Petur decided to be honest. “You did what you thought you had to do to solve your problem,” he said. “In the future, however, know that your petitions for aid will be taken seriously by my officers. You’ve only to send to the capital, and I promise that someone will come to assist as soon as possible.”
“My thanks for that, sire.” Mistress Glenanne inclined her head graciously, but Petur saw her real response in her eyes.Twelve days to the capital, the same again back, however long it takes to be seen … many people can suffer in that amount of time. Many can be killed.No, she didn’t regret her choice at all, and Petur found himself captivated by the puzzle that this man, this mercenary, presented.
“How long ago did he clear out your raiders?”
“Three days past, sire,” she said.
“And do you have any idea which way he was headed next?”
Her face went carefully blank. “Do you intend to hunt him down, sire?”
“I intend to determine whether or not he needs help handling the rest of the mages,” Petur replied with a gentle smile that he was sure didn’t let on to the fact that yes, he was going to hunt this mercenary down one way or another. People with this level of ability shouldn’t be ignored, not unless you wanted to blind yourself to a future problem. It was smart to determine who this “Silver” was and what powers he possessed. Whether or not he’d survive the meeting, well … that was something Petur would figure out once he’d met the man.
Mistress Glenanne knew when she couldn’t evade. She slumped a little on the stool as she said, “The mages were still hitting merchant caravans to the east after they were stoppedhere. Last strike I heard of was near Ferryton, twenty miles distant.”
Petur heard one of his squad stir behind him. “You know the place, Herow?” he asked.
“My parents own a farm near there, sire,” Herow replied briskly.
And he was undoubtedly wondering whether or not his parents’ farm had been affected by the mages. That uncertainty made up Petur’s mind. “We’ll press on, then,” he said, getting to his feet. “My thanks to you for your courtesy, Mistress.”
She stood as well, blinking with surprise. “Begging your pardon, sire, but it’ll be well dark by the time you get that far, and camping rough might not be safe right now. You’re welcome to stay here and move on in the morning.”
Not safe for six of the best shifters in the damn country? Please.“We’ll manage just fine,” Petur assured her. “I appreciate your offer, though.” Even though it was probably made with an eye toward giving the mysterious “Silver” time to escape their grasp. “Have your sons bring our horses out front.”
He turned and walked out of the house, his eyes on the sky. A moment later, Lise flew out of the trees and over to him. She went from owl to human in the time between when she flared her wings to descend and alighted on the ground, and set foot on the packed dirt of the square with the same silent elegance with which she flew. Even Petur was impressed. He pulled his cloak off his shoulders and offered it to her as a makeshift cover until her own horse and supplies were brought out front and asked quietly, “What did you see?”
“Signs of magical combat less than a mile from here,” she replied with equal discretion, shaking out her long, pale hair. “Just off the road at the split ahead. Burns on the trees, branches downed, that sort of thing. I found a makeshift grave but didn’t dig down deep enough to do a body count.” She paused, thenadded, “I found plenty of footprints around where the combat occurred, but only one set led away to where a horse had been tied up. Just one person walked away from that conflict.”
“Interesting.” All the more reason to get to Ferryton as quickly as possible. Which, come to think of it, he could do in a quarter of the time it would take to ride. “You and I will go ahead,” he decided.
Lise instantly objected. “You won’t have your weapons when you land, sire.”
“I don’t anticipate getting into any fights,” Petur replied. “This is just to survey things before the others arrive. I want to have the best chance possible of encountering this Silver.”
“But the mages—”
Petur let his eyes shift, just his eyes, and stared at his second-in-command until her objections died off. “I’m not waiting any longer,” he said as he began stripping off his finery. Plenty of people were hanging around the square, ostensibly chatting or heading some place or the other, but mostly just observing the newcomers with wide eyes and whispers hidden behind hands. Several of those hands dropped in astonishment as Petur got nude as quickly as possible. He smirked to himself as he handed his clothes to Herow to stow away for him; provincial attitudes surrounding nudity were so entertaining, and he had nothing to be ashamed of.
He checked with Lise to ensure she was ready to fly again, then focused inward and found the part of himself that housed the beasts he shifted into. A second later, Petur twisted and turned and flapped his coal-black wings just in time to avoid touching the ground in his avian body. A few seconds after that and Veshay, and its gawkers, were left behind.
East, east …It was harder to think in his shifted forms, but not impossible. His raven in particular was good at orienting, and soon enough, he and Lise were flying above the road that ledeast, high enough that no one on the ground would have time to wonder what an owl and a raven were doing keeping company together.
The raven wasn’t his only option. Petur was one of those rare shifters who could inhabit more than one form. He was also capable of becoming a wolf, one whose long legs were excellent at eating up the ground, but a wolf wouldn’t offer that much advantage over a horse unless they had to go deep into the forest. He could shift into an otter as well, a much more fanciful shape than any of his others, but it had come in handy a time or two. As for his final shape … well, that one wasn’t suited to long-distance running. Much better at short-term, high-velocity impacts instead.
Lise kept pace with him easily. The owl was her only shifted form, but she excelled at using it. At nighttime, she made the ultimate spy, but she was no slouch during the day either. They were the only fliers in the squad and should be more than enough for a friendly foray to surveil the land before deciding on a course of action.
That moment came faster than Petur had anticipated. They passed one small town that looked peaceful enough, but several miles down the road from that, Petur heard the clash and clatter of an armed confrontation. He beat his wings to speed up, circling the scene so he could get a decent look at the fight below.
The battle was half on the road, half off. A merchant with three covered wagons and an escort of several armed guards was barely holding his own against a man standing across the road, slinging balls of purple fire at him. The metal of his blade was able to deflect them, but one of the wagons was already on fire, and neither of his guards could close the distance with the mage without taking more heat than they could withstand. The merchant, in a fine doublet and hose and with a luxuriously stout waist, appeared on the verge of panic. Here was someonewho’d done well enough in his trade to afford guards for a dangerous road, but even the best normal guards weren’t fireproof.
Neither was Petur, of course, but he didn’t need to be in his final form. He readied himself to fall out of the sky and assist, but a wave of wind blasted through the trees off to the left of the road, sending leaves scattering and twigs breaking. The tail end of the localized hurricane spun up toward him and Lise, sending them beak over tailfeathers in opposite directions.
Damn it.Staying a raven was too vulnerable. Petur needed to land, now, and see what he could do to help end this fight quickly. He dove unsteadily through the trees and touched down on the ground, transforming instantly into his wolf shape. Better equipped, he padded forward to where the source of the windstorm was, and—
He stopped in his tracks, amazed at the sight of a brown-skinned man in a hooded cloak charging across the wreckage toward a mage—it had to be a mage, and likely Mersaighan given that he wasn’t wearing any jewelry, yet the air around him glowed with blue light. The light concentrated between his hands, and with a great yell the mage sent the light, which suddenly looked to have edges sharper than knives, spiraling toward his attacker. Petur was sure he was about to see the man sliced into pieces.
Instead, the light vanished the second it touched him. It didn’t even slice through his clothing; whatever spell was warding him, it was incredibly powerful. He continued his charge, and the mage fell back with an expression of quickening terror on his face. “You—” He didn’t have time to finish his sentence; the man in the hood leapt forward, his short sword gleaming uneasily in the dappled light, and cut the mage’s throat.
