Free Hunting by Andrea Höst Page A

others."
    "Indeed."
    "I set some traps – trip-wires and
bear-jaws – on our roof. In case the dust wasn't a coincidence. The
killer spotted them."
    Thornaster's expression shifted from
surprise to a combination of amusement and dismay. "You didn't
trust me enough to share this?"
    Ash shrugged. "Why would I?"
    He laughed, a startled cough, and shook
his head. "Why would you indeed? There's a lesson for me. Get some
rest – I'll arrange with the Investigator to look at these traps of
yours, tomorrow." Pulling on a new pair of boots, he left.
    Had her delay been the mistake? Ash
thought it all over, trying to fit Thornaster's information into
the puzzle. The Veirhoi was Rhoi Arun's nominated heir, as well as
taking first precedence as closest of his kin. After that, though,
anyone could in theory be chosen by the Landsmeet to drink from the
Well of the Heart and be judged. Any conspiracy could do no more
than create an opportunity. Luin and Astenar would be final
arbiters, and weighed those who would be Rhoi on a stern scale.
History was full of attempts to become Rhoi that had fallen at this
final hurdle.
    Who would the Landsmeet choose as a
candidate, if both Nemators were dead? Decsel Enderhay had a
reputation for being a fine judge of Balance, and was favoured by
those who were strongly traditional. Decsel Donderry was more
progressive, with many ideas to improve Montmoth's fortunes, which
might be why he was considered faddish and easily led. The Carlyons
offered a middle ground so deeply shadowed by their father's
damnation that it seemed unlikely any would back Eman Carlyon as a
candidate. Decsel Pelandis had been bedridden for years. A carriage
accident had left him without his health or the use of his legs.
His two brothers conducted his affairs, and Ash had heard Ryle
Pelandis spoken of in glowing terms. Since there was no requirement
to choose from Montmoth's Decsels, or someone bound as Luinsel,
there were countless possibilities. The most she could narrow it
down was that it seemed unlikely the Landsmeet would look outside
the Kinsel.
    Which was no news at all.

Chapter Nine
    Arth snuffled at her offering, and then
accepted the withered apple with an enthused chomp. Juice foamed
and dripped from his mouth and Ash scratched the stallion's
muscular neck. The black had already lost most of his winter coat,
but hair still came free beneath her nails and Arth half-closed his
eyes blissfully, leaning into the motion of her hand.
    "If you've quite finished seducing my
wayward steed," said Thornaster, coming in from where he had been
talking to the Investigator, "perhaps you would consider doing as I
asked and saddling him?"
    The stallion snorted in recognition,
ears pricking eagerly towards his master. When Thornaster walked
into range, Arth almost buffeted him from his feet, smearing apple
slime generously down his front.
    "Itchy, are you?" the Visel asked. He
scratched vigorously while Ash tossed a blanket over the horse's
back and fastened the light saddle into position. Despite
Thornaster's warnings, Arth was perfectly behaved, not crowding her
into the side of the stall or trying to crush her feet beneath
shifting hooves.
    "He likes you," Thornaster commented,
watching critically as she exchanged halter for bridle.
    "I've never met a horse who didn't like
me," Ash replied, tickling the whiskers on Arth's chin. He was a
lovely animal.
    "Well, the stable hands will be
eternally grateful to hear that. He does tend to forget himself and
mistake them for roaches a little too often for their comfort.
Caring for him when I don't have the time will be part of your
duties from now on."
    " Always a pleasure to serve,"
Ash said. This was an even better redeeming factor for being a
seruilis than Thornaster's morning display.
    He grinned and ruffled her hair, which
Ash immediately added to the negative side of seruilisi-dom. She
followed him out of the earth, manure and sweet hay scents of the
stable to find the Investigator