Hunted: The Warrior Chronicles #2 (17 page)

“If that’s true, he’d have to watch us in action himself,” Sanders said. He ducked so he could get under the hanging branches and look farther into the field.

Burson pointed, also ducking down to get a better view. “On the small hill out to the right.”

Between two groups of fighters who were blocking two of the three possible outlets, sat a man on a horse. Shanti couldn’t see the details of his face, but the way he sat, and the way his arm was bent across his stomach in a sling, proclaimed exactly who he was. Two men in black sat on horses to the sides of him. The Hunter’s guard.

“He’s smart.” Shanti chewed her lip as her
Gift
lapped at his senses. She was careful to keep it light—she didn’t want his minions alerted to her mind’s presence. “But he isn’t all-knowing. He’s outside of Burson’s range, and I’d bet he’s outside of those
Sarshers’
range, too, but not mine. He underestimates me. Good.”

“I don’t like crossing this open space in clear view,” Sanders said.

“We don’t have choice,” Rohnan replied.

“The Hunter does not know of the Captain’s fighting prowess,” Burson noted in a dry voice. It was his ‘survival’ voice. “It is best if we keep that to ourselves until we have no choice but to reveal it.”

“Exactly,” Shanti agreed. “He can’t know anything of the Captain yet. Those that might have seen him in action are dead. Burson, keep his mind looking normal. We’ll pass within range of those
Sarshers
, and they’ll be checking for power, if they can.” Shanti laid her hand on Cayan’s arm as her mind catalogued what lay in front of them. “Cayan, you should ride with the others, but try to keep from fighting if you can.”

“The enemy outnumbers us by nearly two to one, more with our number of inexperienced, and you’re suggesting I stay out of this fight?” Cayan’s voice was light, but a warning blasted from his mind.

Her hand resting on his arm wasn’t enough, apparently. She squeezed, hoping it would have the desired effect. “These are throwaways. These people can’t fight. They’ll be disorganized and as likely to stab each other as us.”

“We have five boys that fit that same description,” Sanders growled.

“These boys are not the same five you led through the burned forest, Sanders,” Shanti snapped. “They’ll rise to the occasion. Hell, Marc is the reason I’m still alive. It was his arrow that rendered the Hunter useless.”

“We wasting daylight,” Rohnan chided gently.

“Let’s get in position,” Cayan commanded, stepping away from her attempt at a placating touch.

They turned back to the horses. Cayan fell in beside Shanti. “You’re not making this journey easy, Shanti. You’re operating with knowledge I do not possess.”

“I’ve had the unfortunate benefit of spending my life learning about Xandre. We’re on the run—I don’t have time to clue you in every moment. Even if I did, Burson is constantly changing the rules.”

“Not good enough.” He gave her a firm stare to drive the point home before he faced his people. His eyes hit Ruisa first, then glanced over the boys before stopping on Burson. “We’ll form a vee. Shanti will be at the head, with Rohnan and me next. Commander Sanders—”

“Yes, sir.” Sanders stepped up.

“Organize everyone else for the most effectiveness around Ruisa, Burson and Marc. We need them protected. I don’t want them affected by this if we can help it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Cayan nodded. “Let’s get mounted. Shanti assures me these troops don’t know how to fight. Even so, we will hit them hard and fast. We will burst out of the trees and kill immediately. Our object is to cross the clearing without losing anyone. We do not need to kill all of the enemy, we simply need to get by.”

“Yes, sir!” the men and most of the boys chorused.

“Yes, ah—” Leilius’ voice trailed away as he realized he was too late.

“Let’s go.” The circle broke as Cayan moved toward his horse. He grabbed his bow. Without looking at Shanti, he said, “I will use the bow unless my sword is needed.”

Shanti sighed. It was a compromise, and it wasn’t up for negotiation, but at least it was something.

She needed to work on that placating hand thing.

She kicked her horse to get it moving.

Wrong move.

The beast launched forward. It sideswiped Cayan’s animal as it started to trot. The trot gradually increased in speed until the branches were
thwapping
her in the face. “Slow down, you…” Her eyes widened as the opening to the clearing loomed ahead of her. The horse sped up. “Slow down, you bloody…
bastard!
”

It sprang out through the trees and into the clearing. She ripped her sword free as the animal charged for the first enemy in their way. The man glanced up, but Shanti’s horse was on him, barreling him to the ground. Its hooves crashed down on the man’s sternum. A sickening crack cut off the scream.

“Straight! Run straight!” Shanti screamed, holding on as the horse veered toward the next Graygual. She slashed down as she rode by, cleaving his head.

“Where—?” They veered again, toward two men holding their tarnished swords in unpracticed hands. The horse sped up. One man dropped his sword and squatted, covering his head. The other man bent his knees, holding his sword ready.

Shanti’s horse ran him down, knocking into him at full speed.

“What the hell are you doing, you blasted animal?!” Shanti roared.

An arrow zipped by her head. She glanced up to see an officer drawing his bow from his standing horse. Before she could react, an arrow struck his neck and blossomed red like a rose in the failing light.

Cayan caught up with her, nocking an arrow into place. “Aim for the trees,” he ordered.

“I have no control over this animal,” she yelled back.

Her horse gave its strange war-cry as it veered toward a cluster of Graygual. All brandished their rusty steel. The foremost started swinging his sword wildly. Shanti’s horse screamed and slowed.

“Run! Run, damn you!” she yelled. She kicked at its sides, But the beast was in a world all its own.

Without thinking, hating the damn animal, she leapt off and hit the ground with a quick stagger that turned into a run. She attacked the side of the cluster while the horse flailed its hooves at them head-on. She battered a sword strike out of the way before lunging and sinking her blade into flesh. A hoof cracked a Graygual head beside her.

The horse pushed into the group, separating two out to one side, where Rohnan was swooping in on his compliant horse, his staff whirling above his head. Shanti lost sight of him as she faced the remaining Graygual, slashing down across his face. She stuck her blade through his stomach before she ran on.

Cayan was covering her right, riding gracefully, quickly employing his bow. He fired, nocked, drew, fired, nocked, faster than thought and deadly accurate.

And giving himself away!

“Stop Cayan, we don’t need you!” she yelled as she sprinted toward the next group of terrified Graygual.

The nearest man screamed and dropped his sword, turning to run. She let him.

Etherlan didn’t, riding with his long brown hair flaring out behind him. He swung down his sword and cut the enemy down.

“Keep moving—go to the other side!” Shanti roared as thundering erupted behind her. She looked back with a pounding heart and wide eyes, afraid her horse was about to run her over. Instead, it neighed as it drew up beside her, matching her pace perfectly.

“This bloody animal,” she muttered. Having no choice, she hooked a leg into the stirrup, grabbed the bridle and half-jumped up into the saddle.

She leaned forward and was soon catching up with Cayan as they crossed the road, everyone else either branched off to the sides in their loose formation, or stayed in close to those who couldn’t fight.

The way was clear in front of them. The remains of the enemy was behind or sprinting away as fast as they could. Shanti had a second to marvel at Cayan. He rode the horse like the animal was an extension of himself. His movement and sway was so flawless it looked easy. Natural. At a full gallop, he turned his upper body. Muscle rippled across his broad back. His arms and shoulders flexed into large boulders. He sighted his bow and released in one fluid, perfect movement.

It couldn’t be any more clear how skilled he was. His prowess on the battlefield was unrivaled, his confidence clear in his calm, almost tranquil movements when confronted with the enemy. He was greatness in the flesh, and any fighting man worth his sword would see that.

The Hunter was not just a fighting man—he was a master. The only thing they had successfully hidden during this ride was Cayan’s
Gift
. Everything else was on display for the calculating mind sitting atop that berm—the Hunter’s plan had worked.

Shanti couldn’t stop herself from laughing at the absurdity of trying to hide the obvious. The Hunter was looking directly at her. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew those soulless, cold, dead things were staring at her nonetheless, watching her progress. He thought he would find her weakness somehow and use it against her.

Little did he know her weaknesses were masked and protected by Cayan and all his men. She wasn’t prey, not with Cayan and Sanders behind her.

Still laughing, she swept up Cayan’s
Gift
in her own and
blasted
out. High and hard and wide, she
punched
his mind and that of his guard, not able to kill at this distance, but able to send a painful message. She held her arms wide, sword in one hand, palm open and inviting on the other.

Come and get me, Hunter. It’ll be the last thing you ever do.

Q
adir passively watched
the woman spread her arms in challenge as she rode the last few meters into the cover of the trees. Her movements were silky and smooth, even on the jarring animal she rode.

She laughed at him.

An unexpected flash of rage had Qadir tilting his head in surprise.

He wasn’t used to being laughed at. He couldn’t remember ever having been so, especially by the subject of his attentions. The woman knew he analyzed her, and yet she laughed.

Qadir took a moment to let the unhelpful emotion drain from his body. Then he replayed the battle in his mind.

She had ridden her horse like a novice. She had been bounced and jostled, flopping forward and back depending on the speed. Once she got into the thick of the action, though, and her mind engaged in her task, her movements became natural. Speed helped. Her brain operated most effectively when she acted on instinct. More than that, she had an innate ability to read the battle and move accordingly. She had leapt from her horse when necessary, dispatched men of average skill with quick efficiency, and then jumped back onto her transportation without a hitch.

Yes, a highly effective warrior. Extensive training, experience in battle, and a natural ability set her above those around her. What she lacked in strength, she made up for in speed and battle-hardened intuition. No doubt she was also resourceful.

To best her, he would need a slew of advanced warriors facing her at once, or deal with her himself. She was too good for anything less.

That was not accounting for her mental prowess. This woman had many facets, and he already knew that he would need more than a few strong
Sarshers
.

What an interesting mix he would need to bring down one woman.

The Being Supreme had been right, not that anyone would doubt him. She was the one prophesied, and she would gather the masses to her side. If she was permitted to reach the Shadow Lands, the Being Supreme’s domination would be in jeopardy.

Qadir tapped his fingers on the edge of his saddle.

The woman personally affronted him. She rode a horse specifically bred for him, for its courage in battle, speed and steadfastness. The animal was bred to act as a weapon. And it had. It had tried to kick and bite its way through the battle, acting as another warrior. The woman hadn’t known how to work with it—what exactly each of their roles were—but that horse had turned out exactly as it was meant to. Sleek and vicious, the animal was a natural defense against the enemy. Unlike other horses, who simply followed commands, that horse was geared to combat adversity, keeping warriors from its rider by any means possible.

It might have been just a touch overzealous in that battle, but it was young. It would mellow with age.

Irritation welled up in Qadir, a familiar emotion when dealing with incompetence. He had been told the beast wouldn’t take a rider. And yet, a novice had been accepted just fine.

Qadir’s trainers had much to answer for. This would not go unpunished.

The old man had been in a protected place within the battle formation. His worth was known, and not because of his self-appointed role of finding the Wanderer and guiding this person to their destiny. Wanderer, Chosen—it all amounted to the same thing. Titles were for fools and simpletons. The violet-eyed woman knew of his mental power, and as such, ensured he was guarded. Picking him off as a discarded member of their crew would be out of the question. Pity.

Qadir wondered if he had flushed her out of the Westwood Lands, or if it had been the Being Supreme putting up the false Chosen. She would want to defend her title, but hadn’t planned to leave in such haste.

Haste was good. Half-thought-out plans meant mistakes. He could capitalize on those.

A smile graced his lips. He would, without question, be hoisted up into the Inner Circle and given anything his heart might desire. He already had his eye on a certain fair-haired prize captured from somewhere in the southern nations. She would produce for him some strong heirs and many nights of pleasure.

He was getting ahead of himself.

Qadir focused on the few items that had him unsettled. They all traced back to the man with raven hair tied at his nape. He was not what he seemed, but Qadir could not explain exactly what it was that alerted him to danger.

He moved as well as the woman—he had much skill in battle. His technique with his bow was perfect. His aim was true. The sword he carried, though not used today, had certainly been used against an enemy. It was within perfect reach and the man wore it like he might a sash, completely comfortable with its weight and presence. Qadir suspected the raven-haired man was just as good with that sword as he was with the bow, if not better.

But he was still just a man.

Something else pinched Qadir’s gut uncomfortably. Was it the way he moved with the woman?

He had reacted to each of her subtle cues—he worked around her when she made a decision to engage, and cut out those on her flanks. She, in turn, played off his decisions and took up the slack when he was the one to engage. They used each other in a way that seemed almost choreographed, but Qadir knew it was completely improvised. The man was not from her land, and had a completely different style, but even so, they worked together effortlessly—more so than her countryman, who was clearly just as well trained and excellent as all those from her land.

But the raven-haired man…

What was it about that warrior that wasn’t what it seemed?

Qadir turned his horse as the night stole the sun’s light. To the
Sarshers
, still pale from the woman’s awesome power, he said, “Kill the survivors. They are no longer needed.”