He didn’t even stop to watch the man die, just kept running forward to the road. Petur followed him, utterly captivated. Hewatched the man reach beneath his cloak just before he broke cover and hurl two daggers at the mage cornering the merchant and his guards—oof, no, down to one now. The other had been burnt to a crisp by the mage’s fire spell.
Those hands would never cast it again. The daggers sunk home, one in the low back, one just beneath the skull, severing the spine in two places. It was a masterful kill, an almost impossible degree of targeting.He must carry charms to increase his accuracy and power.If this man wasn’t a mage himself, Petur would have to ask him who’d crafted the spells for him. He trotted into the road, tongue lolling, prepared to shift back to his human form and demand answers as only a naked aristocrat without a sense of shame could.
One wrong step later, and Petur felt as though he’d plunged his front right leg into a ring of fire. It tightened around his paw, and he found himself hoisted into the air by the burning enchantment. He twisted, growling, searching for the mage who’d caught him unawares. Gods, the fire, ithurt, it hurt worse than almost anything he’d experienced before. The pain drove him into his final shift, and a second later the spell failed, its power unable to keep a shifter four times larger than usual, in a raging battle form, in the air.
Petur roared as he turned toward the far side of the road, where he could smell the magic that had been cast against him. He began to run toward the source of it, but the air went thick and heavy. It was like trying to claw his way through water, and in the distance, a small, bright spark appeared. It became larger and brighter, and as soon as Petur realized he was about to be shot with an arc-lance, he tried to shift into his raven form. The only escape from a spell this deadly was quick flight, but the air was still too thick, and he was too slow, he was going to be taken out by a second-rate mage on a road to nowhere, and it was his own damn fault, son of a—
The hooded man ran in front of him, completely unaffected by the slowing spell. Even as the arc-lance began to burn toward them, he let loose with another of his daggers. They passed each other in the air, but the arc-lance hit him first. Petur winced in expectation of the man being blown into slurry.
Nothing happened. The spell vanished like it had never been cast in the first place. Sadly for the mage, the dagger didn’t follow suit, and a second later, it buried itself in the mage’s neck, piercing his throat from front to back. He gagged and staggered back, hands flailing uselessly for healing components before he fell to the ground and died a very painful, noisy death.
The scent of petrichor, burnt flesh, and blood filled the air. There was something else, too, something faint but acrid. His warrior form had a better sense of smell than his human form did, and Petur inhaled deeply as he watched his mysterious savior turn to face him. His skin and hair were almost exactly the same shade of brown, earthy with a slight orange tint, but his eyes were as close to colorless as could be. Calling them gray would be generous. Those eyes, coupled with that scent …Marlroot, but its only use is as a dye.Interesting.
Was it possible … could it be that this man wasn’t carrying enchantments to block magic? Could it be, instead, that he was capable of blocking the magic entirely by his very nature?
Could he be a High Harrier?
Chapter two
Deyvid
The second he knew the mage was down, Deyvid ran.
Shifters.Dammit. He’d hoped to be done with this contract before any of them arrived. And from the capital, no less. This was a complication he didn’t need.
He made for the river as fast as he could, knowing that his best chance at escape lay in water. Very few shifters had forms that could swim, and even fewer could track that way. As long as he kept his head down and his scent covered, he might be able to outrun them. Staying put, of course, was out of the question.
With a wrench, he considered his pack left carefully stowed, a mile and a bit farther back in the woods. He was going to wish he had those dry clothes soon enough, but he’d double back later, once they were gone, and if he got out of this.
It didn’t gall to let them take responsibility for the kills. Deyvid had already been paid. Itdidgall that he’d been seen. The big man on the far side of the road, the one who had fallen out of the sky as a raven and landed on the ground as a man … Deyvid was afraid he’d seen a little too much.
It’s not going to matter as long as I make it to the river in time.He lengthened his stride to something like a run, uncaring of the branches that he broke and the leaves he left trampled. Leaving a trail was inevitable. He might as well do what he could in order to get more speed.
The river was close. Deyvid could hear the burble of it through the trees and smell the cool dampness suffusing the air. He dropped his cloak, knowing that it would only slow him down in the water, but kept his blades. He wasn’t about to give up his daggersnow. Besides, one of them was covered in the blood of the mage he’d killed. It would benefit from some time in the water.
He was two steps in when he heard a howl in the distance.Time’s up.Deyvid dove headfirst into the water. The river wasn’t particularly wide or deep, but the edges of it were thick with reeds and pussy willows. It would make a decent place to hide once he got far enough along. He struck out into the center of the river, not moving with the flow of the water but against it.
With would be faster, but that was exactly what they would think he would do. Better to go against and make less progress but hopefully fool them. Then he’d look for a good place to hole up until he was no longer being searched for.
Shifters, curse it. Of all the luck.
Deyvid swam with powerful strokes, going as fast as he could, not just to make better time but also to keep himself warm. It was spring, and the water still felt fresh from the mountains it had flowed down from. He was already shivering. He wouldn’t be able to spend long in such a temperature.Just a bit farther, he told himself as he kicked against the current.Just a bit farther.
Damnation, and things had been going so well. He’d been able to avoid the notice of all the shifter patrols and local guards ever since he’d gotten to this part of the country. This close tothe border of Mersaighe, he’d thought he was safe. Riyalians had little to do with their neighbors to the southwest, and the distaste was entirely mutual. Mersaighans were a magic-heavy people, their greatest fighters heavily reliant on their offensive-spell capabilities. Riyalians, on the other hand, preferred to channel their magic—those who had it—into transforming their shape into that of an animal.
Or perhaps, in the case of the man Deyvid had seen in the road,twoanimals. He’d looked on the verge of taking another form as he tried to get to the mage.You’re welcome, Deyvid thought sourly to himself.
He was starting to get numb with cold, but luckily, it was beginning to get dark as well. Not that darkness was necessarily an encumbrance for many shifters, but they must be tired after that fight as well. Surely they’d make camp soon, and he could haul himself, wretched and trembling, from the river and bury himself in dry leaves for a cold camp until he could make his way back to his belongings.
After another seemingly interminable stretch of swimming, Deyvid felt the beginnings of a cramp come on in his right leg. He wasn’t going to be able to keep this up for much longer. Well, this was as good a spot as any, better than some, even. There was a fallen tree to the right, with a trunk thick enough to hide him from eyes that might peer down from above, and reeds dense enough at the base of it that he ought to be able to use them as a half-decent shield.
He swam over, teeth gritted against the cold and the pain, and thought to himself, not for the first time since striking out from his clan, that he’d really made a mess of things.
You’re alive, he reminded himself as he settled into the reeds.You’re still alive. You’re independent. You kill for no one but whom you choose. It’s worth it.
And itwasworth it. Deyvid knew it was. Just, it would be nice if he could both cleave to his purpose and be warm at the same time.
Deyvid laid one hand on the trunk of the tree above him to hold him steady in the current and looked around. Nothing moved. The air was surprisingly still, and while he heard the little sounds that one would expect from encroaching night in a forest, none of them seemed to be pointed directly at him. Maybe, just maybe, this was going to work out for the best.
