Tomas had no intention of allowing the river to take his prey.
He could smell the fear.
Growling low in his throat, he gathered himself to…
Froze.
Another scent.
An almost familiar scent.
He straightened, lifting his head into the breeze.
Almost Pack.
Alive.
The scavenger no longer of any importance, Tomas turned and ran upstream. The scent came from above the rapids. He plunged back into the trees, the river on his left, following the slope of the ground as it dropped back toward the river. He staggered, bounced off a tree, kept going.
Up ahead, the underbrush grew thick again, marking the edge of another clearing. He slowed and dropped to his belly to crawl past the older wood, below the long thorns. The silver flashes of water he could glimpse to the left moved around until he could see them out in front as well. A creek? Spring runoff?
Gray where it shouldn’t be caught his attention and he crawled toward it.
She wasn’t dead. She didn’t smell dead. As he watched, she tried to move a little farther out of the water without much success.
About to rise and risk the thorns, a new scent froze him in place. Men. He lifted his head as high as he dared, nostrils flaring, forcing himself to smell something other than the warm, amazing scent of her. Three…no, four men, Imperial soldiers, moving fast.
Gold glittered in the air between the soldiers and the woman, too small and moving too fast for Tomas to identify it, but it smelled bitter and cold like old mage-craft. She flinched as it touched her and disappeared into the wet, tangled mess of her hair.
Three pairs of boots stopped just at the edge of his vision, bodies masked by half grown leaves. The fourth pair moved close enough he could see they belonged to an officer, a captain. From what Tomas could see of his face, he looked like a professional soldier. A man who’d do what he was ordered to do whether he liked it or not. As Tomas watched, he reached down, grabbed the woman’s arm, and hauled her up onto her feet.
Instinct fought with reason and reason won although, deep down, Tomas knew that had he not been wounded and exhausted, reason wouldn’t have stood a chance. He’d have charged out and gotten himself shot by the three men who, given their position, had to be holding muskets on their captive.
Whoever she was, they thought she was dangerous.
Well, they weren’t stupid because given the way she smelled, she was a high-level mage of some kind. He recognized the almost Pack scent now—Mage-pack. Potential Mage-pack anyway. She didn’t smell mated.
He watched as the captain efficiently bound her arms behind her. Watched as he half carried her over to where his men waited.
Whoever she was, she was the only thing that had smelled like Pack since Tomas had come back to consciousness facing the dead Imperial gunner.
At least he knew what he had to do now.
“So what now, Cap?”
Reiter stared down at the girl—woman, very young woman—and frowned. He could see the tangle glinting in the wet mess of her hair, more obvious than it had been on the others for all she had a lot more hair, but she hadn’t tried to escape with mage-craft, so he had to assume it was working. She looked annoyed, exhausted, and frightened in that order. He appreciated the lack of weeping and wailing. Actually, there’d been a distinct lack of weeping and wailing from all six women the Soothsayers had sent them after. Was it bravery or did they not understand what was happening to them?
“Cap?”
“We take her to Karis, as ordered.”
“Do we go back and join up with the lieutenant?” Armin wondered, and all three of them turned to look back, as though they could see the distance they’d covered.
Best snorted, bicorn in his hand, fingers scratching through damp hair. “He won’t be there, you dumb shit. We’re coming on late afternoon and he started moving when we left.”
“No one told you to lower your guard,” Reiter growled, pulling out his map.
“But, Cap, the tangle…”
“You want to bet your life on an artifact that’s been gathering dust in the treasury for a couple hundred years? Or on the Tower .625 caliber musket you’re holding?”
Chard swung his weapon back around to point at their captive. “Well, if you put it that way…”
“Armin. Best.”
“Yes, sir!” They snapped it out together, although Best’s musket rose noticeably faster. Seemed Armin didn’t much like holding a weapon on a helpless woman. Well, neither did Reiter, but what he did or didn’t like had no bearing on what he would or wouldn’t do. He had his orders. They all did.
“We’ll follow the river around to the ford, and cross into the Duchy of Pyrahn…” What had been the Duchy of Pyrahn and was now a part of the empire; or would be as soon as politics caught up to war. “…then we follow the border until we meet up with Lieutenant Geurin and the wagons.”
“Begging your pardon, Captain, but there’s no ford marked on that map and even if they didn’t blow the bridge, it’s still a good five miles out of our way.”
Reiter turned just far enough to meet Armin’s eyes. The soldier tried not to look like he’d been reading the map over his captain’s shoulder, gaze sliding sideways to lock attentively on their captive. “If the army’s crossed into Aydori…” Reiter paused so they could all hear the sound of distant gunfire. “…then there’s a ford.”
“Probably more than one,” Chard snorted. “Trust me, I’ve spent a stupid amount of time on dig the crap back out of the river duty ’cause that’s way too much actual work for engineers.” When Reiter turned to glare at him, he grinned. “And no one cares. Right. Shutting up now, sir.”
Not for the first time, Reiter wondered how Chard had managed to survive his few years in the army without losing the skin off his back. Insubordination was still a six-stroke offense, but even Geurin, the very definition of an officious prick, had put up with Chard’s mouth. Still, sometimes, his mouth was useful.
Their captive had been watching Chard through her lashes as he spoke; listening, not merely hearing.
“Everyone speaks a little Imperial, Captain. The language, like the empire, is…pervasive.”
Something to remember, although, here and now, he had nothing to say to the mage nor did he need to hear anything she had to say to him.
“Armin, you and Chard keep her on her feet and moving. Best, you’re on our six.” Of the three, Best had the most traditional view of the beastmen of Aydori and Best’s beliefs wouldn’t let him get complacent. The job wasn’t done until their captive was in Karis.
“You think if the lieutenant gets there first, he’ll leave us a wagon, Cap?” Before Reiter could speak, Chard sighed and answered his own question. “Yeah. Me, either.”
If her hands hadn’t been tied, Danika would have struggled until the two soldiers keeping her upright in the current lost their footing on the slick rock, sending the three of them into the river. She was a strong swimmer and her clothes were designed to be easily removed. The soldiers, on the other hand, weighted down by boots and weapons and packs would be at the mercy of the icy water, swept away, and drowned. Two less enemies of Aydori.
Were it not for the golden net suppressing her abilities, it wouldn’t matter that her hands were tied. She could take air into the water with her. Of course, if it were not for the golden net, they’d still be on the road to Trouge arguing that they should have kept one of the enemy alive to question. Jesine was a strong Healer, but not quite strong enough to question the dead.
But her hands were tied and she had access to only the most basic mage-craft, so to drown the enemy, she’d also drown herself and her unborn child. While that would still result in two less enemies of Aydori, she was a long way from the point where death seemed the only escape. Where there was life, there was hope. Where there was life, Ryder would find her.