"What do they do?"
"Hunt bounties for the empire."
When she gave him a look, his lips twitched. Not mocking her outright. Nor calling her a fool. Gentle teasing instead. They'd been searching all day and into the night for the camp where Alvar might be keeping his shadow stalkers. While they'd passed settlements and hidden from two wagon trains, these were the first warriors they'd spotted.
Gavril's mood was not unlike what she remembered after a few days in the Wastes, when he'd begun to relax, to tease, and to talk. There were still snaps and snarls and glowers, yet that was Gavril, like the weather of the Wastes themselves--never what one would call easy, but the sunny patches almost made the storms worthwhile.
Gavril did occasionally sink into his grief, but it was quickly shaken off, which did not make it any less genuine. Sometimes, that was the only way to handle grief. One started falling into the pit, and then had to slingshot out of it and carry on. So it had been with Moria after her father's death, and so it was now with Gavril and his mother's.
"An imperial bounty is a price set on the head of a criminal," he continued. "These hunters try to collect it. Most are little different from mercenaries. If you see those forelocks, though? It marks them as an elite corps, permanently employed by the emperor."
"One would think an elite corps would dress better."
A soft chuckle. "True, but bounty hunters are a culture unto themselves, with their own rules and codes and, yes, manner of dress. They're hunters, so they need to blend in. Yet they're arrogant. The jewels and such advertise their success."
"Do you think they hunt for us? Toman sounded as if he expected a bounty, but it was not clear one existed. Would the emperor do that? Lay a bounty on our heads when we were declared traitors?"
"He'd likely have had no choice. Despite Toman's threats, though, I believe that Emperor Tatsu would have made it clear he wanted us alive--saying that we needed to answer for our crimes."
She nodded. "Thereby ensuring our safety as best he could."
Moria eyed the two. The one without rings looked only a few summers older than her. The other seemed a couple of decades older. A bounty hunter and his apprentice, she supposed.
She told Gavril her plan. He thought it mad. Naturally.
"Would you rather hunt for your father's camp while we are being hunted?" she asked.
He grumbled.
"All right," she said. "I'll take the older one, if he's too much--"
Gavril was off before she could finish.
Gavril crawled through the grass until he was about fifty paces from the campfire. Then, when neither man was looking directly his way, he rose and began walking toward them.
"Draw your blades and I'll draw mine." Gavril's voice echoed over the plain. "If you are imperial men of honor, you will rise and meet me as such, with your hands folded at your waist."
Neither moved. Gavril stopped. He wore his sleeveless tunic, his cloak left with Moria, and his clan tattoos were on full display. Yet they were not as easi
ly seen as others--black ink against dark skin, spots of green the only color.
Gavril raised his forearms and said, "I'd hope you would recognize the man you are hunting, even in the night, but shine your torches if that helps."
The two looked at each other, confused. Was it truly so difficult to identify Gavril? It was not as if the empire was filled with tall, green-eyed, dark-skinned, inked young warriors.
But they still apparently needed to shine their torches, and when they did, the young bounty hunter let out an oath.
"Gavril Kitsune?"
"You sound surprised."
"We--"
The older man shushed his apprentice with a look.
"Were you hoping to find my father out here?" Gavril said.
"Our target is our concern," the older man said. "But since you have foolishly presented yourself, we'll gladly accept you as an alternate. The bounty on you is as high as the one we sought." The man smiled, teeth flashing in the firelight. "And the public acclaim will be significantly higher."