Free Squire by Tamora Pierce Page A

let his son inherit while he was young enough to enjoy it. He was too miserly to buy a horse for his heir to ride. He mistrusted fast-talking Corus goldsmiths and their banks, and hoarded the coin he took from each year’s fur harvest. Probably his cronies did the same: they all lived as meanly as they could and whined about the foolish young.
    That was enough for Maresgift’s bandits. They would descend on Owlshollow and clean it out. If necessary, they would torture the fur merchants into revealing where they’d hidden their gold.
    Macorm was taken away under guard after he finished. Once he was out of earshot, the blond, blue-eyed Evin Larse, in command of the second Rider Group, produced a crystal from his sleeve. It glowed a bright, steady gold. “It would have turned black if he’d lied outright, gray if he’d lied even a bit.”
    “You’re sure it works?” Flyn asked. “I don’t trust bought magic. I like to see it worked right in front of me.”
    “It works,” said Larse. “It ought to. I paid enough.”
    “We did reimburse you,” Buri pointed out.
    “Half,” retorted Evin. “At the rate I use it for the Riders, they ought to pay me double.”
    “He only bought it to find out if the ladies he courts have husbands,” Buri’s second in command put in.
    There was a chuckle from the people in the circle around the maps. The air emptied of the tension that had filled it while Macorm was still present.
    “Here’s their last known position.” Buri marked the place on the map with a blunt brown finger. “If they’re bound for Owlshollow, traveling at…”
    The hunters broke into a flurry of talk, figuring the bandits’ speed based on what was known. Suddenly the mud-streaked, hollow-eyed, grim bloodhounds had become a lively group of humans and immortals again. The end of their chase was in view.
    They calculated the robbers’ present location, leaving a margin for error. Raoul sent Kel for a large leather tube packed with his things. When she brought it, he pulled off the cap on one end and slid out a heavy roll of sheets. He looked through them, checking marks on the corners until he found the one he sought, then drew out the sheet and opened it on their worktable. It showed part of the Royal Forest, the district that contained Owlshollow.
    Reaching into his shirt, Raoul produced a gold key on a chain and pulled it over his head. Using the key, he drew a circle around the dot labeled Owlshollow. It included the bandits’ last known location. When he closed the circle, the map vanished. They were looking down at real terrain, forested hills, streams and rivers, marshes. Owlshollow appeared as a small town at the junction of two roads and a river. It was situated on rocky bluffs, protected on two sides from raiders who came by water.

Protector of the Small 3 - Squire
    “Show-off,” murmured Buri. “Bought magic still isn’t as good as what you do yourself.”
    “As if you did any,” retorted Raoul.
    Iriseyes ran her fingertip from the bandits’ last known camp, where Macorm had left them, to Owlshollow. “Well, well,” the centaur said, showing teeth in a predator’s grin. “Look at this.”
    “The river blocks them outside the town,” said Flyn.
    “Marsh blocks the southern escapes,” Buri said, her eyes glittering. “The stone ridge boxes them in on the north.”
    “I know this town,” Volorin said. He wore his dark hair long and braided, with ivory beads carved like skulls at the ends of the braids. “No one can get through the marsh, and that ridge is a hard climb, not easy for centaurs. If we spread out in an arc…” He sketched the arc on the map with his finger.
    “We’ll have them,” said Evin Larse.
    “We split up,” said Raoul. “Our hunter force takes position at Owlshollow, where they’ll seal off the river escape routes. The rest of us will form a crescent of hounds, and drive our playmates to the hunters.” He looked around at the others; all were