Free DEBTS (Vinlanders' Saga Book 3) by Frankie Robertson

heard in response was the humming of insects and a distant bird chirping.
    “I can drag you out of there, but I’d rather not. You cannot outrun me, or hide from me. Let’s make this easy on us both.”
    Again there was no reply to his request. Aren sighed. This reminded him forcefully of when Tandra had hidden from him after breaking her grandmother’s best crockery bowl. Except the consequences to Benoia would probably be much more severe than extra chores and no honey on her bread for a week.
    His vow to protect Annikke meant he had to protect Benoia as well.
    Nevertheless, he couldn’t walk away.
    Aren tied his horse to a sapling, and then shouldered his way into the dimness of the thicket, pushing aside twiggy growth clustered with leaves. “Benoia,” he called again. Two steps in, the branches twisted around his legs and arms, stopping all progress.
    Alarm shot through Aren as the young trees crowded him. He hadn’t seen them move, but they pressed closer than they should. He raised one arm forcefully. Twiglets caught at his sleeves, scratching and stabbing with every movement. He would have to do real damage to the plants, and to himself, to win free.

Chapter Ten
     
    Annikke cautiously approached the hunter from behind, stopping a few paces from where the thicket held him fast.
    It had been an amazing bit of good fortune that this man was alone. She’d first planned to hide Benoia and lead those hunting them away from her. She and her foster-daughter would reunite downstream at the ferry landing, and if Annikke didn’t show in three days’ time, she’d commanded her foster daughter to seek out the Daughters of Freya in Forsvaremur. Lord Fender’s debt was to Annikke, and if she couldn’t call upon him, the Daughters were Benoia’s next best chance.
    Benoia had fiercely refused at first, but she’d had no better idea. So Annikke had laid a trail any fool could follow away from the thicket, and obscured all sign that Benoia hid among the young saplings.
    But the man hadn’t been a fool, and hadn’t followed her false trail. He was clearly a Tracker Talent of considerable skill, because he’d headed straight for the stand of young oaks and his quarry.
    He might not be a fool, but he
was
alone. Another plan blossomed. If she could stop his pursuit, they might still have a chance.
    Benoia had somehow reversed the healing magic the Elves had given them in a fit of panic. Perhaps Annikke could do the same and lame the man enough to slow him, allowing them to get away. They’d have to steal his horse, too, or he’d just ride after them, but what was theft, even of a valuable animal, when you planned to maim a man?
    Annikke lifted her hand. Hesitated. She’d never harmed someone before. Before she even had magic the villagers had feared her Fey-marking. With this choice, all the years she’d carefully cultivated her neighbors’ trust would be as naught. Their fear of her, of her Fey-marking, would be justified.
    She had to do this. He wasn’t struggling yet, but the young oaks didn’t have the strength to hold him for long, and if they tried to, he’d soon tear them to pieces trying to free himself. Benoia’s future depended on this. Annikke didn’t want to think of what Lord Tholvar would do to her foster-daughter if she fell into his hands.
    Only now that their pursuer was caught and within reach, she couldn’t do it. She was certainly frightened enough for her foster-daughter. That alone should have given her the strength to follow through. But the man wasn’t offering them immediate injury. He wasn’t even thrashing and fighting the plants.
    He turned his head, and looked at her over his shoulder. His eyes widened, and he hesitated a moment before saying, “Let me loose, mistress Annikke. I’ll not harm you or the girl.”
    “Ha!” Annikke exclaimed. Did the man think her silver hair meant she was simple-minded? “Don’t lie. Lord Tholvar will sell her as a thrall—
if
she survives