Hunting

Hunting
by Andrea K Höst

Hunting
© 2013
Andrea K Höst
. All rights reserved.

www.andreakhost.com
Cover art:
Julie Dillon

ISBN: 978-0-9872651-1-1
Published by
Andrea K Hösth at Smashwords

All characters in this publication
are fictitious and any resemblance
to real persons, living or dead,
is purely coincidental.

Description

Ash Lenthard doesn’t call herself a
vigilante. She’s merely prone to random acts of derring-do, and
occasional exhibitions of tomfoolery. Her friends, the Huntsmen,
have never stepped over the line while patrolling the streets of
Luinhall.

That was before the murder of Ash’s
beloved guardian, Genevieve.

Now, Ash Lenthard is out for blood and
even when the hunt sends her to the palace, on a collision course
with a past identity she would do anything to forget, Ash cannot,
will not, back down.

Author's Note

Spelling is Australian English.

Prologue

A barefoot, smoke-scented girl sat
above the River Milk. Deep night transformed the river into a
murmuring blackness, and its glacier-fed waters exhaled cold as
they split around Luin's Island. In the dual light of the moons,
the girl studied the single statue that filled the island, tracing
the winding cloth that hid Luin's breasts but revealed the angular,
more masculine planes of the stomach.

An accented voice interrupted her
reverie. "Thinking of jumping?"

Sitting between the stanchions that
separated road from river, the girl had expected the gloom to
conceal her. But she kept her response calm, simply glancing over
her shoulder at a lush-figured, curly-haired shape standing
silhouetted against one of the hanging streetlights.

"Thinking of climbing."

The woman laughed. "Because it's
there?"

"Because if I tied a ribbon in its
hair, everyone would see it." The girl shrugged. "But I need a
bigger ribbon, and I maybe need to be taller to get from the robe
folds to the arms."

"A ribbon? As a boast? Or...a message?
Well, I agree that you need a few more inches to attempt Luin, but
I'm sure we can find you something else notable to adorn. Save Luin
for later?"

The woman's quick understanding
startled the girl, but the offer of assistance she dismissed with a
shake of her head. "I'm not short of ideas."

"Just a place to sleep?"

Not inclined to tolerate interfering
do-gooders, the girl decided it was time to leave, and stood. "I'm
fine."

"Also short of shoes, I see," the woman
added. "How were you planning to get to the island?"

"The Kylo ferry's just upstream. If you
let it down by the guide ropes, it's only a short jump."

"Huh. What about Astenar's Mask above
the Bowl? That's in shadow at the moment. I could lower you down by
the ankles. You'd get wet, of course, but it's the second-most
visible thing in the city. And the wash might make you smell a
little less like bacon."

The girl gasped, and then laughed.

"You want to dangle me in the Milk? I'd
end up a block of ice."

"I've night passes to Rithmay's
Bathhouse, just a street away," the woman said. "And I've spare
shoes. And a place to sleep. Most of all, no price, no conditions
attached. Though I would like to see a ribbon in Luin's hair one
day."

The girl, who had had no intention of
trusting helpful strangers, looked back up at the statue, which
almost all of the world would have told her she was mad to consider
climbing. And the wound spring that had driven her since sunset
suddenly relaxed.

"I'll take that bargain. One day, a
ribbon for Luin's hair. Because it's there."

"Do you have a name, then?" the woman
asked, turning upriver. "I'm Genevieve."

There was a limit to trust.

"Ash," the girl said, and followed.

Chapter One

Ash Lenthard struggled to hide her
rage.

Strangers were walking through
Genevieve's house. Tramping into the still-room in their heavy
boots, fumbling through the small shelf of books, crushing the
plants lined in orderly rows in the huge garden. Uncaring outsiders
in Genevieve's bedroom, standing over unmoving flesh, ignorant of
all that had been wonderful about the woman whose home they
invaded. Just another in a series of unexplained deaths.

But Ash's fury was for herself, not the
city's Watch. In the last two months, six people had been murdered
in Luinhall. The one link they shared was their knowledge of
remedies, of medicines and herbs. It had seemed only logical to Ash
for her herb-wise guardian to leave the city until the killer had
been caught, but Genevieve, who had so much to risk in an early
death, had refused. They had quarrelled about it not two days ago,
Ash searching for the right argument while Genevieve, calmly
immovable despite all that she'd told Ash about her past, had
refused to abandon clients who relied on her skills.

Too little effort too late. Now Ash, a
sun-browned young woman dressed as a boy, huddled in the big chair
in the kitchen, bereft of all her usual self-command. She could not
move past the fact of death. It had been beyond any nightmare
Cuinefaer had brought her, to walk into her guardian's bedroom that
morning and find...all that blood.

Everything smelled so wrong! All the
old scents were there: sharp rosemary mingled with sweet marjoram,
thyme, heartsease, pennyroyal, countless other herbs. But they had
become thin, weak notes against a heavy, underlying iron.

A butter-soft voice cut through red
thoughts.

"The condition is much better than I
expected. A day or two of work and we can put it to use."

Disbelieving, Ash turned to see a
plump, sweet-faced woman, smoothing her carefully coiled white hair
and surveying the room as if she owned it. Which, Ash hated to
admit, she did. Something glittered in the woman's eyes as they
found Ash's, but her expression held nothing but cloying
sympathy.

"Poor child. A terrible thing to have
happened. But perhaps not unexpected. Didn't I say just yesterday,
Morton, that Sera Haiden took a dreadful risk remaining in
Luinhall?"

"Yes, my love," said Morton, a towering
bulk in the background. He wore a long-barrelled pistol tucked in
his belt, and gripped a heavy, silver-topped cane that could easily
be used as a cudgel if the chancy flintlock failed him.

"Allow the lad to remain and recover
himself while the cleaning crew works," the woman continued. "So
long as he does not get in their way, I do not see the harm of it.
Though remind the crew that both house and contents are my
property."

Ash rose to her feet, hands curling
into fists. How could she? Genevieve wasn't even out of the house
and this creature was already flourishing her triumph? Gloating
beneath her show of sympathy.

The woman's sweetly complacent smile
widened a fraction, a deliberate goad. Ordinarily Ash would have no
difficulty controlling herself, but the temptation to take the bait
filled her, until that smug expression at least wavered. She was no
bravo, no mound of muscle, not even the boy she pretended to be,
but to have this excuse for a person in the house that had become a
refuge...

A quick step behind, then a strong hand
closed over Ash's shoulder. "Don't be a fool, boy. She'd see you
hanged," said a voice too low for the other occupants of the room
to hear. Then, louder: "Can I assist you, Landhold Dunn?"

The woman became brisk. "I could hope
that the Watch would find some level of competence and prevent
further tragedies. As it is, I expect that you at least exercise
your duty toward my property and ensure that nothing is taken from
it."

"You'll see no harm," said Captain
Garton, voice flat. Garton, kind beneath his gruff demeanour, had
been a firm friend of Genevieve's and certainly no ally of
'Charity' Dunn. But opposing the wealthiest Smallholder in the
Commons would do him no good.

"Well now, I wish I could believe that,
Captain." Landhold Dunn gave a tiny, regretful shake of her head.
"But the Watch has done so little to inspire confidence these past
weeks."

The exchange brought Ash back to a more
usual frame of mind, and she slipped out of Captain Garton's hold,
heading for her bedroom. Charity Dunn was a triviality, nothing
which would distract her from a newly absolute imperative: finding
Genevieve's killer.

The pocket-sized bedroom held a host of
memories, but few belongings. Genevieve had not been wealthy,
always giving away any excess – buying redemption, she would say –
so a single bag was enough to take care of most of Ash's
belongings. Two items could not be so easily managed.

From the gap between mattress and wall
she removed a heavy roll of leather, which she wrapped in her spare
breast-band. Briefly cracking the shutters, she dropped the bundle
into the lavender growing outside her window. Something to collect
later. The book of tales and Genevieve's Herbal were too fragile to
stash outside and too large to conceal in the bag, so she simply
wrapped them in a shirt and carried them in her arms.

It did not surprise Ash in the least
when Landhold Dunn made a diffident noise at her return. The woman
had spent years wishing Genevieve gone, and this performance was
simply some late-served revenge.

"Such a discomforting thing," Landhold
Dunn said. "You understand, of course, Captain, that the boy's bag
will need to be checked. That will clear any shadow of doubt."

"Surely there's no–" Captain Garton
began, but Ash forestalled any further argument by putting the
books on the table and upending her bag beside them. Sturdy,
serviceable cloth, a few useful ointments, and a purse holding a
scattering of coins.

"Morton, if you would..."

Ash supposed she was meant to be
humiliated, or protest the injustice. The salves in the stillroom
and the potential held in the garden had not insignificant value.
But sorting through the house and establishing exactly what
belonged to Landhold Dunn would only be time wasted. Ash felt
nothing but impatience, her mind already on options once she had
left this house behind her.

The colourless man who was Landhold
Dunn's husband moved forward, sorting delicately, and then
unfolding the shirt to reveal the two books.

"I recall there was a small library,"
Landhold Dunn said. Her eyes were bright, summoning a small flare
of spite from Ash, wishing the Smallholder would finally accrue
enough land to stand before Luin and be tested for her worth as
guardian. Though from what Ash had seen of the world, Luin would
probably accept her. Charity Dunn would not be the first truly
awful person to gain the privileges of the Luinsel.

And now was not the moment to care.
"The books are written in Khanteck," Ash said, forcing a note of
indifferent confidence. "These were Genevieve's and she gave them
to me."

"Well now, it's not that I don't wish I
could take your word on that–"

"What is going on back here? Captain,
can't you keep these people out?"

It was the Investigator, bringing with
her an air of effortless authority, despite the fact that she was,
of all unlikely things, a woman in the Rhoi's Guard. She came into
the kitchen, wiping her hands on a rag, and Ash stared at the red
stains on that greying cloth, forgetting Landhold Dunn in favour of
the tragedy that had destroyed her happiness. Genevieve was dead,
her throat slit neatly from side to side, face robbed of its
serenity by a permanent expression of surprise.

"Who is this?" the Investigator asked
Garton.

"Landhold Dunn, Sera. She, uh, this is
her house."

"Oh? The herbalist did not own it?"