CHAPTER FIVE
Low hills, bumpy knolls, and rocky ridges broke up the afternoon light. Covered in scrub grass, the hills' color varied between brown and pale gold, while the barren ridges revealed dark purple striatums of vanished centuries. Here and there, stone slabs thrust up from the earthen hilltops, sometimes singly, other times in groups forming ancient rings of debatable purpose.
Since Iahn had ascended to the sunlit lands outside the magically sealed Deep Imaskar, he'd undergone a slow change in attitude. He was beginning to suspect he was made for wide open lands, not closely proscribed walls and corridors.
It amused him to recall that prior to his recent travels, he hadn't had the breadth of experience to think of his home as "proscribed." Before, he'd never thought of the artificially illuminated city behind the Great Seal as confining-but he'd never known anything else.
The vengeance taker's gaze wandered across the wide open, sun-baked landscape. Despite the variation offered by the hills, he traveled through essentially empty terrain, free of obstacles to clutter his view. His eyes could wander without getting snagged on walls, trees, or mountains, as long as he didn't look east.
Without distractions to his vision, his mind had space to roam, too. The vacancy of the earth cried to be filled, and so he filled it with tumbling thoughts, ideas, and even aspirations he'd rarely pondered since his childhood. No thought was too big or too odd to entertain.
The emptiness was restful as much as liberating. The sameness of the plain and sky was a balm, and it calmed the constant anxiety that plagued him-what was the fate of Deep Imaskar in his absence? Would he find the fugitive soon enough? If he found her, what then?
So much for the balm of empty land.
Anyway, he was close to his target. He smelled a change in the air.
Iahn moved closer, altering the angle of the scene by cresting the intervening edge of a rocky bluff.
Not more than three hundred paces from the first swelling hillside stood the coach Iahn had trailed over the last months. It could be no other-its long shape and widely set wheels conformed to the ruts he'd come to know so well. From where he stood, surveying the site, he saw no horses or other beasts of burden capable of pulling the coach. As he had suspected-his quarry summoned steeds at need.
The coach's door crashed open, and several creatures tumbled out.
Iahn blinked, startled.
Before he could focus on the emerging figures, his attention was snatched by a hulking form that stepped out from behind the coach.
Half again as tall as a human, the massive beast had thick, gray skin with features not unlike those of a troll. Its hunched, apelike posture emphasized its substantial bulk and hinted at the power of its huge fists. Its lower torso and legs were wrapped in uncured hides, forming crude clothing. A leather thong around its neck bore a raw chunk of purplish crystal.
Unless more hid in the coach, the vengeance taker counted a total of four creatures, none of them the fugitive.
Of the trio that spilled out of the coach, Iahn identified two people in long white gowns, reminding him of the desert nomads he'd met when he'd skirted the Plains of Purple Dust. Except those folk had been humans, and their garments had been dark brown. These were some variety of elf. One elf dervish was female, the other male.
The last creature was humanoid, but of a race completely unfamiliar to Iahn. It was covered in a luxurious coat of ebony fur that complimented its black, pantherlike head. It had cloven hooves where Iahn expected feet or paws. Where it walked, a sheen lingered in its hoofprints before slowly evaporating. Iahn recognized it as the same glistening spoor he'd encountered a few days earlier.
The vengeance taker noted that each wore amulets similar to the troll's-the only visible clue that bound the entire group other than their proximity. Were these creatures servants of the fugitive, guarding her coach, or did they represent the force whispered to him by the Voice? Probably the latter, but the vengeance taker rarely reached conclusions without absorbing all possible information.
The panther-headed creature saw Iahn and pointed. Iahn stared back, wondering what they would do.
The two elf dervishes produced slender recurve bows from their garb, stringing them expertly in less than a heartbeat. The troll-thing swung its head around to regard Iahn, and screamed an incomprehensible battle cry. Then it charged.
Hostiles. He knew what to do about that. Iahn stepped back behind the edge of the bluff.
The vengeance taker muttered a few words of sorcery and ran one hand down the length of his body. Where his hand passed, his form became hazy and uncertain. Using this extra advantage, he eased back into a crevice.
The gray troll barreled around the edge of the rise, easily and quickly covering ground using both knuckles and feet. The earth trembled with each bounding step. It did not see Iahn, but paused, snuffling. The vengeance taker, whose position was hidden by both skill and magic, studied the creature's anatomy, musculature, and bulging veins. It was certainly of troll blood, but larger than any he had seen in a bestiary.
Iahn had studied on occasion in the Purple Library, an ancient and sadly out-of-date collection of scrolls, text fragments, and books retained in the heart of Deep Imaskar. He was an expert on all the bestiaries there. Apparently, troll varieties had multiplied and diversified in the millennia since the collection was gathered.
The vengeance taker studied the way the troll's muscles moved over its bones, the way its great chest rose and fell with each breath. He gently twisted the hilt of his dragonfly blade, then pulled it apart along the revealed seam. Silently, the thinblade slipped free of its enclosing hilt, giving Iahn the advantage of two weapons-the wafer-thin stiletto, and the long dragonfly blade, shaped like the wing of a dragonfly. Iahn froze, concentrating on his pursuer.