B0161NEC9Y (F) (12 page)

She felt a female mind, determined, scurrying past, but nothing else. Pushing a little further, slowly, she felt nothing but emptiness, just as she expected. “Okay, into enemy territory we go.”

Chapter Nine

Qadir sat beside the open window in the comfortably furnished and spacious room. A chill breeze blew in, smelling of greenery and nature. He hadn’t spent much time in this part of the world, being too northern and warm for his taste, but he could see its benefits.

“Sir. They’ve been pushed back.”

His second in command stood with a straight back and blank expression. His eyes were tight; little lines gave away his inner turmoil. Something had not gone as planned.

“Are they stationary?” Qadir asked.

“Yes. They wait just outside of our reach.”

“Have you sent someone to engage?”

“Not yet, sir. They took out three of our Inkna.”

Numbers flitted through Qadir’s head. Plans shifted. A kernel of frustration lodged, already chafing. He didn’t have an endless supply of resources anymore. When he’d lost the old man, he’d lost the Being Supreme’s favor. What he had under him now were the remnants of his command before the hiccup. If he kept losing these high-powered Inkna, the violet-eyed girl and this Captain these people loved so much would easily shove him aside. He needed to be more careful.

“Send someone out. Deliver the terms.”

“Yes, sir.”

Qadir took a deep breath of the fresh-smelling air. So cleansing.

One thing he knew about these people—they hated to see innocent people killed. Especially their own.

Chapter Ten

Sonson felt the urgency as the ship was being unloaded. The black cats raced by him and up the bank, excited to stretch their legs and play. After them lumbered the larger beasts, having already traveled further than anyone in their party. Townspeople and traders alike eyed the animals nervously before skittering away, clearing the area with grunts and wide eyes. They gave Sonson and his people fleeting glances before doing double takes and stuttering in their steps.

The warriors of the Shadow people were coming to the mainland. They weren’t trading, or buying supplies—they were going to war. Change had come, and fear would spread out before them and through the land, heralding the myth born into blood.

When people realized that the Shadow didn’t cook people in giant pots and then eat them with their fingers, or plague the night with death and destruction, the anxiety would dissipate. For the innocent, anyway. The Graygual would see the nightmare come to life.

“Should I get us rooms?” Punston asked as he stopped beside Sonson at the end of the dock.

“No. We need to keep moving. We’ll go into town for supplies, but then we’ll get going. We have half a day of light left, plus a strong moon for tonight. We can make good ground.”

Punston sighed softly. It was no secret that he liked to visit a certain woman that lived in the area.

Sonson glanced behind him, seeing packs for the horses being unloaded. It had been a calm voyage, as far as the seas were concerned, but they’d had a large amount of livestock. The trip had been draining.

“Do we need any supplies?” Sonson asked, feeling for the man.

“No, we’ve…” Punston hesitated for a moment. “There are a few bits we could pick up while the rest is being unloaded. And it’s always good to get the news from the town…”

Sonson nodded once. “Get Salange and Denessa. We can make a quick trip.”

A few moments later they were walking up the hill to the bustling port town. Sonson had been in and out of this place his whole life. Most of the Shadow had. But the change this time was obvious.

“What do you feel, Salange?” Sonson couldn’t help his voice dropping.

Townspeople looked their way with tight eyes and wary glances. Traders in their stalls had rigid backs and most of their wares still out for sale. They’d had a slow day. That suggested fewer travelers.

“Unease,” Salange said in a hush as they walked past the merchants. “Some are afraid.”

“Of us?” Sonson asked.

“No.
For
us, I think.”

They continued onto the main thoroughfare through the town, the strip where most of the inns stood. Denessa stiffened before loosening again, her hand drifting down to her sword hilt.

Graygual loitered in front of shops and outside the drinking houses, watching people pass with hard eyes. Many had three and four stripes. One had five.

“Duck into this inn,” Sonson said, veering slightly to his right.

Three Graygual spotted them. Their bodies snapped erect. Their balance shifted into a ready stance. They were preparing to fight.

“We should go back,” Punston said as Salange opened the inn door. “We need to stick together.”

“Salange?” Sonson said in a hush.

“I can’t feel them from here, but those passing are gearing up. Tension is starting to boil. The Graygual are not loved in this town.”

“Are they anywhere?” Sonson went inside and sought out the innkeeper immediately. He was at his desk, looking over a ledger.

“Boris.” Sonson leaned against the wall as his eyes traveled the main room beyond. Mostly bare; the few patrons he could see sat quietly over their pint or food. Barely a whisper drifted out through the door. “What’s happening in this town?”

Boris glanced up and then eyed the door. “The Graygual are moving in in numbers.”

“I didn’t see any sign of a scuffle at the docks. Did you witness the Chosen making it through?”

Boris licked his lips. “Without a problem. It’s been the damndest thing to watch. After the battle, the Graygual came back here in droves. They made a right mess of things, trying to take control, telling us how to run businesses—but they didn’t hassle any folks. There was no death, no fighting…we counted ourselves lucky. Then most of them left. Evaporated. It was a strange hollowness, I’ll tell you. Relieving, but strange after all the pandemonium. We didn’t know what to think.”

“How long before the Chosen?”

Boris raised his eyes to the ceiling, thinking. “The city was completely empty of Graygual…probably a month before. Three weeks. Not a single one was here.”

“And now? Why are they back?”

Boris’ stare held a warning. “They were never really gone. A host stayed behind the others. They left the city, but they didn’t leave the area. They stayed deep in the trees. Out of sight. Oh, one or more would come in dressed as common folk for supplies or whatnot, but out they went again. You can tell one of their officers by the way they carry themselves. It was them, all right.”

Salange shifted, her expression troubled. “They could easily have waited at the docks and taken the Chosen’s party when they were disembarking. Hiding doesn’t make sense.”

“They moved back in the day the Chosen left. That very day.” Boris licked his lips again. Nervous.

“They are trying to cut us off from this land.” Sonson felt the urgency returning. “We need to get going before they organize. They’ll try to block us from the Chosen. Sorry, Punston. You’ll have to see her another time.”

“One thing, sir.” Boris reached out to Sonson. His expression was grave. “I didn’t get to see the violet-eyed girl, but I have a message.” He lowered his voice and leaned in. “The Wanderer’s network is ready. We’re set up and waiting. All we need is a sign.”

Sonson stood in confusion for a moment. “What sign?”

Boris straightened back up. “That’s for her to decide. But we’re ready. We’re watching. We just need the sign. We will know it when we see it.”

“Time to go,” Denessa said, drawing her sword.

“Are there Inkna?” Sonson asked Boris in a hasty release of breath.

“Yes, but not many. You’ll have no problem there. For now. You’d best get more Shadow in this city, though. Someone will be claiming it—it had best be you.”

The door to the inn burst open. In poured three Graygual, all armed. Salange melted to the outsides of the group, knife in hand. She wasn’t the best fighter but she’d run cleanup if she had to.

“Get a message to Portolmous!” Sonson yelled to Boris. “He’s run out of time.”

The first Graygual advanced without regard to the interior of the inn. He kicked a plant at Denessa before he swung his sword. She blocked and
struck,
her mental power slashing through his mind. He gritted his teeth and wobbled, but his sword came up again, fighting through the mental pain. Those behind him pushed closer, throwing the first Graygual’s body toward Denessa. Her sword found purchase in his gut.

The other two continued to shove until their dying man had knocked Denessa out of the way. One Graygual advanced on Sonson, lunging. Sonson battered the sword away and
raked
his mental power across both Graygual as the other charged at Punston. They stumbled, grunting as Sonson
stabbed
mentally. He followed with a physical thrust of his sword, piercing the Graygual through the heart. Punston swung his knife down at the hunching Graygual, stabbing him high in his back.

“Sorry about the blood, Boris,” Salange said as she yanked the first Graygual off Denessa by the hair.

“I’m sorry, too,” Denessa said, looking down at herself covered in crimson.

Sonson was the first out of the inn, looking around with his
Therma
for the other Graygual he knew where there
.
Sure enough, five formed a semicircle, allowing them no easy escape. Except…they didn’t have any Inkna with them. This was no contest.

Sonson joined power with the others, feeling it bolster and pound, before each unleashed a
kill strike.
Their mind
slashed
into the Graygual, finding no resistance. Screams pierced the afternoon as each of them lost the strength in their legs. Sonson was moving a moment later, sword flashing in the sun. He cleaved into a Graygual neck, almost severing the head to quicken the man’s death. Salange was beside him, stabbing her knife repeatedly into a Graygual chest and stomach.

When Sonson turned to the others, all he found were impatient Shadow standing over a pile of bodies.

“Let’s go.” Sonson started a jog through the town. He made it halfway to the traders’ stalls before a blearing heat seared his brain. He slammed up his shields as his head swung to the side, seeing the Inkna hiding between two buildings a moment after he felt their presence.

“I’ll take him,” Denessa said, putting on a burst a speed toward the vastly outnumbered Inkna. She reached him with a bundle of aggression before thrusting. Her sword stabbed through his chest.

“There are more up ahead,” Punston called.

Graygual fanned out at the mouth of the street leading down to the docks. They were preventing escape. Still without any Inkna.

“For officers, they aren’t very bright.” Before Sonson could attack mentally, arrows flew from overhead. They landed in soft bodies, the fletchings quivering as they stuck.

Surprised shrieks and grunts accompanied the Graygual clutching at the wood sticking from their midsection. Another three arrows found their mark then Denessa was upon them, hacking and slashing to kill them faster.

“She needs to bed someone,” Punston said, watching Denessa with a quirked grin. He didn’t rush forward to help. “She has too much pent-up aggression.”

Sonson could barely make out people disappearing from the nearby rooftops, slinking out of sight once the deed was done. “Let’s go. We need to keep moving before they call in more.”

They reached the docks to find more bodies strewn about. Most had marks of claws and teeth, with shredded necks and torsos. The animals stood over them, blood splashed across their faces and trailing from their feet.

“The Graygual are trying to keep us from moving on,” Boas called as he tied a pack to a horse.

“The animals came in handy.” Punston gave one longing look back toward the city before he jogged to his mount. “How close are we to leaving?”

“Just about ready.” Boas glanced at the other horses and riders. “Will we alter our path?”

Sonson shook his head as he found his own horse ready and waiting for him. “No need. Staying off the main travel routes is still the best option.”

As they got underway, Sonson’s mind drifted back to what Boris had said. And then to the archers helping from the rooftops. The people would take back their homes.

The question remained, would the Chosen know how to call them into action?

Chapter Eleven

“Incoming, sir!”

Cayan finished off the last of the mud-like draught Marc had made and passed the cup back. The youth had found a concoction that would rejuvenate the
Gift
in record time. It was made of plants from the Shadow Lands, and since those plants didn’t grow around here, would soon be in short supply. Thank God for it, though, because Cayan had drastically overdone it against that band of Inkna. He’d held out as long as possible, but there were too many of them. If his men hadn’t shot the first few Inkna out of the trees, he wouldn’t have lasted a quarter as long.

“Who’ve we got?” Cayan asked, wiping his hands and tossing the cloth at Xavier. He met Sanders on the city side of their hastily erected camp. Three men on horseback came their way, all Graygual.

“They don’t mean to fight, that’s obvious,” Sanders growled, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. “How’s your head?”

“It’ll do for non-Inkna.”

Sanders grunted in response.

All officers—two Graygual had three stripes, and one had four. They stopped a few paces away, sitting straight in their saddle. With a city full of Graygual, they had the upper hand here, and they knew it.

One of the Graygual, a smug-looking man with thin lips, spoke. “I wish to speak to the Captain.”

“That is me.” Cayan stepped closer.

“We are here to deliver the Hunter’s terms.” The man with the four stripes waited a moment before he spoke again. “He wishes for Shanti of the Shumas and Cayan, the Captain of these lands, to present themselves to him. He will then escort you to the Being Supreme without pain or hardship. In return, he will quit these lands and leave your people as they are, completely unharmed. If you fail to abide by these terms, he will kill the majority of your people. You have a few beauties in this land. They will be distributed as entertainment.”