Fugitive of the Sky

Chapter Eight: Seek My Light

The hunters sat silently in the half light of the night sky that filtered down through the forest leaves. Notir and Hornar had tracked their way back to the Larkwing's den, but there had been no more Larkwings. The one they had lost was the last one. Natan munched the last of his meat quietly, trying to ignore Notir's seething seething glare.

There had to be a way to get the Larkwing out from behind those thornbushes. Natan had been thinking about it all afternoon. He could lure the Larkwing out into the open, but Larkwings were reportedly too devious for such measures and he didn't know what to use as bait. He could try to trap the Larkwing in the thornbushes, but what good was that when he couldn't get to the Larkwing to take the cape? He could try to get Hornar or Tampul to shoot the Larkwing from behind the bushes, but there was still the problem of getting the cape. Besides, he wanted to keep the Larkwing kill to himself if possible.

A double share of the profit was already enough to pay most of his debts, but the full profit? If he could keep the cape and kill to himself, he could even collect the local Trot's Larkwing bounty. And if the cape was a really beautiful one, or a striking and useful one, and he brought it back virtually undamaged... A full repayment and the restoring of his honor would be well within reach. There might even be several gold stones to spare for himself.

It was best if the other hunters didn't find out about the Larkwing. If only he could get it out.

Hornar stirred, breaking Natan out of his thoughts, and spoke gruffly. "Notir, keep th' night watch tonight."

Notir broke his gaze from Natan. "Th' whole thin'?"

"The whole thin'." Hornar's voice lowered. "I know you'll stop breakin' noses East and West when you've lost some hours."

Notir scowled and folded his arms. "I won't break noses, but I won't shoot straight either."

"No' tha' your shootin' did much good anyway," Tampul muttered as he scuffed the ground with the side of his boot.

Notir whipped around. "It wasn't my shootin', it was your searchin'! It's bad enough tha—"

"Silence!" Hornar thundered. "Wha' has gotten int' you? All this hunt, you two've done nothin' but argue! Stop arguin' abou' pointless arrows. Wha's done is done. When the sun rises, we'll head back to Liron. If Katarrhan stays away, we might find the Larkwin' tomorrow. Keep th' peace till we make it out of th' mountains. Then, I'll make you settle your differences once an' for all."

He glared at Notir until he finally looked away. "Understan'?"

"Understan'," Notir muttered, getting up and restringing his bow.

Hornar turned to Tampul. "I don' wan' another word out of you. Until we get out of th' mountains, no words of fightin'."

Tampul clenched his jaw, but nodded. Surprisingly, Hornar turned his challenging gaze on Natan. He felt a stab of irrational fear. "Will you do anythin', trader? This fightin' can't go on and on."

Natan weighed his words. He wasn't just going to let Notir's insult of Natik go. "What's between us will wait," he said, raising his voice. He stared at Notir and waited until he turned to meet his gaze. "I'll save my wrath for when we reach Liron."

Hornar narrowed his eyes, staring intently into Natan's face. "I'll hold you t' your word."

Natan steeled himself against Hornar's gaze. Hornar made him feel like he was looking for something he would hide. Perhaps Hornar suspected his intentions. Perhaps he was searching for something else.

After a long moment, Hornar turned away. "Tampul, go t' sleep. Notir, take th' night's shadow watch. Wake Natan next. Don' do anythin'. If th' Larkwin' comes back t' attack us, you know what t' do."