The Forest Folk scattered, two men dragging Nenad between them. Another backed toward me clutching a badly bitten arm. Iamris, leading a solid phalanx of Folk, drove an enormous sow out of the trees. Spears jabbed and harried her, Gevalla wielding one with grim-faced determination. Stripy piglets squealed and fussed around their mother’s feet, her heavy teats swinging low. She snapped at the spears, huffing and snorting, the bite of the spears sending her back in baffled pain. In some instant of understanding between the hunters, two of the leaf-shaped blades plunged down either side of the sow’s neck, slicing through tough hide to sever the great vessels. Crimson blood gushed all over her forelegs, sending frantic piglets dashing hither and yon. Some snared in the nets were dispatched with spear butts, others caught in swathes of sacking were held up by hind legs, wriggling until a cut throat silenced their squeals.
I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until the thudding of my heart and faint buzzing in my ears told me to release it. Thinking I’d better do something useful if we were to claim some of this meat, I joined Rusia untangling suckling pigs from the netting. She was struggling with a particularly stubborn knot.
“Here, let me help.” I worked the point of the dagger in and twisted it to loosen the tangle. “Is Nenad all right?”
“Better than he deserves.” Irritation didn’t obscure her relief. “Freezing like a rabbit in front of a weasel, honestly!” The lad was sobbing as his wounds were treated on the far side of the clearing. I looked over to see the man with the bitten arm grimacing, tears running down his face as his wounds were roughly cleansed with spirit from a flask. I winced; the deep gashes were torn and filthy, dark red muscle bared beneath ripped, tanned skin, as likely to fester as any wound I’d ever seen.
“Has someone sent for Orial?” Gevalla appeared, blood on her leggings and a piglet dangling from her spear.
“Yes, Ravin sent Lisset.” Rusia pulled the net free. “Get that suckler bled; you know better than to waste time gossiping.”
The ringing sound of axe on timber echoed across the clearing. One cruck frame had already been lashed together and Ravin was directing Frue and some others in hauling the bigger boar up by its hind legs. Almiar pierced the neck vessels with a careful knife while two men caught the rich blood in waterskins. The sow was pierced through the hocks with a sharp stake and soon hung on a second frame, one woman making a slow incision down her belly while Ravin held the guts of the beast from spilling out too soon.
Rusia turned to ensuring all the other piglets were bled dry, briskly enlisting me for the smelly and unpleasant task. “Almiar says you’ve some knack for starting fires?”
I nodded and Rusia shouted to the lad passing by with his hands full of offal. “Etal! Give that to Dria and start finding lampthorn. Livak, light a fire and we can start singeing the hair off these sucklers.”
I gathered kindling from beneath the bushes and found a dry patch of earth, happy to do any task that didn’t involve getting up to my elbows in some animal’s innards. “Talmia megrala eldrin fres.”
The flames leaped up obediently and Rusia laughed. “Just like Viyenne in the Frost.”
Before I could ask what she meant, the piglet lying behind her was abruptly snatched away. Rusia yelped as a bright blade appeared in front of her face. A tree was hiding me from the knifeman who’d sprung from nowhere and I rolled sideways beneath the concealing spikes of a flourishing broom bush. Kneeling with palms flat I shifted my position with excruciating care as I sought a better view from my hollow at the heart of Drianon’s shrub.
A dirty gang of ruffians emerged on all sides, Forest Folk by the coloring beneath their mud and rags. I’d been wrong to think Ravin’s settlement looked a little starveling; compared to these, Rusia and the rest had been living on the fat of the land over winter. Several newcomers had the sores of low diet plain on their faces, others wore stained bandages around arms and hands that spoke of wounds long in the healing, or carried open, festering scars. A chance breeze carried the stink of them and I was hard put not to gag.
A leader stepped forward, an undersized runt, beak of a nose prominent in a sunken face, cadaverous eyes red-rimmed and staring. I could not follow his rapid speech but the malice in his tone needed no translation. He brandished his knife, a long blade with a serrated back, the only clean thing about him, and spat full in Ravin’s face. Parul took a half-step forward before a threatening spear halted him. Color rose in Ravin’s cheeks, but he stood, impassive, as the slime slid slowly down his face.
I tried to work out who might still be at large. I could see Frue, weaponless as he backed away from a raw-boned youth looking for any excuse for a fight. Yefri and Rusia were doing their best to hide behind Salkin, who glowered impotently at three men menacing him with long knives.
Whoever these newcomers were, they’d sprung their trap with no little skill, backed by impressive woodcraft to get so close without being noticed. Most of Ravin’s Folk had laid their weapons aside to deal with their kills but the thieves outnumbered the hunting party regardless. I wondered what to do for the best. The single-handed hero may do well enough in ballads, but this was real life. I moved closer to the tree trunk with agonizing care. Could I get away fast enough to foil pursuit? What good would that do, since I had no idea which direction to take? Getting help was one thing, getting lost in the Forest would do no one any good, least of all me. On the other hand, being found in hiding would make me a prime target for some additional punishment.
The skinny one with all the spittle had moved away from Ravin, insisting that Nenad be dragged to his feet and laughing at the bloody dressings covering both legs. He grabbed a spear to knock the supporting arms of his friends away, taunting the youth as his knees buckled under him and kicking him as he fell. The lad’s sobs sent a bird squawking skyward from its perch above my head and I froze.
The distraction seemed to remind Skinny what his thieves had come for. He set his men about cutting down the carcasses, some slinging them on carrying poles, others gathering up the offal and the suckling pigs. Ravin and the hunting party were sat in a circle, facing inward with hands on heads and ankles crossed. I resigned myself to waiting this game out, watching with regret as the prospects of a pork dinner retreated. When the thieves were laden with their spoils, the leader returned to Ravin.
Skinny pointed at one of the girls and barked a sharp command. I bit my lip; I’d been wondering about this, given there were no women among the raiders. If this was about to get nasty, I couldn’t see what I could do short of putting a dart into the little bastard’s back. All that would get me was first place in line for any filth looking to take his pleasure, so I wasn’t about to try that.
The girl stood slowly, head hanging. She was one of the youngest, a thin little thing with red-blond hair framing huge brown eyes in a pointed face white with apprehension. Skinny sneered at her and tears began to trickle down her cheeks. Raising her chin with the tip of his knife, he taunted her with something that provoked a furious blush. Laughing, he hooked the point under the binding at her neck, cutting it through with a quick flick of his wrist. Taking the edge in one hand, he sliced slowly through the leather of her tunic. I winced but the girl stood motionless as the razor-sharp metal slid slowly past her naked breasts.
She closed her eyes as the little turd stripped her to the waist and his cronies laughed appreciatively. I presumed they were admiring his bravery at taking on an unarmed lass a head shorter than himself.