days. On the third day, I shot a hare. That was the best day. The first day was hard. I'd gotten spoiled, riding. Oh, there had been times when I'd have to go afoot, leading my horse up some tricky escarpment, but it hadn't been this endless, grueling trek. And my ears were cold, so cold I feared they'd freeze. I'd hoped to find my fur hat, but some animal had dragged it away during the night. I'd looked for the arrow I'd shot at Berlik, but I couldn't find that, either. When I made