The Essence Gate War: Book 01 - Adept (34 page)

Even if they did return the way they had come, as she deemed most likely, this location
––while the best she had found––was a poor location for her ambush. The rough foothills around the cave offered some cover, but were too far back from the road to offer a sure shot, and the ground between here and the road was too exposed. If they had returned in the full light of day, they would have no reason to stop here, and she would likely be forced to trail them again and seek another opportunity.

Now, however, all the factors were coming together in her favor
. Her prey was returning this way on the verge of nightfall, such that she could still spot them breaking from the trees. Furthermore, it would be fully dark by the time they drew abreast of the cave, and their previous camping spot would beckon against the hazardous prospect of traveling the road under the shroud of night.

She could scarcely credit her good fortune
. Perhaps chance favored the just in the end, after all.

Her eyes raked over the cave mouth and the
mantle of rock that swept back from it on either side, though in truth she had studied it all so often in the past few days that she had committed every detail to memory. As she had already done a hundred times, she weighed and rejected a dozen perches from which to take the one shot she needed. She cast one more hasty look around, and back again toward the distant tree line, though it was a futile gesture; it had already grown too dark to see such a distance. She melted back into the deep shadows of the cave entrance, partially shielded from view by the dried brush still piled together from when her quarry had camped there a handful of nights ago, and settled in for the wait.

It would have to be a perfect shot, she knew, and it had to be fast
. His sight was as keen in utter darkness as that of a mortal man in the comforting illumination of midday. Step from the cave, draw a bead on him and fire, all in one smooth motion. It would be perfect, because it had to be.

The minutes slid by, teasing at the fra
yed edges of her patience. She stood unmoving, letting her eyes adjust to the gathering dark, and kept her breathing shallow and all but inaudible.

When the first noise came to her from down the hill, she suppressed a start
. It seemed too early, unless they had ridden very hard to reach this point, but she knew how lying in wait with pulse pounding in one’s ears could distort one’s sense of time. She strained for every sound. Several footsteps, a small shower of pebbles, the scuff of foot against stone. There were a handful of them as expected, making little attempt to mask their approach, and they were on the winding trail below the cave. The huntress took slow, shallow breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth, praying that Shien would not choose this moment to fidget deep within the cave. But no, the mare was well trained, as disciplined as her mistress; she would not betray their trap.

Her fingers brushed the fletching of the black arrow as she reassured herself every few seconds that she had
selected the right missile in the darkness. She listened to the sounds drawing near, and tried to gauge her timing; he had a tendency to hang back, to let others risk themselves, and she needed him within range without allowing those in front to interfere with her shot.

As s
he tensed to leap from the cave, the noises came to a sudden stop.

She froze
. Had they spotted her tracks on the rocky trail? It seemed impossible, as she had been so careful. Were their senses impossibly sharp, that they had heard some telltale sign from her? She chewed on silent, sulfurous curses as she wondered what had given her away. Shuffling steps and scrapes floated up to her, receding now but strangely unhurried, as if the group had merely lost interest in the cave for some reason.

She ground her teeth
. Every step she allowed now would lengthen her shot. Now was the time, and if his back was turned such that he never had an opportunity to evade the lethal strike, so much the better.

Gliding from the cave, she drew back on the bow until her fingers
brushed her cheek. She sighted down the arrow shaft and past the curved blades of the head, shifting from one moving figure to another as she sought her target. Several things dawned upon her in an instant: her target was nowhere on the trail below, and the creatures now whirling to face her were not the men with whom he traveled.

Moreover, the creatures were not even human.

There were six of them arrayed on the crumbling path, the nearest less than ten yards from her. They were clad entirely in tattered strips of cloth, and their black flesh shimmered dully in the meager starlight like unpolished obsidian. Bulging eyes and gaping mouths worked in soundless ferocity as the creatures gazed up at her.

Without hesitation t
hey burst into frenzied motion, bounding and clawing their way up the trail. By reflex, she aimed at the one in the lead before she caught herself; she still had one of her three black arrows nocked, and they were far too valuable to waste on random assailants such as these. Cursing the lost seconds, she returned the deadly projectile to the quiver across her back, and, selecting another, she drew and fired.

The shaft slammed into the creature’s chest, staggering it back a step from the sheer force of the blow
. To her astonishment, however, it uttered no cry of pain, and instead surged forward with undiminished vigor. In a blur of motion, she sent three more arrows hissing through the air to find their marks. The head of the nearest creature snapped back at an angle no mortal man could survive, and when it hunched forward again a shaft had sprouted from its forehead to match the one in its chest. Its unblinking eyes found her again, and it lurched after her with arms outstretched. The one behind it pawed to get past its cohort on the narrow trail, feathered shafts projecting from both of its legs. The foul thing seemed unaffected, its wounded legs bearing its weight without slowing its progress in the least.

The huntress gave a sharp whistle back into the cave, and then stepped forward to the top of the trail
. She set her jaw and took a tight, two-handed grip on the lower limb of her bow. As the first creature reached the crest, she swung the weapon in a vicious arc, hammering it from the path to tumble down the hillside, rolling and clawing for purchase.

She struck at the next figure in line, but it caught at the bow and
she was forced to release it. It cast the bow aside and came for her again, and she whipped out her long hunting knife to hack aside its grasping arms. Unflinching beneath the razor-edged blade, the creature grabbed at her first, its crooked black fingers catching at her clothing as she danced back to remain out of reach. She licked out with the blade, and it fumbled for that as well, seeking to grasp the weapon with its bare hands and wrest it from her.

Two
more reached the top of the trail and flung themselves at her with the same heedless abandon, and she was forced to leap back into the cave or be surrounded. Yet more of the black things crested the trail, and they closed in, relentless.

So intent were they upon their prey that
even the thunder of hooves from within the cave did not distract them until the horse was upon them. Shien slammed into the gathered throng, sending several of the creatures sprawling. The mare lashed out with iron-shod hooves, and another assailant reeled back under the force of the blows. The huntress leapt to the saddle and dug her heels in. Together she and the mare plunged through the press of bodies. At speed, in the dark, the treacherous path might well be the death of them, but they would have to risk it to escape the clutches of these unnatural, undying black monstrosities.

They hit the loose gravel of the trail and began a stomach-lurching slide
. Shien dropped her hindquarters and braced all four hooves as the huntress tried in vain to discern the ephemeral ribbon of the path against the darker hillside. A sudden weight crashed into her back, knocking the wind from her. A black arm encircled her neck like a collar of steel as reeking, tattered cloth filled her gasping mouth. She sought to reach her attacker with the hunting knife, raking with desperate strokes. Several strokes found their mark, but the creature made no sound in reply, and the arm encircling her neck did not loosen.

It
tried to wrench her from the saddle, and she scrabbled at the saddle horn to keep her seat. Just as she began to slide, the mare lurched forward with a shriek. The huntress strained to peer downward. She saw more of the creatures wrapping themselves about the horse’s legs, and in a split second the entire mass was pitching from the tail in a thrashing tangle of limbs.

The sloping, uneven ground and the night sky exchanged places, whirling together in a
dizzying dance. The huntress was thrown free, and she screamed in pain as rocks and roots dug into her flesh and crushing weights came down atop her. Somehow she twisted violently in midair as her parasite shifted its grip, and she kicked free from it to tumble alone, end over end, down the hillside. She sprawled at last to a stop, wheezing and spitting blood from smashed lips.

When she raised her head, she saw that Shien still lived, for the moment at least
. The mare was kicking and heaving, trying to roll to a standing position once more. Pinned beneath her glossy black bulk, the duller black of several crooked figures swaddled in cloth could be seen clawing at the ground, their unblinking eyes fixed upon the downed huntress.

She cast about for a weapon, but her
knife and bow were both lost somewhere on the dark slope. She felt for her quiver, and found it gone. The creature on her back must have torn it away. Faint glimmers in the grass nearby marked where several of her arrows had come to a scattered rest. She crawled toward the nearest, groping as she went for a rock she could pry loose from the ground and use against her attackers. The instant her fingers closed around the missile, she knew it for one of her precious black arrows, and she groaned.

A grip like iron seized her ankle, and she rolled, lashing out with her boot to hammer kick after kick into the gaping creature
. It came onward, undeterred, pawing and crawling its way over her like she was a rope to be climbed. Its face drew near to hers and the soulless wells of its eyes fixed upon hers, the mouth opening wide in some hideous, silent parody of mortal speech. An ebon fist drew back, trailing coils of tattered cloth.

She lunged forward with both hands and jammed the black arrow into the yawning mouth and up into the thing’s brain.

With a savage flare of satisfaction tinged by regret at the waste, she bore witness to what a small fortune in gold could purchase from a master arcanist, and to the fate she had planned for her malevolent quarry. A crack of thunder split the air, and a brilliant flash of light stole her vision. A rush of heat blistered the skin of her hands and face, and the weight vanished from atop her.

Blinking away the colors popping before her eyes, she
cast about and found the mangled remains of the black thing lying in a motionless pile several yards distant. Thick tendrils of noxious smoke rose from where its head had been but moments before.

Rapid footsteps intruded upon the ringing in her ears
. She twisted toward the sound, trying to face her attackers, but heavy blows rained down upon her and she knew no more.

Amric reined in his bay gelding, peering into the distance where the flash of light had erupted and then faded just as abruptly.

“Did you see that?” he asked.

“Do you think me blind?” Syth grumbled. “Of course I saw it.”

The thief sat astride Valkarr’s
restive blue dun, and if he scowled down at the horse in distaste, it was no worse than the spiteful glares the beast bestowed upon him in return. The others drew rein behind them, with Halthak and Valkarr riding double on the Half-Ork’s chestnut mare and Bellimar on his placid, sturdy old nag.

“What in the heavens was that?” Halthak said.

“I have no idea,” Amric replied with a shake of his head. “But it was no more than a few minutes up the road, very near the cave.”

“An evoker’s magic,
from the sharp report,” Bellimar said. “Though as to its purpose, I cannot say.”

Amric was silent for a moment, looking into the darkness
. When he spoke, his voice had become cold and resolute. “It lies in our path. I mean to investigate it.”

Syth stared at him
. “Do murderous lights hold some newfound fascination for you, after the Fount? Are you a moth, to be drawn so to the flame?”

The swordsman
turned wintry grey eyes upon him. “I lost the trail of our missing friends at Stronghold,” he said. “If fortune is so kind as to offer me a pointer back onto that trail, I’ll not take the risk of circling wide around the sign.”

“You
would assume that everything is now a possible sign from the fates?” Syth demanded. “How can you pursue every strange occurrence in this land gone mad?”

“One at a time,”
Amric replied.

The thief threw up his hands in exasperation, then grabbed for the reins once again as the dun gelding shifted in a move that looked suspiciously like it was trying to shrug him out of the saddle.