sundown he had found the tree. He had no name for it, but it bore a tough-skinned fruit. He had cut several down and discovered that once the skin was cut with a blade, the meat was edible. It was also pulpy and tough, and the flavour was nothing to delight a hedonist, but he was desperate. He ate a few bites, despite being consumed by hunger, and waited.
It seemed they weren’t poisonous. He ate several before cramps gripped him. They might not be poisonous, but they were tough on the stomach. Or perhaps three days without food had caused his stomach to act more tenderly.
Kaspar had always possessed a healthy appetite and had never known hunger more pressing than skipping a midday meal because of a hunt or sailing off the coast. Others in his father’s household had complained bitterly when he pressed on, and he laughed silently to imagine how they would react in his current circumstances. The laugh died as he realized they would all likely be dead by now.
The bird came nearer.
Kaspar had placed seeds in a line leading to a snare he had fashioned from the materials at hand. Painfully he had woven tough fibres pulled from the bulb of a strange-looking cactus; it was a trick shown him by his Keshian guide. He had ripped off the end of the bud and yanked hard, producing a sharp tip attached to a long fibre. ‘Nature’s needle and thread,’ the guide had said. He had struggled, but in the end he had produced a line twice the length of his arm. His hands and arms were covered in cuts and puncture wounds, testament to his determination to fashion a snare from the thorn-covered branches of the local plants.
It took every ounce of will for Kaspar to remain silent and motionless as the bird approached his snare. He had already started a small fire, which was now banked and waiting to be fanned back into flame, and his mouth positively watered in anticipation of roast fowl.
The bird ignored him as it worried at the seed, attempting to break though the tough outer husk and get to the softer inner kernel. As Kaspar watched the bird finished the tiny morsel and moved to the next seed. For an instant, Kaspar hesitated as a pang of doubt seized him. He felt an almost overwhelming fear that somehow the bird would escape and he would slowly starve to death in this isolated place.
Genuine doubt almost paralysed him to the point of losing the bird. The fowl tossed the seed in the air and it landed just far enough from where Kaspar had placed his snare that he felt sure it would escape. However, when he yanked his line the trap fell exactly where he had judged it would land.
The bird fluttered and squawked as it tried to escape the thorny cage. Kaspar endured punctures from the iron-like points as he lifted the small cage to reach under and seize the bird.
He quickly wrung its neck and even before he had returned to the fire he was plucking its feathers. Using the tip of his sword to gut the bird proved a messy prospect. He wished now he had kept the dagger instead of using it to warn off the nomad chieftain.
Finally the bird was dressed and spitted and he was turning it over a fire. Kaspar could hardly contain himself waiting for the bird to cook. As the minutes dragged on, the cramps in his stomach were from anticipation more than anything else.
Throughout his life Kaspar had developed a strong self-discipline, but not eating undercooked bird was the toughest test he could remember. But he knew the dangers of eating undercooked fowl. One bout of food poisoning as a young man left an indelible memory.
Finally he judged the bird finished, and with disregard for burned lips and tongue he set to with a frenzy. All too quickly he was finished, having eaten every shred of meat and the tiny bit of fat the scrawny thing had possessed. It was the best meal he could recall, but it merely whetted his appetite. He stood up and looked around, as if he might spy another bird waiting to be snatched up and eaten.
Then he saw the boy.
He looked to be no more than seven or eight years of age. He wore homespun and sandals, both caked with dust. He had as handsome a face as Kaspar had ever seen on a child and a serious expression. He was dark blond and he studied Kaspar with wide, pale blue eyes.
Kaspar remained motionless for what seemed minutes, and then the boy turned and fled.
Kaspar took off after him a half-moment later, but he was weak from hunger and deprivation. His only goad was fear that the boy would alert his father or the men of his village and while Kaspar feared no man living, he knew he was too weak to give much account of himself if faced by more than one man.
Kaspar laboured to keep the boy in sight, but soon the child had vanished down a gully and between some rocks. Kaspar followed as well as he could, but after only a few minutes of climbing where he had seen the boy disappear, he stopped as dizziness gripped him. His stomach grumbled and he belched as he sat down. He patted his middle and in a moment of giddiness laughed at how he must look. It had only been, what? Six or seven days since he had been captured in his citadel in Olasko, but he could feel his ribs already. Near starvation had taken its toll.
He forced himself to be calm and then stood up and looked around for signs. He was perhaps as gifted a tracker as any man born to nobility in the eastern kingdoms. Kaspar had few vanities, but his skill at tracking and hunting were not among them; he was as good as he thought he was. He saw scuff marks on the rocks and when he climbed up them he saw the pathway.
Like the ancient abandoned road, this was an old path, made ages ago for carts or wagons, but now used by animals and a few humans. He saw the boy’s tracks heading straight away from him and followed.
Kaspar was amused by the thought that the only other nobleman he knew who had skills to match his own as a hunter was Talwin Hawkins, the man who had overthrown him and taken away all Kaspar held dear. Kaspar stopped and caught his breath. Something was wrong: he was lightheaded, his thoughts unfocused. Those scant bits of fruit and one tiny bird were not enough to keep him more than barely alive. His thoughts were wandering and he found that as disturbing as the constant hunger and dirt.
He shook his head to clear it, then resumed walking. He forced his mind to something approaching alertness and considered Talwin Hawkins. Of course he had been justified in his actions, for Kaspar had betrayed him. Kaspar had sensed his sister’s growing attraction to the young noble from the Kingdom of the Isles. Personally, he had found Hawkins likeable, and he admired his skill with a blade and as a hunter. Kaspar paused for a moment. He found himself confused as to why he had chosen to make Hawkins the dupe in his plan to assassinate Duke Rodoski of Roldem. It had seemed a good idea at the time, but now he wondered how he had arrived at that conclusion. Hawkins had been an able servant and as a bonus had employed that wily old assassin, Amafi. They were a redoubtable pair and had proven their worth early and often. Yet he had chosen to put all blame for the attempt on Rodoski’s life on Hawkins.
Kaspar shook his head. Since leaving Olasko, he had several times felt that something had changed within him, something more than just dealing with his dire circumstances. After a while it occurred to him that it had been his friend Leso Varen who had suggested that Tal Hawkins could pose a threat.
Kaspar blinked and realized his mind was drifting. He turned his mind to finding the boy before an alarm could be raised. There were no signs of any habitation nearby, so Kaspar decided the boy might yet be some distance from his home. He focused on the boy’s tracks and followed them, picking up the pace as his sense of urgency rose.
Time passed and the sun moved across the sky, and after what Kaspar judged nearly half an hour, he smelled the smoke. The path had led him down into a defile, but now as it rose up and he followed it around a tall rock formation, he saw a farm. Two goats were confined in a pen and in the distance were a few cattle, an odd breed with long sweeping horns and brown-speckled white hides. They cropped grass in a green meadow. Behind
