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Amric studied the figure on the ground, bound tightly in coil upon coil of ragged cloth such that only a few glimpses of leathers and a dark cloak were visible. The captive still drew in deep, rasping breaths, but had otherwise grown still once the sounds of combat ceased.

“I rather think he would disagree with you on the point, Syth,” Amric said. “But it is time to let him speak for himself.”

He stepped forward, sheathing his swords and drawing his belt knife. “I am going to sever your bonds, friend,” he said. “Be very still, if you value your flesh.”

The figure froze, and Amric knelt down. The cloth parted beneath his blade and fell away from torso to thigh, and the warrior rose, stepping back. In an instant, slender hands made pale by the starlight were clawing at the remaining bonds, tearing and peeling.

Syth put voice to a realization that had dawned upon Amric as well. “That is no fellow,” he breathed.

Those hands reached up and unwound the strips from about the head, and then swept back the hood of the cloak. Auburn hair tumbled free, and startling green eyes regarded them both from an oval face swollen with a myriad of cuts and abrasions. Amric saw a strange mixture of fear and anger pass through her expression as she looked past them to search the darkness beyond. When frantic gaze returned to the two of them, she sagged with relief and seemed to regain a measure of her confidence. The warrior frowned. It appeared that she had expected someone else, had been in fact braced for another attacker of some kind.

“Well?” she demanded. “Which one of you is going to help a lady to her feet?”

They rejoined the others on the road near the cave.

Amric let out a breath he had not even realized he was holding when he saw the three men astride their horses, with no further sign of the foul black creatures. Halthak held the reins of the quivering black mare, and was speaking soothing words to it in a low tone. As they neared, the huntress slid from her seat behind Amric on the bay gelding and gave a sharp whistle. The mare jerked the reins from the Half-Ork’s hand with a toss of its head, and trotted to her.

“You are developing a way with horses, healer,” Amric said with a laugh, as Halthak gave a rueful shake of the stung hand. “But the horse well knows its mistress.”

He watched as the woman ran her hands over the horse and down each of its legs, checking for serious injuries. Amric noted that she kept her back to Halthak, Valkarr and Bellimar as she did this, and when she swung into the saddle a moment later, she kept her head low and looked out at them from under a tangle of tresses such that her features were almost entirely masked.

Amric cleared his throat. “The lady declined to give her name until we were all together, but she was an unwilling guest of the same black man-like creatures we encountered in the forest. Now, if I may introduce-”

The huntress, however, paid no heed to him whatsoever, and instead circled her horse wide around the group and left the road at a canter. She reached the trail leading up to the cave and dismounted, searching the hillside for something. Syth urged his horse forward after her, but Bellimar held up a hand and shook his head.

“Give her a moment, gentlemen,” he said with a hint of a smile. “Introductions should resume shortly.”

Syth exchanged a puzzled look with Amric, but held his position. For long minutes, the woman clambered over the hillside, thrashing about in the weeds in search of something, casting repeated glances over her shoulder toward the group.

Bellimar rode a few yards away from the others. He had his back to her as he sat relaxed in the saddle, scanning the countryside. At last she returned to her horse with a purposeful stride and rode toward them again. Amric saw that she now held a bow in one hand, and a quiver full of arrows was slung across her back. His eyes narrowed. She was guiding her mare with only her knees, so that both her hands were free. Valkarr nodded at him; he had noticed the same. Amric threw a hard warning look to Syth and then rode forward in a slow, non-threatening walk to meet her. The other men waited, expectant, as she approached. Bellimar guided his horse into a languid turn to face her, the same enigmatic smile playing across his features.

“Madam, I think there may be some misunderstanding-” Amric began.

His words died in midsentence, however, as the huntress suddenly stood tall in her stirrups. She raised the black arrow she had been holding along her thigh, nocked it to her bow, drew back and fired, all in a blinding flicker of practiced motion. Amric muttered a startled oath and jerked to one side, his sword ringing forth. But the shot flew well wide of him, and he realized it was not intended for him at all. He whirled to chart its course and saw Bellimar’s pale hand flash up before his face. Vibrating in his clenched fist, its razor point inches from his left eye, was the black arrow.

Amric’s mouth fell open. The old man had caught the bloody thing in mid-flight, without even changing expression! He spun back to the woman, only to find her with another black arrow drawn and aimed at Bellimar, though this one she did not release. Amric knotted his fist on the reins and prepared to charge, but she swung the bow toward him.

“Stay back!” she shouted. “I will feather the first to move toward me.”

“Nasty piece of work, this,” Bellimar was saying, rolling the missile between bony fingers. “I think it might well have fulfilled its purpose. How did you come by it, my dear?”

The huntress did not respond, except to level the bow at the old man once more. Amric studied her eyes, her expression twisted with hatred, her slender frame shaking with suppressed rage. Seldom had he seen such naked animosity.

Anger of his own flared within him.

“You have a strange way of repaying a courtesy, woman,” he snapped.

“And you, man, can be judged by the vile company you keep,” she retorted with a sneer. “You travel with an ancient eviclass="underline" Bellimar the Black, destroyer of nations, the Vampire King himself. I have to assume that every one of you is either under his control or just as dark-hearted as he.”

Amric lifted an eyebrow. “You believe this old man to be the conquering sorcerer by the same name from untold centuries ago?”

The woman said nothing, the tip of her arrow tracking Bellimar even as her mare shifted back and forth with nervous steps. Amric opened his mouth to try again, but the old man interrupted with a sigh.

“Your words will not smooth this one over, swordsman. She speaks the truth.”

Amric stiffened and turned to stare at him. Bellimar did not spare him a glance, however. His tight-lipped smile parted to bare gleaming teeth at the huntress.

“Greetings, Thalya,” Bellimar said. “You are a long way from home.”

CHAPTER 15

Thalya crouched within the sloping entrance of the cave, relaxed as a coiled spring.

Her back was to the stone wall, and one sun-browned hand was knotted in her black mare’s dangling reins. Her other hand guided the tip of her broad-bladed hunting knife through the dirt caking the floor, making idle patterns which her eye did not follow. Instead her narrowed gaze pierced deeper into the cave, past the roiling haze of smoke that clung to the ceiling on its way to the night sky, to fix upon the men gathered below around a feeble campfire.

Her target sat among them, staring into the tiny remaining flicker of flame amid a bed of glowing embers, looking like nothing more than an ordinary, tired, silver-haired old man. She wondered if he was as vulnerable at the moment as he appeared, and she considered the bow and single black arrow that were meticulously positioned at her side. No, she admonished herself; he was merely goading her to make another attempt just as he was affecting the sad and weary expression he wore like a jester’s painted mask. Moreover, he had kept the arrow he caught outside, and that left her with but one remaining that was capable of slaying the fiend. Another wasted shot would be her undoing, leaving her without the means to fulfill her mission as well as putting her at the mercy of the monster. She would have to bide her time, then. When she struck again, she would ensure he could not avoid it.