The limpid eyes glittered with rare animation. “They found them,” he told her. “Here. In Esperanova.”
“Who?”
“The strangers. From Mercia. The westerners,” he clarified, voicing the title with awe.
She felt her heartbeat quicken, and her claws unsheathed reflexively; she was glad that the same illusion which guarded her face would mask that extremity as well. “Tell me.”
“Selkirst found them. You remember him, freelance out of Justa? Seems he staked out the moneychangers and a couple of jewelers, figuring if the westerners came here they’d need some local cash. Because they’d lost a horse in Kierstaad, he explained, and maybe a third of their supplies with it. So he had his men staked out by those places, told them what to look for but not why.”
Of course, she thought dryly. Wouldn’t want to share the reward with them. “Go on.”
“He saw the priest. That is, one of his men did. He fit the description and all, real travel-worn, bearded but otherwise just like your posting said. The man followed him from a jeweler’s to a hunting supply, then to a grocery. Checked up on his purchases later, and they all fit the profile. Dried stuff, high-cal nutrient supplements and such. Vitamins.”
“Weapons?”
He shook his head. “Clothing, mostly. Mess kit, field razor, canteen. Travel gear.”
With effort she made her claws retract. “Verda,” she whispered. “So it’s our city, is it? Verda ben. We’re ready for them.”
“Do you want me to pick them up?”
“Was the woman with him?”
His brow furrowed deeply as he thought about that. “No. I don’t think so.”
“What about the horses?”
He hesitated; clearly neither he nor his informant was too sure what a horse was. “I don’t think so, Holiness.”
She managed to suppress her growing irritation. “Where is he now?”
“Selkirst said he was staying at a hotel in the tenderloin. Budget Hourly. His men are watching the place. But . . .”
He seemed to hesitate then, so she urged him, “Go on.”
“It’s just . . . he said they questioned the proprietor. To find out if the woman was there, to confirm it. But it was odd, he said. Like the man didn’t even know who was staying there.”
“Given the establishment,” she said dryly, “that’s no great surprise.” But even as she spoke the words, she felt something deep inside herself tighten—something primitive and bestial and very, very hungry. Our prey is a sorcerer, she told herself. And: That makes the hunt more interesting.
She had hunted a human once, in the Black Lands, long before she came north for this assignment. Sometimes she sorely missed those days. The freedom. The exhilaration. The sharp scent of hatred stirring free her rakhene blood. And now the fugitives were here, in Esperanova. Her city. It was a pale shadow of that former hunt, but it was the best she was going to get. Her claws flexed at the thought.
“All right,” she said. “Get your people on it. Have them put the building under watch, twenty-four hours a day. But no move is to be made while the man’s inside, ken verda? It’s vital.”
“I understand,” he said. His expression said that yes, he’d obey, but no, he didn’t really understand.
“We need them both, Kinsei. The woman, too. If we take the man now and she isn’t with him . . .” You can’t break a sorcerer for information, an inner voice warned. Not with claws.
No, she answered. But you can have fun trying. “If she’s not with him, then follow him. Discreetly. I want them both.”
“And if she is?”
“Instruct your men to wait until they’re out in the open. I don’t want any innocent bystanders hurt. Wait for open ground, then strike.”
“You want them taken?”
“I want them killed, Kinsei. I want their bodies brought here. I want to see proof of their death with my own eyes.”
He coughed raggedly. “What if . . . there are others?”
“Besides the priest and the woman?”
“Yeah. What if there’s someone else with them?”
She smiled then, remembering an Earth saying that she had once heard. From one of Earth’s many religious wars.
It had stuck in her mind ever since, a sterling sample of human reasoning.
“Their God will know His own,” she purred. “Let Him sort them out.”
33
They left before sunset. The tides wouldn’t be right for travel until well after dusk—so Moskovan assured them—but Damien wanted to get moving while the daylight crowds were still in the streets. This city might be relatively free of faeborn dangers, but its people generally still kept to a daylight schedule. Human instinct. It would certainly play in their favor now; crowded city streets offered a cover that no mere Working could rival. No matter how well it was worked, an Obscuring was only as effective as the environment allowed. And as Damien’s teachers had never ceased to stress, it was far easier to get yourself lost in the multiple distractions of a crowd than it was to conjure up invisibility when there wasn’t a distraction in sight.
Not that he’d been able to Work much anyway. There had been tremors only an hour ago, barely strong enough to feel—but the fae bad been like wildfire when he’d tried to use it, and he’d had to back off before the job was really perfect. If only they’d had another hour to let the power cool down, to resume its accustomed course . . . but there was no point in complaining about that now. You made do with what you had when you had it, and tried to be grateful for all the times that the fae had been workable when you needed it most.
Tarrant could have Worked it, he thought. But there was still enough light in the sky that Tarrant couldn’t possibly join them yet. God alone knew where he was, or what manner of shelter he currently occupied. Damien found himself praying that the Hunter was safe. Without shame this time, and without regret. Because while they had little chance of success in their mission as things stood right now, they would have no chance at all without the Hunter’s power behind them.
They hurried down the narrow streets, trying to match the pace of the crowd, anxious to get where they were going. The girl struggled along beside them, her hand entwined in Hesseth’s, her face pale and drawn. It said much for her courage that she was doing as well as she was; Damien knew that the sounds and sensations which accosted her were nigh on overwhelming, and that it took all her strength to shut them out and keep going. So far she was doing well enough. Soon they would be out of this crime-ridden district and in a quieter quarter, and perhaps that would help. He hoped so, for her sake. He could almost feel her pain.
Then he heard Hesseth hiss softly beside him, a sound meant for his ears and his ears only. Without breaking stride or looking directly at her, he whispered, “What is it?”
“Footsteps. Behind us. Matching our pace. They’ve been there for a while,” she added.
Damien took a minute to listen. The noise of the crowd about them was chaotic—workers traipsing home for the night, mothers screaming at dawdling children, conversational snippets appearing and disappearing on all sides of them—and he found that his merely human ears couldn’t focus on the one noise he wanted. He braced himself and muttered the key to a Working. Power surged up through his body with such force that he wondered if he might not have taken on more than he could handle, but a moment later it subsided; the earth-fae released by the tremors was quieting down at last.
He made sure that his feet kept moving while he fashioned the Knowing, careful not to break his stride. Such a Working did not require total immersion in the currents, which gave him some hope of managing it. Carefully, gingerly, he touched his will to the surging earth-fae. Barely brushing its surface with his thoughts, but that was enough: the power was like wildfire. He tried to Work it, focusing on sound rather than vision, to detect that one special rhythm which Hesseth had noted. He heard Jenseny gasp as the Working took shape—clearly she could feel it happening—but a hand on her shoulder was enough to warn her to stay quiet. She was learning.