Emerging Legacy by Doranna Durgin Page B

the
gnarled tubers waiting to supplement the lichen. The others were no less
tired, no less ready to settle in for the evening.
    So even though she didn’t yet know what little wrongness in their surroundings had caught her attention, the others gave a shrug and
moved onward. Their habitual dismissiveness of her skills took over, and one
by one, they slipped through the gap in the sentry rocks to throw themselves to
the ground around the banked coals of the fire.
    Or so Kelyn thought, hearing the sounds within. Until she
actually took her turn through the sentry rocks and discovered her pack mates
sprawled on the hard-packed dirt and stone of the area, dazed and surrounded
and some of them even being sat upon — all by rough, dark men in unfamiliar
clothing. The discovery startled her so much that she stumbled and fell,
saving them the effort of taking her down.
    Men, here? After us ? Shock and fear coursed
along her spine; her heart hammered in her chest, lending her a burst of energy
too late to do any good.
    One of the four men gave a short laugh at Kelyn’s fall, and
said something to the others in a harsh, unfamiliar language. They all relaxed
slightly. They know we’re all here. And that they’d accomplished this
capture without a fight.
    Captured. But they had nothing of value to
steal--nothing but the recently acquired nightfox pelts and the small
collection of less significant pelts and dried meat. They had nothing but...
    Themselves.
    Kelyn lifted her head to look at them with revulsion, and
the man who’d spoken gave her a nasty-toothed grin. “Figuring it out, are you?”
he asked in her own language, sitting on Mungo’s rump as though it were a
pillowed throne. Mungo himself was still dazed, or the man’s impudent
self-confidence would have been ill-rewarded. “ You’re our prize. All
of you.”
    Frykla gave him a startled look. “What?”
    “Slavers?” Gwawl twisted beneath the man who had his knee
in the small of his back, trying to see how the rest of them faired.
    “ Here? ” Iden pulled against the rough ropes that
already bound his wrists and ankles together.
    In the lowlands, yes. Slavers and reivers, both — people who
preyed on the misfortune and weakness of others. But here in the craggy
reaches of the Keturan mountains, surrounded by the unfamiliar dangers of
climate and predator? Neither was forgiving — it was the very reason they forged
young hunting packs into strong, capable warriors, independent but respectful
of community.
    Strong, capable...
    “You came here just for us,” Kelyn said, her voice low with
the horror of it. The man who’d tied Iden moved on to another, whipping
another short length of coarse rope from his belt with the speed of long
practice.
    The man rubbed his nose. It didn’t help; the nose remained
dirty and ugly. “Not you in particular. Just whichever of you was up here
this year.” He pointed at her, then gestured at the fire circle. “Come in
here.”
    She thought about running. If she flung herself back out of
the narrow aisle between the sentry rocks, they’d never catch her — and they
probably wouldn’t leave the others behind to even try. She could make it to
safety, but their village community would feel the loss for years, if it even
survived. Life here was too precarious, too close to the edge.
    She couldn’t face that. She couldn’t good-bye to her
friends, never to know how they fared; she couldn’t break the news to their families.
    With care, Kelyn got to her feet, closing her hand around
the staff to bring it with her. The men instantly came to alert, and the one
who sat on Mungo’s rump sprang to his feet, a short spear to hand. “Leave
that!”
    She gave it a surprised glance. She’d reached for it out of
entrenched habit; she rarely went anywhere without it. It served her on the
rocky paths and it served her as a weapon. She wielded it with more grace than
anything else in her life. She depended on it. And now she gave