Maybe these were that special breed of men who smel ed danger coming.
That changed nothing. He had the requisite skil s.
The boulders were as close as he could get without having to sneak. The range was easy for the longbow—if his target did not move after he revealed himself by standing to draw.
The crossbow would be more difficult to operate but he could take that shot without having to show himself.
The crossbow it would be. Going unseen meant a better chance at a good head start. And he could fal back without having to hurry. There would be time for an ambush.
So. Al choices had been made. Only execution remained.
He slipped away to his hidden camp, assembled his chosen tool, returned to his blind. The wait began.
He could take that for as long as necessary. Al impatience had deserted him long ago.
There was no opportunity that day. The occasional child came out but never the right woman. As night fel he withdrew to his camp. It would not do to begin snoring down there.
He prepared food once he was sure the breeze would push smoke up the slope instead of down. He kil ed the fire as soon as he was done. The air would soon chil and begin to drift back downhil .
He settled to sleep. The ground was not comfortable. He could not drift off. Vaguely, he was aware of the moon rising. A near ful moon.
A mule snorted. It must have heard something. He listened.
The laughter of children tinkled on the edge of hearing, way down the mountain.
Could it be? Withdrawal by night would be even better.
They might never see anything. And they had no dogs.
The moon was his friend. His lover. Connected with the goddess of the hunt somewhere, was it not?
He was excited but he was cautious. He was too old to take anything for granted, too old to be anything but careful. He was stil alive.
A shadow drifting through shadow, he reached and settled into his chosen blind. There were, indeed, children at play below, frisking by the light of lanterns and the moon.
It was someone’s birthday. Not one of the children, although they were harvesting the joy of the day.
He spanned his weapon quietly, rested it atop the shorter of the two boulders. There was no need to crouch or lie prone.
Darkness cloaked al but his face. With his hat pul ed forward that would not be recognized for what it was.
The children raced around a smal , rocky field that might once have been an attempt to create a garden. Their energy kept distracting him.
A woman. There were several choices.
There. That had to be her. No one but Kristen Gjerdrumsdottir would wear her hair in a single fat braid down the center of her back. No one but Kristen Gjerdrumsdottir would have so many children swarm around her, then rush away again.
He took aim careful y, as ever he did. His finger squeezed the trigger.
Someone tapped him on the right shoulder a split instant before the release. He jerked. His aim depressed slightly and drifted right.
His bolt flew.
Never so swift as the sound of his bowstring snapping. The soldier men began to turn while the quarrel was in the air.
That struck the side of a granite post masking the target’s left leg. Sparks flashed. The ricochet smashed through the breastbone of a smal , beautiful dol of a woman.
The archer was in motion already. He did not see the horrified astonishment on the woman’s face.
Blades fil ed the archer’s hands almost magical y. But he found no one behind him.
“Oh, shit. It can’t be.”
He could not muster strength enough to be emphatic.
The thing known as the Unborn hovered over his escape route. The monster infant’s eyes fixed on his. And that was Louis Strass’s last memory for a very long time.
He did understand who had disturbed his aim. Only Old Meddler had longer fingers than the Empire Destroyer.
...
Dahl and two men stormed the mountainside. They found nothing but an abandoned crossbow and, a few yards on, damp pine needles that smel ed of piss.
Below, everyone crowded around Sherilee. Kristen shouted, “Al of you, get away from her! Get the children inside!” She dropped to her knees, lifted the blonde’s head into her lap. “Hang in there, Sherry. Hang in. We’l get that out and you’l be fine. A couple of weeks of rest and you’l be fine.”
It did not occur to her to worry about the sniper, or about Dahl charging into an ambush. Only later would she wonder why the assassin had not taken advantage. That would come after a baffled Dahl wondered aloud why the kil er had abandoned two mules and al his gear when he made his getaway.
Tears dribbled from the corners of Sherilee’s eyes. She husked, “Tel him I’m sorry. I couldn’t… Kristen, I just loved him so much.”
Kristen could barely see through her own tears as the light left Sherilee’s eyes.
Oblivious to the chance of lethal danger, Kristen held her lifelong friend and wept.
This was Kavelin’s fault. No matter who sent the sniper.
Kavelin was the reason. Kavelin was the excuse. She screamed, “Kavelin, you cesspit!”
A hundred angry accusations roared through her mind. She articulated none of them. Her throat was too tight. And even in her mad rage she understood that Kavelin was a geographical entity before it was anything else. An artificial feature, colored on a map. What real y enraged her was the Kavelin that existed in the minds and hearts of tens of thousands of people who had attachments to an emotional entity.
Kristen wept a long time. No one tried to stop her. Dahl and her children did what they could to comfort her.
She smothered herself in sorrow rather than endless rage and a hunger for revenge.
Vaguely, she hoped she was setting an example for her son, who would be king one day.
Chapter Ten:
Lord Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i, just back from a surreptitious visit to the island in the east, was the first Tervola to hear of the violent demise of the last master of Ehelebe, Magden Norath. He did not
shed a tear.
What could it mean?
Initial reports, as always, were confused. Divinations into the past were not instructive. Hours of hard work only left him exhausted and depressed.
The Star Rider was becoming meddlesome again and Norath’s kil er could only be a man who should have died a long time ago, in prison in Lioantung.
He must have escaped during the final showdown with the Deliverer. Old Meddler must have had a hand in that.
Ah, there was the vil ain himself. But…! He was not shaping the plot!
He was just another piece on the board where the blood was flying. Though it was not a critical interest, Shih-ka’i did try to put a tag onto the distracted Star Rider so his movements could be fol owed.
...
Mist passed the blackboard twice without noticing the added characters below Varthlokkur: where are my
