Season of Sacrifice by Mindy Klasky Page A

a small fire. When the tracker started to protest, Maddock cut him off, acerbically noting that they had not seen anyone for the entire day, and they had purposely ridden this far from the road to enjoy some privacy.
    Landon finally had the fire crackling when a lamb wandered into the clearing.
    The animal was little more than a newborn—some shepherd and his dogs had been lax in their duties. The pitiful creature was mewling when it reached them, long ears bobbling about its face as it stumbled from one person to the next, trying futilely to suck on their fingers.
    Jobina was the first to suggest that they dine on meat that night. The thought of fresh food was as tempting as the Guardians’ gold, and Maddock had his dagger unsheathed before Landon could frown. The blade was level against the creature’s throat by the time the tracker made himself heard. “Maddock, you’d better not do that.”
    The warrior felt the tight woolen curls shudder beneath his left hand. “And why not?”
    “We’re guests in this land. That lamb belongs to someone, and they’re certain to realize it’s missing.”
    “We’re travelers who are dying of hunger on the road. What sort of people would forbid us hospitality?”
    “Shepherds who rely on lambs for their livelihood! Maddock, these people live by their animals. Besides, we’re not starving.”
    “Then we’ll buy the cursed thing, if anyone asks.”
    “Maddock, we’re likely trespassing on someone’s land right now, someone who could summon the sheriff and enforce the law.”
    “If you’re afraid, Landon, just say so.”
    “Dammit, I’m not afraid!” The men stared at each other across the flames of the fire. Without a word, Jobina drew her dagger, sitting back on her heels to strip green bark from three long sticks. Maddock could imagine the aroma of fat sizzling into the open flames.
    “If you’re not afraid, then act like a man.” Maddock gathered up the squealing lamb, avoiding the hard little hooves as he passed his wriggling victim to the tracker. “Be quick about it.”
    Landon stared at him with a look close to hatred. It had been like this for all of Maddock’s life. Ever since he was a child, since he was first called to be the huer on the cliff face, he had been the fastest, the strongest. The village boys had always hated him, and most were afraid of him. He had learned to take a firm hand with his playmates, never hesitating to enforce a little respect, even from older boys. His strategy had paid off—all the village youth, boys and girls, had known who was the leader.
    In fact, Maddock mused, that might be why Landon was making every step of this cursed journey so difficult. Maddock remembered the look in Alana Woodsinger’s eyes as she put the bavin in his care. Surely, no one could have blamed him for casting a triumphant glare toward the rival tracker.
    After all, everyone knew that Landon had brought the woodsinger mistletoe berries as a pledge at winter solstice, and she had declined to accept his gift of intention. It wasn’t surprising—Landon should have made his move before Alana was called to be woodsinger, before she was sworn to the Tree. Even if he’d spoken up early enough, there was no guarantee that Alana would have accepted the tracker. Alana as comely as she was, and Landon with his awkward lope, his balding pate…Maybe if the man stood to his full height he wouldn’t make the girls run in fright. But instead, he stooped over, unsuccessfully masking his size and looking like one of the walking undead.
    Now, though, Landon’s eyes looked nothing like the undead. Maddock watched bitter emotion flash across the other man’s face, but the tracker silently gathered up the lamb. One quick slash of his blade, and the animal was reduced to hot meat. The tracker’s steady hands held the little corpse upside down for a moment as blood pumped out of its severed arteries, and then he set to the messy job of skinning the