The Hallowed Hunt (Curse of Chalion) by Lois McMaster Bujold Read Free Book Online Page A

heard a distant crashing in the woods. A man called, “Lord Ingrey?” and another, “I heard voices toward the river—over that way…!”
    “They’re coming!” He struggled to his feet, swaying dizzily, his hands extending to her in pleading. “Before they find us. Flee!”
    “Like this ?” she said indignantly, sweeping a hand down her damp costume, her bare feet. “Soaking wet, no money, no weapons, no help, I am to run off into the woods and—what? Be eaten by bears?” Her jaw set. “No. Boleso came from Easthome. Your geas came from Easthome. It is there that the source of this evil must be stalked. I will not be diverted.”
    “Someone there would kill you to keep you silent. They’ve already tried. They might kill me .”
    “Then you’d better not babble about this to anyone.”
    “ I don’t babble—” he began in outrage, but then their rescuers were upon them, two of Ingrey’s men on horseback hacking through the undergrowth. Now he wanted to talk to her, and could not.
    “My lord!” cried Rider Gesca in gladness. “You have saved her!”
    Since Ijada did not correct this misperception, neither did Ingrey. Evading her gaze, he climbed to his feet.

CHAPTER THREE
     
     
    W HEN THEY ARRIVED BACK AT THE WAGON WAITING ON THE far bank, the sun had slipped behind the treetops. A level orange glint shone through the tangled branches by the time Ingrey and his prisoner had traded off for dry clothes and mounted their recaptured horses. Ingrey’s head, wrapped in a makeshift strip of cloth, was pounding, and his shoulder was stiffening, but he refused even to contemplate the idea of sitting in the wagon atop Boleso’s box. The cortege clambered out of the wooded valley and on into the gathering twilight.
    A chill mist began to arise from the ditches and fields. Ingrey was just about to order his lead riders to light torches to guide them when a distant glow on the road resolved into a string of bobbing lanterns. A few minutes later, an anxious Halloo sounded above trotting hoofbeats. The man Ingrey had sent ahead that morning to ready Reedmere for Boleso spurred forward to greet them. He brought with him not only Temple servants with lights, but a fresh team of horses already harnessed, together with a wheelwright and his tools. Ingrey gave the prudent guardsman a heartfelt commendation, the teams were exchanged, and the procession started up again at a faster pace. In a few more miles, the lights above the walls of Reedmere shone to guide them to the gate held open for them.
    Reedmere was no hamlet, but a town of several thousand souls, and the local center of Temple administration. Its temple on the town square, though large, was still very much in the old rural style: a five-sided wooden hall decorated outside and in with elaborate twining carvings of plants and beasts and scenes from saints’ tales. The roof was wood shingle, doubtless lately replacing rustic thatch. In any case, it made a fit enough barn to store Boleso’s coffin for the night. Reedmere’s anxious ruling lord-divine, assisted by most of the lay stewards of his civic council, hastened to oversee the prince’s placement therein and intone prayers. A gaggle of curious townsfolk had dressed up and assembled into a passable choir. More superior citizens mustered to make loyal obeisance at the bier; Ingrey sensed a slight disappointment that the coffin was closed. Ingrey let his bandages excuse him from the ceremonies.
    The temple’s outbuildings seemed mostly to consist of nearby houses recommissioned to new duties. The divine’s residence was in a building with the Temple notary’s office; the library and scriptorium shared quarters with the Daughter of Spring’s Lady-school for the town’s children; the Temple infirmary, dedicated to the Mother of Summer, occupied the back rooms of the local apothecary’s shop. Ingrey saw his prisoner turned over to some stern-looking female Temple servants, gave a few coins to the