Sven the Collector

Chapter One

The summer wind whipped at Colette's sun-kissed face as she drove her mare on toward her quarry. The elusive fox raced through the grove, silver tail bobbing over the tall grass like a shining beacon, beckoning the hounds. Colette suppressed a cry of exhilaration as her mount leapt over a fallen branch and landed without so much as a hitch in its graceful stride. Behind them, Colette's brothers, father, and a dozen of his men struggled to keep pace. As usual.

The hounds howled, igniting a fresh burst of speed in her horse. Colette reached back for her bow; they were almost close enough for a decent shot. The smell of dampened earth and the babbling of a nearby stream sent a wave of frustration pounding through her.

Not now! Just a bit farther!

Ahead, the fox bounded through the grass and slipped into the treeline. No time. Colette drew an arrow and loosed it at the woodland creature. The recoil of the bowstring slapped at her leather bracer as the arrow went zooming.

It missed.

Need one more shot. Just one more.

Colette cursed and drove her heels into her horse's sides. Inhaling, she drew another arrow and took aim. She released the bowstring just as the fox took a bounding leap through the brook that bisected her father's lands. The arrowhead missed its target by mere inches, bouncing off a stone that peaked above the water's bubbling surface. Beneath her, Colette felt her horse's body tense, preparing to make the jump. Gulping down a breath, Colette yanked back on the reigns, drawing her horse to a skidding halt just before they reached the water's edge.

For a moment, the sound of her own breath was all she could hear, followed by the puffing of her mare, and the pounding hooves of her huntmates' horses. A handful of riders rushed past, their wind taking strands of coppery hair out of her braid.

Collette sat stiffly in her saddle, stifling the unladylike urge to spit in their wake. They suffered no hesitation, flying like birds over the narrow creek bed, kicking up water and landing surefooted on the other side to continue the morning's hunt. How she envied them.

Hollen, her youngest brother, whooped at her from across the stream. The taunt was more than she could take; Colette jabbed her hand in the air, flashing the most obscene gesture she knew. It might have been more impactful if Hollen himself hadn't been the one to teach it to her. His horse rearing back, he laughed before sprinting deeper into the grove after the others.

Bloody swiver.

"Colette. Come, Daughter. We will go around."

Colette swallowed back the bitter taste in her mouth and turned in her saddle toward her father. Lord Potrulis was a portly man whose frequent hunts were all that kept his waistline from matching the rounding of his smile-worn cheeks. Four guards flanked him, although their presence was more for Colette's sake than for her father or brother's. Lord Potrulis' expression softened with the doting warmth he reserved for his only daughter, and Colette had to surrender some of her ire. But there was something else in his manner that morning which Colette couldn't name.

"Looks like Gareth will be making the kill today," she grumbled, tugging the reigns to follow her father up the creekside.

His guards made room for her to take her place at his left, farthest away from the embankment. She was glad for their silence. All of them knew about her irrational fear of water, so no one questioned why they must now make the three-mile detour to the nearest footbridge. They trotted on at a leisurely pace, assured that the fox was well out of reach.