“First off, it wasn’t a fight on the road. I was going to be murdered, simple as that.”
“Surely no—”
“No,” Petur said implacably. “You’ve never gone after mages with me. You’re a good fighter, and you’ve been valuable over a number of campaigns, but you don’t know how to hunt a mage. And after today’s showing, I barely feel able to say thatIknow how to hunt one of them myself.
“It was going to hurt, at the very least,” he admitted, and the serious looks on his squad’s faces became somber. “I wasn’t fast enough to stop the spell. I’d have taken heavy damage, possibly been killed, just because I hadn’t been careful enough. I underestimated my opponent. And without that man over there,” he pointed toward where Deyvid had gone, “you might be carrying news of my death back to my sister as we speak.”
“But how can we trust him?” Brannan asked. “He’s a Harrier—not just a Harrier, but aHigh Harrier. They’ve been our enemies for longer than my grandmother’s been alive.”
“And are none of you curious about the fact that an esteemed High Harrier is running around southern Riyale taking care of our problems for us?” Petur asked pointedly and watched as they all shared confused glances. “Do none of you understand the implications of that? This man is no spy for his people; he’s an exile.” Petur was sure of it, as sure of that as he was of the fact that the sun was going to rise tomorrow.
“You can’t know that for certain,” Herow murmured.
“I’m positive of it,” Petur replied. “Those clans are highly insular. They barely tolerate each other. If he decided to leave, he wouldn’t be welcomed from his home clan into another.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“And,” Petur went on, glowering at the person who dared interrupt him, “High Harriers are almost exclusively used as assassins among their kind. These people aren’t born; they’re made. From what I understand, the process takes years. They are an investment of time and money, and no clan would send one down here to go after distant targets that have no bearing at all on the clans themselves.
“Ask yourself, what would a High Harrier in good standing be doing hunting down random mages this far away from his home? This is a man who’s dyed his own skin to try to fit in, a man who’s spoken well of by the leaders of the towns he protects. And his work here has been going on for a while,” Petur reminded them. “Cleareyes is a known quantity to our people along this border, and he, not us, is the person they relied on to come to their aid. These aren’t the actions of a spy—far from it. A spy would be hiding himself, not drawing attention to his actions. No, Deyvid Cleareyes is an exile, and he’s the key to finishing this assignment of ours.”
“Very insightful.”
Petur startled, snapping his head around just in time to see Deyvid walk back into the clearing. His movements were almost soundless, and by wearing Lise’s clothes and carrying her scent, he’d lulled not only Petur, it seemed, but the entire rest of his squad into forgetting that he was even there. Brannan arched one eyebrow at Petur as if to say,You see what you’ve let in amongst us?
Petur, on the other hand, was delighted. “You best go get your things then,” he said brightly. “The sooner you’re gone, thesooner you can come back. I’ll be sure to save some food for you.”
“I have my own,” Deyvid said, “but thank you.”
“Salted meat, cold nuts, dry bread,” Petur said with a scoff. “Hardly what you need to keep your strength up, hunting down a group of bloodthirsty mages. No, come back, eat something hot, and get a good night’s rest. I assume,” he added cheekily, “that you’ve got a horse out there somewhere.”
“You assume incorrectly,” Deyvid replied.
A Harrier without a horse. It was almost inconceivable. “Why not?” Petur asked.
“I was unable to bring one of my own down with me,” Deyvid said with a little smile on his face, “and I’m afraid our horses are so much better than yours that walking is preferable to riding the beasts you breed.”
“Our horses are just fine, you—”
“It’s a good thing I’ve got a spare, then,” Petur broke in. “You’re welcome to ride her, or”—his tone became a bit more seductive—“we could always ride double.”
“I would never do that to a horse of yours,” Deyvid replied. “The poor beast’s back would break.” Before Petur could ask if that was a joke, Deyvid looked at Lise and said, “Are you ready to go?”
“Quite,” she said dryly, but there was a hint of a smile on her face. “By your leave, sire.”
“Go, go.” Petur waved a hand and watched the pair of them disappear into darkness once more. Once he was sure they were out of earshot, he turned back to his squad. “Look,” he said, “I don’t expect you to welcome this man with open arms. I know we have a history with his people, and I know it’s a violent one. You have every reason to be concerned. That being said, High Harriers are most dangerous to those who rely on magic for protection.
“We”—he looked at each and every one of them—“do not rely on magic to save our skins. We aren’t cowardly mages hiding behind walls of fire or spears of ice, or I don’t know, rotten-egg stenches that are enough to knock us off our feet. No, we are fast and powerful. We are hunters. We are strength. We are a pack,” he said firmly, “and together, we have nothing to fear from anyone, least of all a High Harrier.”
“I suppose he will be useful when it comes to taking out those mages,” Brannan said reluctantly. “It must have been satisfying to watch him kill the one who tried to get you, my lord.”
Petur grinned at the memory. “Immensely satisfying,” he said. “The look on that mage’s face when all of a sudden, his flame blipped right out of existence.” His squad laughed, and the tension in the air relaxed as they began to speak of other things. Petur finally began to eat the dinner that Ginnie had brought him, but his thoughts weren’t as lighthearted as those of the people around him. He was too focused on the puzzle that was Deyvid Cleareyes.
The man was a brilliant fighter, that much was plain. He had an interesting tactical mind as well. He’d downright scared Petur when he suddenly pressed his knife to his own throat; that had been a bad moment for him, akin to seeing a priceless work of art teetering on the edge of a table, about to fall and shatter into nothingness on the floor. No, Deyvid was something special, someone to be preserved and protected. This was a man whom Petur could learn from, and such people, he’d found as he grew older and more experienced, were becoming vanishingly rare.
It was only partially his own arrogance speaking. Petur had just finished mastery of his fourth form before heading out on this expedition. His trainer, a master of three separate shifts himself, had watched Petur achieve battle form, shaken his head, and said, “I have nothing more to teach you. I’ve neverseen someone, even of royal blood, learn as many shifts as you have, my prince. You’re exceptional.”
And Petur was. He knew it. He was exceptional in numerous ways, and that native ability, coupled with his rank, was enough to make boredom start creeping into the corners of his mind. It was enough to make him wonderwhy. It was enough to make him consider arguing with his sister over her decisions instead of simply accepting them as he had been trained to do. Boredom was dangerous, and if left to fester, it could lead to bad things.
