host.
He disappeared into the swirling snow beyond the entrance, leaving her alone in the warmth of the cave. Doing her best to ignore the Sword in the far corner of the cave, she curled up near the fire and closed her eyes, hoping her sleep would not be plagued by more nightmares of Yasmin or the dark-winged hunter.
Chapter 6
R OGGEN WAS THE first to see the unusual tracks—a single set of footprints in the thin layer of snow, partially obscured by the hooves of the elk herd they’d been following since dawn. He held up his right hand in a fist, and the other five members of the Sun Blade hunting party immediately came to a halt.
Crouching, he took a closer look. They were fresh, and clearly human—medium-sized boots; but judging by the depth and the gait of the stride he guessed they were made by a woman rather than a man.
The footsteps headed off in the opposite direction of the herd. The clan was running low on stores; they couldn’t abandon the hunt. But Roggen couldn’t ignore the tracks, either—trespassers couldn’t be allowed to cross through clan territory unchallenged.
Odd to find solitary tracks. Is she some kind of outcast from one of the neighboring clans?
Exile was a rare punishment, reserved only for the most heinous of crimes: treason, cold-blooded murder, or cowardice.
“Berlen,” he called out to the largest of the hunters. “Follow these tracks. Find out who this woman is and why she’s here.”
Berlen hefted his spear and nodded. Just before he broke away from the rest of the group, Roggen grabbed his forearm.
“Be careful,” the leader warned, seized by an urgent but vague premonition of danger. “She might be armed.”
The big man scowled. “If you don’t think I can handle it,” he snarled, “then send someone else!”
Roggen released his grip, realizing he’d overstepped.
Berlen knows how to look out for himself. That’s why you chose him
.
“I just meant don’t kill her unless you have to,” Roggen backpedaled, releasing his grip on his friend’s arm. “You know how you get.”
A lie, but one necessary to avoid giving offense. Mocking Berlen’s infamous temper was far more acceptable than casting doubt on his martial prowess.
“I’ll bring her back in one piece,” Berlen promised, his bearded face breaking into a grin.
Feet crunching over the crystal carpet of snow blanketing the ground, Raven walked with a smooth, steady pace. Another storm was rolling in, but she ignored the icy wind clawing at the exposed flesh on the face and hands of her new human form, just as she ignored the rumbling of her empty stomach.
In her youth, she had spent many nights shivering on the desolate, ashen plains of Daemron’s blighted kingdom. Before rising through the ranks of the Slayer’s followers, she had fought and clawed with others of her kind to claim a share of the foul-tasting sludge that was the realm’s only source of sustenance. But with power and position came privilege, and it had been decades since she’d felt the pains of cold or hunger.
Yet Raven understood that these physical torments were ephemeral, an illusion brought about by her transformation into a flesh-and-blood woman. Born and bred in a realm where the power of Chaos was not blunted by the Legacy, she was stronger and more resilient than the weak and physically vulnerable denizens of this world. And though she had cloaked herself in the essence of a mere mortal—a tall, dark-haired woman dressed in thestyle of the local clans—beneath the surface Chaos still sustained her true form.
It would have been possible to alter her appearance with a simple glamour, a superficial veneer that would blind the eyes of any ordinary men and women she encountered. But those touched by the power of Chaos wouldn’t be fooled by such artifice. The mortal she had hunted, the one carrying the Crown, would still sense her presence, as would the Guardian who now gave her prey sanctuary. Like calling to like.
It
He disappeared into the swirling snow beyond the entrance, leaving her alone in the warmth of the cave. Doing her best to ignore the Sword in the far corner of the cave, she curled up near the fire and closed her eyes, hoping her sleep would not be plagued by more nightmares of Yasmin or the dark-winged hunter.
Chapter 6
R OGGEN WAS THE first to see the unusual tracks—a single set of footprints in the thin layer of snow, partially obscured by the hooves of the elk herd they’d been following since dawn. He held up his right hand in a fist, and the other five members of the Sun Blade hunting party immediately came to a halt.
Crouching, he took a closer look. They were fresh, and clearly human—medium-sized boots; but judging by the depth and the gait of the stride he guessed they were made by a woman rather than a man.
The footsteps headed off in the opposite direction of the herd. The clan was running low on stores; they couldn’t abandon the hunt. But Roggen couldn’t ignore the tracks, either—trespassers couldn’t be allowed to cross through clan territory unchallenged.
Odd to find solitary tracks. Is she some kind of outcast from one of the neighboring clans?
Exile was a rare punishment, reserved only for the most heinous of crimes: treason, cold-blooded murder, or cowardice.
“Berlen,” he called out to the largest of the hunters. “Follow these tracks. Find out who this woman is and why she’s here.”
Berlen hefted his spear and nodded. Just before he broke away from the rest of the group, Roggen grabbed his forearm.
“Be careful,” the leader warned, seized by an urgent but vague premonition of danger. “She might be armed.”
The big man scowled. “If you don’t think I can handle it,” he snarled, “then send someone else!”
Roggen released his grip, realizing he’d overstepped.
Berlen knows how to look out for himself. That’s why you chose him
.
“I just meant don’t kill her unless you have to,” Roggen backpedaled, releasing his grip on his friend’s arm. “You know how you get.”
A lie, but one necessary to avoid giving offense. Mocking Berlen’s infamous temper was far more acceptable than casting doubt on his martial prowess.
“I’ll bring her back in one piece,” Berlen promised, his bearded face breaking into a grin.
Feet crunching over the crystal carpet of snow blanketing the ground, Raven walked with a smooth, steady pace. Another storm was rolling in, but she ignored the icy wind clawing at the exposed flesh on the face and hands of her new human form, just as she ignored the rumbling of her empty stomach.
In her youth, she had spent many nights shivering on the desolate, ashen plains of Daemron’s blighted kingdom. Before rising through the ranks of the Slayer’s followers, she had fought and clawed with others of her kind to claim a share of the foul-tasting sludge that was the realm’s only source of sustenance. But with power and position came privilege, and it had been decades since she’d felt the pains of cold or hunger.
Yet Raven understood that these physical torments were ephemeral, an illusion brought about by her transformation into a flesh-and-blood woman. Born and bred in a realm where the power of Chaos was not blunted by the Legacy, she was stronger and more resilient than the weak and physically vulnerable denizens of this world. And though she had cloaked herself in the essence of a mere mortal—a tall, dark-haired woman dressed in thestyle of the local clans—beneath the surface Chaos still sustained her true form.
It would have been possible to alter her appearance with a simple glamour, a superficial veneer that would blind the eyes of any ordinary men and women she encountered. But those touched by the power of Chaos wouldn’t be fooled by such artifice. The mortal she had hunted, the one carrying the Crown, would still sense her presence, as would the Guardian who now gave her prey sanctuary. Like calling to like.
It
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