Chapter Eight
Raven’s gaze skimmed the farmland, looking for clues like tracks in the dirt. A squadron wouldn’t be able to move through the countryside without leaving something behind. Horse manure, at the very least. Unless they didn’t come this way or were trying to remain hidden.
She took her time, trying to use her skills. She knew how to track. Her father had trained her and her sisters. She recalled one time when she was young; they were tracking a path their father had left for them, and Willow had been distracted chasing a butterfly. She was the only one not to follow the track that day. Their father had not been happy.
Now, they were all skilled trackers. She and Sage often made a competition of it.
Tracking a squadron shouldn’t be this difficult. Where had they camped?
She stared out at the horizon between the trees lining the farmer’s field. A large grassy area was just beyond the trees in the distance.
She spurred her horse forward, easing him along the edges of the pasture. She was certain the crops had already been collected, but she didn’t want to risk angering the farmer. When she reached the field, she stopped.
Some of the tall stalks of grass had been flattened. Piles of ash from campfires dotted the field.
This was what she expected to see if a large group of men had come this way. She grinned, pleased, and turned her steed toward the town.
A stocky farmer had emerged from one of the houses, and when he saw her, he quickly turned back into his home, closing the door behind him.
The villagers were frightened—the men had not treated them well. She ground her teeth. Power and strength did not make it right to mistreat those weaker than you. She urged her horse into a gallop, her body moving with ease and the familiarity of Thunder’s gait. She stopped before the farmer’s house and dismounted. She knocked on the door. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” she called through the door. “I want to know more about the men that camped in the field.”
“Go away!” a male voice called from inside.
Raven shook her head. Willow was always better at speaking with people than she was. But there was one thing everyone understood. Her hand wrapped around her coin purse on her belt. “I will pay for your time.”
There was silence. Raven glanced around at the other farm homes. Perhaps she could locate someone else more willing to speak to her.
The door cracked open, revealing a tiny sliver of darkness. “We want no trouble,” the voice from inside said.
“I’m not with those men. I’m sorry for the way they treated you.”
Whispers sounded from inside the home. Then, the man’s voice. “How much are you going to pay?”
Raven sighed softly and opened a pouch tied to her belt. She removed a shilling and held it up.
After a moment, a hand extended, palm up.
Raven pulled the coin back. “First, answer my questions.” She rubbed the coin between her fingers. “How long did the group stay?”
“A night,” the farmer answered.
“When did they arrive?”
“Yesterday. ’N they ate all our crops. Drank our ale. And paid nothin’ fer it.”
“When did they leave?”
“Leave?” he echoed. “Four of ’em are still at the inn.”
Dread clawed its way up her spine. “Where is the inn?”
“Next to the blacksmith’s shop.” He stretched out his hand.
Raven dropped the shilling into his palm and put her booted foot into the stirrup to mount.
“Best be careful,” he advised. “There are also two of the king’s men at the inn. They arrived early this morn.”
“Thank you.” She spurred her horse and rode between the farmer’s home to the main road. She hurried, looking for the blacksmith’s shop.
