Bloodwalk

Elisandrya had raised her blade high, intent on following Quin into the forest. Her eyes were reddened but the rain had washed away her sorrow, and she felt only the need to act. To this need, she was more than just a willing slave. The razorvines would provide a difficult passage, but her hunter's blade was strong and sharp, accustomed to dealing with obstacles like the Qurth's formidable flora. Before her sword could fall, her stomach lurched and a wave of nausea flowed through her. Her vision, already hindered by the rain and darkness, blurred and became foggy. The nearest trees loomed over her like black giants, shapeless masses that swayed and shook in the thrall of the storm. She stumbled backward, nearly slipping in the loose mud and slick grass. The sounds of the rain and thunder diminished, fading as they were slowly replaced by other noises.

Whispers came at first. The voices that spoke to her from the forest were inhuman, moaning cries and gibberings that froze her arms and legs. Rooted to the spot and trembling, she could not look away from the Qurth as phantom shapes appeared, hundreds of inconstant figures writhing and flailing boneless limbs as they murmured and gurgled. A droning chant could be heard faintly, buzzing behind those tortured figures in a loathsome language of harsh syllables and vile tones.

Their shapes were blindingly fast, frenzied and inconstant, spasms of movement like an u

Terror-filled moments ticked by in her mind as she envisioned hellish creatures on her heels and she pushed harder, slipping in the mud and digging into the wet clay beneath. The hunters in the stables stopped their gaming to stare in shock, wondering what madness had infected this frantic woman. One of the men pulled his cloak on and ran over to question her. She only stared at him as he approached, still pushing on the gate, her eyes pleading, determined. Mere words wouldn't do.

They'd all been living in the same place for days. Though swords and bows had been proclaimed useless in the prophecy, they still waited nearby. Hung within easy reach, full scabbards at the hip, quivers of arrows at the ready, true warriors did not just wait; fortunately, they prepared. Hesitantly, the other hunter stepped closer and leaned a shoulder into the gate. Displacing water and mud that had collected in its path, the gate slammed shut. Without a word, Eli swiftly reached for the winch that would lower the bar and block the entrance.

The other men joined the pair and stood transfixed by the scene, uncertain, glancing at their weapons leaning against the stable wall.

Eli strained at the winch. Rain had soaked the wood, tightening the braces. Heaving deep breaths, she looked over the device at the hunters who watched silently. Meeting their eyes, searching for that warrior's instinct they had attempted to deny themselves since the night of the gathering, Eli spoke, shouting to be heard above the storm. "Help me. It's coming." The first hunter to join her, a solid, barrel-chested man called Zakar, turned to his fellows, pointing to each in turn as he spoke. "You two, help her bar this gate." The younger of the two, called Arek, spoke up. "We ca

Zakar, whose booming voice carried much farther than her own, gladly assisted her. All the while, her eyes never left the forest for long.

She wished Quinsareth could see them. She hoped Sameska watched from her temple. She hoped it would all be enough. A familiar voice shouted from behind her. She and Zakar turned to see Lord Hunter Baertah pushing through the crowd of warriors. Clearly enraged, Baertah growled through clenched teeth at the hunters who cleared a path for him. Eli could not hear what he said, but as the men looked up to her position, she knew this moment was bound to come sooner or later. As their eyes met, Eli smiled slightly and leveled her gaze on the manicured fop of Littlewater. Clenching and unclenching her fists, she descended to meet Baertah on even ground. The crowd of hunters parted as the two neared each other. Lightning split the sky. "Blasphemy!"

Baertah spat the word through the rain. Elisandrya waited calmly, glaring as the lord hunter approached her. She saw no rapier at his belt, no sign that he might be ready to face a true enemy, much less draw weapons in battle. "All of you! Lay down your arms and return to your homes! The high oracle's edict forbids this!" He pointed at Eli with a trembling finger. "And arrest her for inciting a riot!" "No!"

Eli shouted. "Stand and defend your homes or die in them!" No one moved, glancing at the adversaries in turn. Baertah narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, standing nose to nose with Eli, who did not budge. "You would let them die in vain?" "Sameska is mad, lost in delusions," Eli replied in even tones. "I would let them die with honor, defending that which her prophecy would destroy." He stepped back a half pace, staring in disbelief at her words and beckoning with a hand to the hunters behind him, who still had not budged. "Just who do you think you are?" he asked, incredulous. "I am a Hunter of the Hidden Circle. A warrior sworn to live and die in service to Savras and those faithful to him." Her voice lowered to a harsh growl. "Who do you think you are?" Baertah looked over his shoulder, frustrated that no one had yet obeyed his commands. Turning back to Eli, he growled in reply, loud enough for all to hear. "I am the lord hunter!