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Morde, I thought the man would kill you before my eyes, Sir Terent said in a
shaken voice. But he seemed calmer now. Putting a reassuring arm around Dain s
shoulders, he said, Easy then. Let s get you away from here.
The king s entourage was already streaming away while the crowd was broken up.
Guards pushed through the throng, but there was no chance of their finding the
agent they sought. Dain knew he was already far away.
He started to tell Sir Terent so when suddenly the world swirled around him
without warning.
Dain? Sir Terent said in alarm. In Thod s name, stay with
His voice faded. Dain struggled against the darkness and opened his eyes as
wide as he could. The last thing he saw was the face of the dead boy, now
being covered with a cloth by some of the servants.
Then all went blank for Dain, and he knew nothing more.
Caught between the two attacking hurlhounds, Alexeika screamed and swung her
stick at the closest
one. As she did so, all her fear and anger suddenly coalesced inside her and
channeled forth. The stick burst into flames, scorching her hands and burning
the hurlhound she struck with it.
Yelping, it veered off.
Unable to hold her fiery weapon, Alexeika threw it at the second monster and
missed. Crying out, she ducked just as the hurlhound s snapping jaws closed on
thin air.
Regsnik
! commanded a gruff voice.
The hurlhounds snarled but retreated at once.
Breathing hard, her hair hanging in her face, Alexeika lay on the ground,
unable to believe she was still alive. Her body was tense and trembling, but
slowly she realized the hurlhounds were not going to tear her apart.
Another creature rumbled and snorted behind her. When Alexeika managed to pull
herself up and look, she saw a rider on a darsteed at the edge of the
clearing.
Tall and long-legged, with cloven hooves and a hide of black scales that
glittered in the sun, the darsteed s red eyes glared balefully at her while
smoke rumbled from its nostrils.
Its rider looked to be a man, but Alexeika was not sure. Clad in blood-red
mail and a breastplate embossed with arcane symbols that hurt her eyes, he
stared at her through his helmet visor. Much of him remained in the shade, and
she could see no glimpse of his eyes.
He was either Nonkind or a Believer. Both were supremely dangerous. Her mouth
went dry, and her heart pounded so hard she felt dizzy. The two hurlhounds
still crouched on either side of her, menace in their eyes as they waited for
permission to attack.
Shuddering, she forced herself to stand up. She faced the rider with all the
courage she could.
Let me go, she said.
He made no response. Her fear flared anew, for if he was Nonkind that meant he
was nothing but an animated corpse, soulless and controlled by a Believer
somewhere nearby. Alexeika had grown up on tales of entire battlefields of
dead men rising forth to serve the Believers of Gant. Such gruesome creatures
could fight endlessly against mortals. They could not be killed by normal
means. They did not tire. They would not flee in disarray.
Yet this rider had spoken a command to the hurlhounds. Surely he was not one
of the dead if he could do that.
Let me go, she said again, more loudly this time.
The rider lifted his gloved hand and pointed at her.
Sor-cerelle,
he said. His voice sounded like a file rasping on bone. You are sorcerelle of
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much power.
I am not.
He chuckled, the sound muffled and dreadful inside his helmet. You lie,
Chalice hunter. Power has been wielded. It is how I found you.
Uzfan s warning ran through her mind. He was right; her few erratic powers had
drawn the Nonkind to her. Alexeika frowned. How she wished Uzfan was here to
cast a spell to drive this Believer away.
Chalice hunter, come, the Believer said. You are mine now. Come.
Alexeika frowned in refusal. Were the gods this unkind, to let her escape the
Grethori only to fall into worse hands? No! she said. I will not be a
Gantese slave!
Smoke blew out through the Believer s visor. He pointed. Obey!
I will not.
Then you die.
The hurlhounds growled, edging closer. The threat in their glowing eyes and
slavering jaws vanquished her defiance. She did not want to die. Not like
this.
If she tried to run the hurlhounds would bring her down. Without her
pearl-handled daggers she lacked even the slimmest of fighting chances. There
was nothing she could do but obey her new master.
Trying to hide her despair, she crossed the clearing and went to the Believer.
The hot stink of the darsteed s fetid breath sickened her. Without warning it
lunged at her with a snap of its poisonous fangs.
Screaming, Alexeika dodged, and its jaws missed her by a scant inch. Shouting
angrily, the Believer pulled back on the reins and cursed his mount.
In that moment, an arrow sang forth from the woods and thudded into the
Believer s breastplate. It bounced off, but the Believer stood up in his
stirrups with a shout of alarm. He drew his sword, and
Alexeika jumped into the undergrowth, out of the way, as the darsteed galloped
forward.
From the same direction as the arrow came a rough mountain pony, bursting from
the thicket with
Holoc on its back.
The chieftain, gaunt-eyed and fierce, rode full-tilt, with Severgard in his
hands instead of his usual pair of scimitars. The magicked blade of Prince
Volvn s weapon glowed white in the presence of the Believer and his Nonkind
beasts. Shouting Grethori curses, his long, skull-adorned braids bouncing on
his shoulders, Holoc charged the Believer fearlessly.
Black sword met white with a tremendous crash that echoed through the forest
and sent a flock of keebacks flying out of the trees. The Believer s sword
shattered under the first blow, and he reeled back in his saddle.
Snarling, the hurlhounds sprang toward Holoc, parting to attack him from
separate sides. Knowing he could not prevail against them all, Alexeika picked
up a stout branch off the ground and jumped from the bushes.
She hurled the stick with all her might, and her aim was true. It bounced off
the skull of one of the hurlhounds and deflected it from sinking its fangs
into Holoc s leg.
He swung Severgard at the other hurlhound, cutting the creature in half.
Poisonous black blood spewed while the two halves of the monster writhed on
the ground.
Shouting Gantese death curses that popped and flashed in the air, the Believer
thrust the jagged end of his broken sword into Holoc s bronzed, bare arm.
Yelling, Holoc twisted in the saddle and swung Severgard around. The glowing
white blade sliced through red mail, popping links, and took off the
Believer s head.
Still in its helmet, the head went rolling over the ground in a trail of blood
and gout, and came to rest at
Alexeika s feet.
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The remaining hurlhound and darsteed vanished into thin air, leaving only
sparks and their evil stench behind.
Silence fell over the clearing, broken only by the sound of Holoc s panting.
Alexeika stared at him for a long moment, amazed that he d rescued her. His
brown, savage face handsome by the standards of his people stared back at her
with a combination of lust and triumph.
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