Hand of the Hunter

CHAPTER SEVEN

Jatara could feel the party approaching. She'd been trained to hunt since she was nine years old, and she had long since developed a hunter's mindset of being in tune to the world around her, aware of the sounds and silences, the paths of local predators, the scents on the wind. But this was something more. Something new. She could sense them, like an itch on the front of her brain. Given their location and the sheer number approaching, it was most likely hobgoblins.

She knew her own party was outnumbered. She had left Highwatch with ten men and two women. None of them Nar. Even the Creel would not go into the deep mountains without being whipped the entire way, and this was not a task where Jatara could afford to be distracted by her own lackeys. And so Argalath had given her mercenaries-Damaran outlaws mostly, though the women and two of the men claimed to be exiles out of Kront. They had been part of the group of swords hired to help in the taking of Highwatch. Argalath had confided to Jatara that it would not displease him if they did not return.

Including herself, her party numbered thirteen, and Jatara knew she could probably count on at least four of her company to turn cloak if things went bad. As for the eight Damarans… well, that would depend entirely on who was coming. But really, it didn't matter. When it came down to it, Jatara could only depend on herself.

Jatara and her company had been following Kadrigul and the girl's trail for almost two days. Jatara could sense both. The trail had led them into the upper foothills of the Giantspires where the woods thickened and they had to ride single file. Jatara took the lead.

She looked around. If the trees grew much thicker, they'd soon be forced to dismount and lead their horses. Not exactly the best place for swordplay. But it also meant that archers would have to come in close, making a true ambush difficult.

They were close. Perhaps watching Jatara and her party right then.

Jatara dismounted and drew her sword from where it hung against her hip.

The next rider nearest her, one of the women from Kront, reined in her own horse and said, "Problem?"

"We're about to have company," said Jatara, and she stepped away from her horse.

"Orders?" called out one of the Damarans. Half of them had dismounted and drawn weapons, but the others remained in their saddles, reins in one hand, weapons in the other. Their mounts whickered and tossed their heads, some of them fighting their reins. The horses could sense those approaching, probably had picked up the scent. It wouldn't be long.

Jatara's horse tried to turn. Seeing the way blocked, it trotted off down the path, and she let it go. She scanned the thick brush on the upper slope. Most of the hobgoblins were coming from that direction. A few were flanking them already, but most would come from uphill.

From up the path where her mount had fled came the scream of a horse. It ended abruptly, cut off.

"Orders?" the Damaran called again, a note of desperation in his voice.

"Try to stay alive," said Jatara. "And stay out of my way."

The slight breeze that had been rattling the branches all morning gusted, and in the same instant Jatara smelled the things coming, she saw the first of them. The smell was a musty animal reek, mingled with the oil of steel and leather. The sight matched. The creature moved with the combination of the graceful stealth of a warrior and the lumbering gait of a bear.

The thing inside Jatara lurched. A thrum filled her head, and for a moment the world blurred around her. In between one heartbeat and the next, she felt her consciousness slipping. She clenched her jaw and forced it back.

"No!" she said.

"No what?" said the woman near her.

The look Jatara turned on her made the woman gasp and take a step back. For a fleeting moment, Jatara could see the blood pulsing beneath the woman's skin, could hear the beat of her heart and her breath rasping through her constricted throat, could smell the woman's fear. The thing inside Jatara surged, eager, and again Jatara pushed it down.

"Damn and double damn," she heard one of the men say.

More of the things were in sight. Jatara's instinct had been correct. Hobgoblins. Fiercer and more cunning than their smaller cousins. They stopped just past the nearest trees. Man-sized, every one of them walking on two legs, but there the resemblance ended. In the gaps of their tarnished armor, Jatara saw unwashed skin the color of bad ale, and thick hair that bristled more like a beast than a man. Sharp ears stuck out from their helmets, and brown and yellow teeth protruded from their lips. Their narrow eyes had an unhealthy yellow cast. Their armor was simple, unadorned, and crude at best, but the thick blades and short spears they carried looked well made-some of them even new. Jatara had heard rumors for years that Yarin Frostmantle had been supplying the goblins of the Giantspires with weapons in hopes of keeping the lords of Highwatch from gaining too much power. From where she stood, Jatara counted two dozen, but she knew more were keeping under cover.

"What do we do?" one of the men from Kront said, and when Jatara didn't answer, he added, "My lady, what-?"

His horse reared, and he had to fight to keep it from bolting through the line.

"Off the horses," said one of the hobgoblins in Damaran. "Weapons on the ground and you can walk out of here. We just want the horses."

To their credit, every member of her party looked to Jatara.

"Won't ask again," said the hobgoblin.

"My lady?" said the man again, and when she still didn't answer. "Jatara?"

She spared the man a glance then returned her attention to the hobgoblins. It hit her then. The sight was unnerving enough-seeing every wrinkle in their skin, every bit of tarnish in their armor or crack in their leather harnesses. The stench was worse. But then all of a sudden she could taste them. And not just the hobgoblins. The men. The women. Even the horses. The taste of them filled her mouth. Her stomach rumbled.

"They'll never let us out alive," said the woman from Kront. "Back the way we came?"

"Jatara?" said the man.

Jatara spat, trying to dislodge the taste, to convince herself that the hunger rumbling in her belly didn't feel so… good.

Forget her!" said the same man.

And then it all happened at once. Those of her company still in their saddles turned their horses and kicked them into a gallop. The hobgoblins let out a roar and charged.

Later, Jatara could not remember the specifics of the following moments. She remembered screaming. Especially the screaming of the horses. For some reason, they stuck in her mind more than the screams of her dying companions. In her dreams that night, she could almost hear words in the horses' screams. They conveyed a meaning baser than language. More primal-confusion, excitement, and above all, terror. And because they were more primal, they hit her all the stronger.

The smell was almost overwhelming. The reek of blood. Sweat. Marrow spilling from shattered bone. Bowels loosening in death. The entrails of men and beasts. The cold, oily scent of steel.

The thing inside her overwhelmed all control, taking over, and later Jatara knew that she had killed. Had killed many. Had even struck at one of her own companions in her berserk state of mind. But in the end, just when she might have struck down those coming for her, the presenceDid not leave. Did not forsake her. It simply… let go, the power draining from her, leaving her empty. Her blade, dripping blood, fell from strengthless fingers, and her knees hit the ground beside it. The world hummed. Her vision trembled as if she were seeing the reflection of the world in a pool, and someone had just tossed in a stone.

She heard a shriek, cut off abruptly by the sound of steel through flesh and bone. Jatara could actually feel the new warmth in the air. So much life spilled. Wasted, wafting away…

She saw the leather boots of the hobgoblin stop before her. Felt the slight tremble of his tread in the ground. Heard the leather-and-iron creak of his armor. Smelled his sweat and the blood dripping from his blade. Heard" We really did only want the horses, you stupid bitch."

Then he brought the heavy iron of his blade down into the flesh between her shoulder and neck.

There was no pain. But in the darkness that overwhelmed her, she could still feel that new presence inside her. And it was laughing.