“No, too far, blast him!” cried a voice in French. “Come back and go slowly this time. He will not escape us again.”
Darcy’s head sank back. This was very bad. His hiding place would not hold up to even a cursory inspection, and he could not summon the reserves to use his Talent.
The sounds of the men thrashing through the underbrush surrounded him. “He must be here somewhere!” The voice was triumphant.
This was it. He had used up all his narrow escapes, and there was only one option left, the one he had hoped to save in case he needed to sneak aboard a ship. The dragon Artifact, the one that could hide him for a day and a night. Without it, he would be captured. Once in prison, escape would be impossible. This was his only chance.
Careful not to disturb the branches around him, he reached up and tugged out the invisible pendant that hung around his neck. Snapping itopen, he pressed his forefinger against the sharp point inside until he felt the skin part.
And his body faded from view, just like when he made himself invisible. It worked!
He had to leave his little hollow, though. Sooner or later one of the soldiers would stumble over it, and they could still find him by touch. No, the safest place would be in the river.
Now the dangerous part. Even if they could not see him, the branches he had to move were visible.
“Look, there!”
Darcy froze, halfway out of the hollow. A shot rang out, and something slapped his right shoulder. But God, they had hit him, shooting blind! Warm wetness trickled down his chest.
His luck had run out. He bit his lip to smother a cry of pain.
“Do not shoot less you have to! The emperor wants him alive.”
“I thought I saw something move.”
It was like a hot poker deep in his shoulder. He stumbled to the water, stepping in to stand knee-deep, and pressed his hand against the wound.
The soldiers were everywhere around him, half a dozen of them carrying lanterns and pacing up and down the river. A tall, thin lieutenant stood on the bank, studying something in his hand. “Something is wrong. It says he is right here.”
“Could he be hidden from sight?” an older soldier asked.
“Possibly. There are mages with that ability.” The lieutenant broke off a long branch and began sweeping it over the water.
That could be his downfall. The Artifact would hide him from any sense except touch. But if he moved, that mysterious device the lieutenant held would know it.
There was only one choice. He crouched down and submerged himself, moving as slowly as he dared to reduce ripples that might give his position away.
The branch whistled past, just over the surface of the water.
That had been too close.
Damn, it was cold! He held his breath as long as he could, then rolled onto his back and moved his lips to the surface. Air, blessed air! But he could still hear them stomping around the riverbanks, swearing.
On and on. His arms and legs began to cramp with cold, but at least it eased the pain in his wound. The Artifact might hide him for a day, but he would freeze long before that. Would they never give up?
“It must be broken. He was here, but clearly is gone.” The tall lieutenant’s words sounded distorted and distant through the water covering Darcy’s ears.
“No matter,” said the older one. “Tomorrow at sunset he will use his powers again, and it has always led us true then. This time we will surround him rather than try to follow him.”
Sunset. Somehow they were sensing his evening contact with Elizabeth.
They tromped away, grumbling and cursing, but he did not move. It could be a trap. What if they only went a short distance and then returned? Darcy waited until he could barely move his fingers before creeping out of the water half-frozen. How would he make it through the night? He could not risk a fire.
His legs were not working properly, and dizziness almost claimed him more than once, but somehow he dragged himself as far as a hedgerow. It was likely the best shelter he could find, so he forced his way inside it, the brambles tearing into his skin.
He curled up there, shivering, the cold sunk deep in his bones. Could he possibly survive the night in his soaking clothes?
At least dying of cold would be less painful than whatever death Napoleon had planned for him.
