“That sounds even more dangerous than dealing with the one creature.”
“Perhaps.”
The hunter sat on his rock and thought hard, supporting his chin on one fist. “All right,” he said at last.
“Do you see a way forward?”
“Not yet. Or perhaps I see the beginnings of a way.”
“Good,” said the friar. “Send to let me know how this all turns out. And if I can be of any further help, call on me at once. Such creatures cannot be permitted to get the better of honest people.”
Galen heard the first sign of trouble some distance off: Katherine’s voice, raised in a shout. He hurried, but not at break-neck speed. He could hear anger in his wife’s voice, but no fear or pain.
At the very edge of the forest, he crouched for a moment in shadow to see what lay ahead.
Katherine, standing in the foreyard, fists on her hips, her stance shouting of stubborn pride and resistance. She confronted three men in blue livery. Count Alphonse’s men.
Bow in hand, arrow at the string but pointing down for the moment, Galen strode out into the sunlight. “What passes here?” he shouted.
One of the blue-clad men stepped forward, his hand open in token of peace. “I am Simon de Clare, in the service of the Count of Cobaltia. We are here to investigate rumors of trouble.”
“There is no trouble here,” said Galen, halting within the edge of the ideal range for a quick shot. “I thank you for your concern, but you are wasting your time.”
“It is our time to waste.” De Clare glanced around the yard, his eyes missing nothing. “You are Galen Chasseur?”
“I am, as anyone in the village could tell you.”
“You are accused of witchcraft and consorting with evil spirits. What say you?”
“Pfah!” Galen scowled. “Who accuses me? I have a right to face him.”
“Only if the accusation is formal. Thus far, it is not. We hope to resolve the situation without requiring such measures.”
“Then I say the accusation is groundless. I know there is a curse at work, but it is none of my doing. We have suffered from it as much as any. I have no grudge against any of my neighbors, nor should they have any cause for a quarrel with me.”
“I see.” De Clare nodded in satisfaction and turned back to Galen. “Well, I am inclined to take the word of such an honest fellow.”
Galen nodded in thankful suspicion.
“Of course…should it be proven that you are not an honest fellow, I would have to reconsider. Which brings me to another matter of concern. I took the time to examine the village rolls before coming here. To my surprise, I found that you have no right to live here, or to hunt in the Fogwood.”
“What? I have land-right and forest-right, clear as day in the village rolls.”
“Ah, but you have those rights by way of your father, who had them from the last King. Have you sworn an oath of fealty for the renewal of those rights?”
“There’s no one to swear fealty to, unless the Heir should return.”
De Clare spread his hands in helplessness. “You see my problem. By law, you are a poacher and a thief, not an honest man at all. So how may I take your word that you are not the cause of the curse afflicting this village?”
“That’s not what the law says, and you know it.”
“Perhaps. I suppose we could take this to the village court. Where the case would be tried by your peers. Most of whom are already half-convinced that you are a sorcerer. Or…” De Clare paused as if in thought.
“Spit it out, man,” said Galen in disgust.
“My master could doubtless resolve all of this, if you were willing to swear fealty to him. Become his man, support his claim to the throne, convince your neighbors to do the same. He will advise the Mayor and the village to let the matter rest. You could make your fortune in his service.”
“I see.” Galen sighed. “All this trouble goes away, and the Count makes me a rich man. All I have to do is become a lying lickspittle like yourself.”
De Clare smiled gently. “You do seem to have grasped the situation.”
“Never.”
“Well. That is too bad, but I shouldn’t take your first reply. Think about the matter while I report back to my master and hear his answer. You have perhaps three days to consider.”
“Three days or three years, my answer will be the same.”
All at once, de Clare’s manner of polished courtesy vanished. “For your own sake, it had better not be. When I return, I will have more than two men with me.”
Then he turned on his heel, the other two following, and strode away.
Galen stood, his bow still in his hand pointing at nothing, until he felt a presence at his side.
“Husband,” Katherine said, “I am proud of you.”
He released the breath he had been holding. “You should not be. I got us into this.”
“No. You are not the one in the wrong.” She hesitated. “Still…I admit to being afraid.”
“So am I, love.”
“What are we going to do?”
He reached out and put an arm around her shoulders. “The only thing we can do. Live each day and look for a way out.”
“Galen…” She sighed. “You are the most unimaginative man I have ever known. Bless you.”
He snorted. “Be that as it may, I still have work to do.”
“Come inside in an hour. I will have fresh bread and broth for you.”
Galen went down to the well, and then to check the fowl-yard. No more of the birds had been slain in the night.
From the cottage, a harsh crack. Then Katherine’s voice, this time full of pain.
When Galen looked back, he saw the roof of his cottage falling in.
He ran.
The roof-tree of the cottage had suddenly failed, crashing down to the floor. Galen was able to drag Katherine out to safety. Under his breath, he thanked the Lion she had taken nothing worse than some bruises and a broken arm.
It was almost sunset before Katherine finally fell asleep. Friar Benedictus had done what he could, setting the bone and giving her poultices and a sleeping draught. Yet, even in her sleep, she whimpered with the pain. When the friar emerged from the cottage’s front door, he found Galen sitting on a stool, turning a piece of wood over and over in his hands.
“Dry rot,” said the hunter. “See here, Brother? Just at one end of the roof-tree. So corrupt that it couldn’t hold the weight of the roof in place any longer.”
“A terrible accident,” said Benedictus.
“No accident,” Galen said flatly. “I built this cottage with my own hands. The wood was sound. This much rot, and the frame would not have held the roof in place for an instant.”
“What are you saying?”
“The Fair Folk cannot abide the touch of cold iron, nor can their magic bite upon it. They could not have attacked the iron of the nails that held the frame together. But the wood of the frame itself, that they could corrupt. To cause it to rot, all in an instant, just when my Katherine was standing there in the way.”
Benedictus nodded slowly.
Galen sighed and stood. “Brother, I’m ready to end this now. Will you stand with me?”
“Gladly, my friend.”
Galen cast the scrap of wood aside. He stepped out into the fading light and looked around, as if seeking his enemy. “All right, you damnable creature! Come out and face me. I’m ready to make my first wish.”