Seven pairs of eyes went to the blade in his hand, with its curving edge and the transparent gemstone set into its hilt. Everyone in Voramis had heard the tales of the Hunter and his mystical dagger—most of them wildly exaggerated, but all terrifying. More than a few of the Steel Company gripped their weapons tighter, their faces grim.
As if by some unspoken signal, the outermost swordsmen fanned out to his right and left. He'd expected as much. Had they carried shields, it would have been a very different story. But with only swords, a line would hamper their defensive capabilities. They needed space to swing their long blades. With seven men facing him alone, they simply needed to surround him and attack from all sides.
A huge, bearded fellow anchored the formation—he'd be the slowest, but his blows would do serious damage. The quickest, smallest men spread out along the arms of the fan. Their job would be to keep him engaged long enough for the others to encircle him. Like hounds nibbling at a bear, they'd hold his attention until the big man in the middle could finish him off.
They've gone to all this effort to make this pretty formation, the Hunter thought. Seems only polite I oblige them.
With a sudden burst of speed, he charged to the left, toward the man at the outer edge of the formation. To the mercenary's credit, he showed no sign of fear at the onrushing Hunter. He simply raised his sword in a guard position and braced for the attack.
The Hunter brought his long sword across in a powerful blow that clanged off the mercenary's long sword. The man staggered backward, caught himself, and blocked the follow-up blow. He made no attempt to go on the offense, but simply kept the Hunter at bay. Every second he stayed alive gave his comrades time to close in on the Hunter from behind.
Decades as an assassin had scoured all traces of "honorable combat" from the Hunter's way of thinking. Even as he struck high, he dug the toe of his boot into the sand and kicked grit up into the man's face. The mercenary blinked hard, desperate to clear his vision. The Hunter's sword bit deep into his leg, just above his knee.
Sensing the men approaching him from behind, the Hunter took another quick step to his left. This shift placed another mercenary in the path of the others. To reach him, they could go around—or through—their comrade, or reform their ranks.
He didn't give them a chance to figure out which.
His long sword, driven by all the power of his muscles, slammed into the next mercenary's sword. The impact broke the man's precise block, and one wrist in the process. The Hunter shuffled forward and drove his foot in a forward thrust kick into the mercenary's breastplate, hurling the man backward into his comrade. The two went down in a tangle of limbs.
The big man moved with impressive speed, raising his long sword and bringing it down in a brutal overhand chop. The Hunter, off-balance on the uneven earth, had no time to deflect or dodge. He raised his long sword and Soulhunger in a cross block. Metal shivered and sparked, the impact racing down his arms, shoulders, and spine.
Pain flared in his right leg. One of the quicker mercenaries had darted around the big man to flank the Hunter. Even as the Hunter tried to disengage from the big mercenary, a third man attacked from his right. He barely managed to raise Soulhunger to ward off a blow that would have laid open his throat. The block left his midsection exposed to the big man's two-handed strike. Only the Hunter's reflexes and speed saved him from being disemboweled. The blow took a chunk out of his armor and dug a gouge into his side.
He stumbled backward. Hot blood seeped from his side and dripped down his leg. He could feel his body fighting to re-knit soft tissue and muscle, but the wounds slowed his movement. His right leg responded to his commands sluggishly.
"Look, lads!" the big man chortled. "He bleeds, just like any mortal man. Means he can be killed, don't it?"
With a growl, the Hunter took another step back. "Thing you need to know about me," he snarled, "is that it takes more than a few lucky strikes to put me down." He gave a theatrical groan and sagged to one knee.
"Hah!" A grin broadened the big man's face, and he roared out a triumphant cry. He gripped his sword with both hands and raised it high. The blow descended with enough power to cleave the Hunter from skull to collarbone with ease.
Unfortunately for the mercenary, power couldn't quite match speed.
The Hunter threw himself to the side, rolling upright and thrusting out with Soulhunger. The dagger's tip punched through another man's chain mail shirt where it covered his legs. Steel sliced through leather breeches, skin, muscle, and cracked the thigh bone beneath.
A wild shriek of agony echoed across the plain. The mercenary fell, clasping his leg, his eyes wide in horror. Crimson light flared bright in the gemstone as Soulhunger drank its fill. Power rushed through the Hunter, healing his torn flesh, flooding him with vitality. He gritted his teeth against the white-hot pain of a new scar etching his chest and ripped the dagger free.
To the remaining mercenaries' credit, the death of their comrade barely slowed them. The man with the broken wrist had gotten to his feet, drawing his three-bladed dagger in his left hand. The remaining four men attacked before he'd risen.
Dodging a vicious chop, he deflected a low strike and twisted out of the path of a thrust. The big man's sword whistled dangerously close to his head. Pivoting, the Hunter interposed another mercenary between himself and his bulky foe. He attacked from all sides, his dagger and long sword moving too fast for the man to deflect every strike. The Hunter worked his opponent's blade wide with three quick strikes and brought Soulhunger up across the man's face. The dagger sliced through his lips and nose, carving a furrow into his forehead and eliciting a shrill cry of pain.
The Hunter drove his shoulder into the man's chest, sending him stumbling into the big mercenary behind him. As he'd hoped, the falling body provided him a moment of distraction—enough time for him to drive his long sword into the throat of another mercenary. Whirling, he brought his sword crashing into the three-bladed dagger of the man with the broken wrist. The impact knocked the vicious knife free, sending it hurtling to one side. The Hunter twisted his long sword so the tip carved a long, deep furrow in the man's forearm. The stink of blood—thick, hot, and metallic—filled the air as the man fell.
A roar of rage brought the Hunter spinning around, sword whipping across to deflect a powerful cross-body blow from the big man's blade. Sparks flew and steel shivered. The huge mercenary punched out. His massive fist caught the Hunter square in the face. It felt like being hit by a charging bull. He staggered backward, his vision whirling.
His foot caught on something and he fell hard. A knife bit into his leg, sending fire racing up and down the limb. He grunted as the blade was shoved deeper. In a half-daze, the Hunter slashed out blindly with Soulhunger. He was rewarded with a cry of pain, and the pressure on the knife let up.
Shaking his head, the Hunter found himself lying atop the first man he'd brought down. Dark arterial blood had turned the hard-packed earth to mud in a wide circle around the mercenary. His struggles were weak, but he'd managed to inflict one final wound on his killer. With a snarl, the Hunter drove Soulhunger into the man’s chest. Light flared faint for a heartbeat before dying out. The man had little life left to him.
But that burst of power had done enough. The world stopped whirling, and his vision cleared--in time to see the big man thrusting his sword toward his belly.
The Hunter threw himself to the side. The blow, which would have punctured his leather armor, skin, and intestines beneath, carved a line of fire along his side and down his back. The force of the thrust drove the tip deep into the earth.
Before the big man could recover, the Hunter rolled to his feet and lashed out with his long sword. The blade rang on the mercenary's helmet, but the force of the blow staggered him. The Hunter brought his boot up into the fork of the man's legs. With a pitiful groan, the huge mercenary fell backward, clasping himself. The Hunter stamped on his face hard enough to dent his helmet and render him unconscious.
>
Breathing hard, the Hunter scanned the ground for more opponents. Of those still alive, all but two needed immediate assistance—and those would join their comrades in the Long Keeper's arms if they didn't get to a physicker before the sun set.
He strode the twenty-five paces to where his satchel lay, retrieved it, and returned to the mercenaries. One brave fool had the idea to reach for a crossbow despite the blood gushing from his ruined face. With a shake of his head, he kicked the crossbow out of reach of the man's grasping fingers. "I told you, I have no desire to kill you, but I will if I must." He jabbed the man's chest with a hard finger. "If you wish to survive the day, leave Lord Damuria to his fate."
The mercenary glared up at him, but wisely held his tongue.
"If it's any consolation," the Hunter said in a flippant tone, "the reputation of the Steel Company is well-deserved."
With that, he strode toward the mercenary's horses, seized the reins of two mounts, and climbed into the saddle of a third. He cast one last glance over his shoulder at the bloody scene behind him, then spurred the horses into motion.
Lord Damuria and Captain Dradel would not escape him that easily.
The plains around Voramis had given way to dense forests. Ash trees thrust their branches high into the sky, while majestic oaks spread their limbs wide, casting shade across the leaf-strewn earth. The scent of juniper trees filled the Hunter's nostrils, accompanied by the smell of loamy soil and the fresh, green odor of the fallen pine needles.
The Hunter paid these scents no heed. Bent lower over the neck of his stolen horse, he gritted his teeth and clung on to the galloping beast. Behind him, another of the mercenaries' horses raced at the end of its lead rope.
In the hour since leaving the dead and dying mercenaries, he'd caught a single glimpse of Lord Damuria's carriage as it fled the broad, flat plains around Voramis. The road twisted and turned, descending at a gentle angle deeper into the thick forest.
His eyes scanned the trees around him. A clever man would set a few of the mercenaries to ambush him. For any mortal foe, a pair of well-placed crossbow bolts would finish the job. However, Lord Damuria had to know he was being pursued by the Hunter. The instinctive fear at his legendary inexorability, his ability to shrug off mortal wounds, would have Lord Damuria panicking. Perhaps he'd put his faith in his horses' speed to get him to safety before the Hunter caught up.
The Hunter had expected as much, which was why he'd chosen Comus. The midnight-colored charger wouldn't have outpaced the Blood Forest horses, but it would have matched their endurance. However, the horse he now rode—a thoroughbred raised and trained for military service—could prove equal to the task. After all, the Steel Company would have chosen mounts capable of keeping pace with Lord Damuria's carriage.
That didn't mean it would be easy to catch up to the fleeing nobleman. Lord Damuria had already had a good lead on him before he'd sacrificed half his mounted escort to delay the Hunter further. The short skirmish had cost the Hunter too much time.
The single broad track leading away from Voramis continued unbroken for two leagues before diverging into three routes heading east, south, and north. The Hunter had no idea which way Lord Damuria would go. If he didn't hurry, the nobleman would reach the intersection before he caught up.
Gritting his teeth, he dug his heels into the horse's ribs and urged it to greater speed, though he knew he asked the impossible. He'd pushed the first horse hard to finish the plains crossing, leaving it winded and blown. Abandoning it, he'd mounted the second horse and spurred it to gallop. He hated mistreating the horses, but he had no choice. Captain Dradel—and Lord Damuria—would not escape him again.
For a heartbeat, he caught a glimpse of sunlight glinting off steel. It disappeared before his mind fully registered, but the sight brought a surge of hope. It has to be!
Every muscle in his body knotted; at any moment, crossbow bolts would come whistling out of the trees. He strained to hear over the pounding of the horses’ hooves and the pulse hammering against his ear drums.
No ambush.
His eyes roved the forest ahead of him. Had it just been a trick of his mind? Had he wanted so badly to see it that his desire conjured the image? Had he fallen too far behind to—
There! Again, a metallic flash pierced the thick forest. Got you, you bastard!
He could feel the horse beneath him tiring, could feel the straining of its breath, the slowing of its steps. An animal roar ripped from his lips. Birds burst from the forest canopy, and even the rustling of leaves in the wind fell silent. The drumming of hooves reached him, faint, distant, but unmistakable.
Though he hated even a moment of delay, the Hunter allowed his exhausted horse to slow and stop. Without hesitation, he leapt from the saddle and mounted the third horse. He just needed one last burst of speed to close the distance.
Heart racing, legs aching from the effort, the Hunter pushed the beast as fast as it could go. The sounds of the fleeing column grew louder with every heartbeat. As he rounded the next bend in the trail, he got his first good look at Lord Damuria's convoy.
Six men rode behind the carriage, which left four to ride in front. One of the mercenaries glanced over his shoulder. His eyes went wide at sight of the Hunter, his face turning pale. He signaled to the man riding beside him, and the two slowed and turned their horses to meet his charge.
The Hunter slid his long sword from its sheath and raised it. The mercenaries drew their own blades and spurred their horses toward him. As they closed the distance, the Hunter's horse—trained for battle—veered to the left. The two mercenaries matched the movement, charging at a full tilt. They would pass on either side of him, two swords to his one.
Releasing his grip on the reins, the Hunter ripped Soulhunger free. The rider to his right swung a heartbeat before his comrade, the right-handed blow coming faster, with more force. The Hunter's long sword caught the blow, slid free, and whipped around to strike the man in the back of the neck. At the same time, he brought Soulhunger up to deflect the backhanded chop from the mercenary on his left.
He gritted his teeth as pain flared his left shoulder. Soulhunger hadn’t turned the blow aside completely, and the long sword—with the added momentum of the charging horse—had slipped past to tear into his flesh. The second rider, however, reeled in his saddle. Though the flared base of his helmet had kept the blade from chopping into his neck, the power of the impossibly fast blow had rung off his helmet like a bell. Before the mercenary had time to recover, the Hunter had leapt from his saddle, covered the few paces between them, and dragged him to the ground. Soulhunger's razor sharp edge opened his throat.
The Hunter whirled at the second mercenary's furious shout. The man had kicked his horse into a quick trot, his sword raised for a killing chop. Throwing himself to the horse's left side, the Hunter brought his blade up and across. Steel sheared through flesh, muscle, and bone, carving a deep furrow in the horse's flank. The mercenary screamed and fell from the saddle. Blood pumped from the stump of his thigh onto the hard-packed earth.
The injured horse reared and neighed, filling the air with its cries of pain. The Hunter slapped the beast's rump to send it racing back up the road toward Voramis. His own stolen horse followed its fleeing companion at a slower pace.
Without hesitation, the Hunter leapt into the first mercenary's saddle. He dug his heels into the beast, and it leapt forward, as if eager to rejoin its fellows.
A vicious grin broadened the Hunter's face. Two down. Only twelve men stood between him and Captain Dradel.
Chapter Nineteen
The Hunter's new mount had been ridden hard, but the mercenary had had to match the slower pace of Lord Damuria's carriage. It still had a league or two left in it.
His gut clenched as he raced past the distance marker. The intersection was just one-tenth of a league away. He had mere minutes to overtake Lord Damuria before the carriage reached the junction. He'd have no way to know which of the three roads the n
obleman's retinue fled down. Save for a cloud of dust kicked up by the horses, the column left little trace of their passage in the hard-packed earth.
The glimmer of a steel breastplate brought a grim satisfaction. The Hunter bent low in the saddle and fought to ignore the dull fire of exhaustion burning in his legs.
Only four mercenaries rode between him and the carriage. However, the two men riding the tail board were ready with loaded crossbows. The Hunter's stomach tightened; they aimed low, targeting his mount.
They loosed just as the coach bounced over a bump. One of the bolts whizzed dangerously close to his torso—so close it tugged at his cloak. The other tore a gash into his horse's shoulder and his upper thigh. The horse shrieked in pain, and he grimaced. Blood soaked his pant leg and ran into his boot.
The carriage struck a deep rut in the road, jolting one of the crossbows from a mercenary's grip. The other mercenary passed his weapon across the roof of the coach to the guard riding beside the driver. When he turned, he held another loaded bow. He took aim and pulled the trigger.
The Hunter sawed at the reins, sending his horse veering to the right. The bolt buried itself into the Hunter's left leg. The Hunter cried out as the metal tip struck bone. The cry turned into an enraged roar, and he ripped the bolt loose, hurling it away.
My turn.
Without turning, he reached into the satchel on his back and drew out a heavy purse. Within were nestled glass spheres filled with Serenii fire, an alchemical liquid that burned brighter and hotter than any normal flame. Thick layers of cloth padded the glass spheres within, protecting it from the jostling, bouncing impact of the horse's movements. It also served as a rapid-burning source of fuel that fed the fire.
Winding up, he hurled it—pouch, padding, and all—at the carriage. At a full gallop, he failed to compensate for the motion of his mount. The pouch sailed over the roof of the coach to crash onto the trail ahead.
A pillar of jade-green fire roared up from the pouch. The combustive blast boomed so loud it set the Hunter's ears ringing.
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