Blood's Cost (A Jonmarc Vahanian Adventure #5) by Gail Z. Martin

Author:Gail Z. Martin [Martin, Gail Z.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: A Jonmarc Vahanian Adventure
Publisher: DreamSpinner Communications
Published: 2013-07-21T00:00:00+00:00

By the time the sun set, the trap was in place. Jonmarc and Trent had recruited a few trusted friends, men who had proven themselves in a fight and who could be counted on even when those at risk were not mortal.

Dugan, one of the young riggers, was strong, fast on his feet, and quick-witted. Zane, an entertainer, was a professional knife-thrower, a talent that was likely to come in handy. Corbin, the head farrier, was level-headed and could hold his own in a brawl, and Sayer, an apprentice carpenter, came armed with a hastily made wooden bat and enough sharpened stakes for all of the defenders.

Linton was with them, dressed for a fight in a simple dark tunic and trews, and armed with a sword and a long knife. Trent had an iron bar and a wicked-looking machete. Jonmarc wore both his swords and had a short knife in his belt, just in case.

"I hope this works," Jonmarc muttered quietly from where he hid.

"I suspect it will work just fine," Trent replied. "I'm worried about whether or not we can kill them."

The trap was simple, but Hans assured them it would appeal to a hungry vayash moru looking for an easy meal. After the men who tended the caravan's livestock had gone for the night, Linton, Trent, and Jonmarc had returned to the barns. They selected four doomed sheep and took them outside the enclosure, securing a long, slim cord to one of their hind legs. The other ends of the cords were attached to stakes in the ground, giving the sheep the appearance of having wandered away while still keeping them—and hopefully their attackers—in a set area.

Hans, Jessup, and Clark lay buried in shallow graves in the pasture where the sheep grazed. Hans had insisted that the three vayash moru workers be the first to confront the rogues, and warned the others to stay back so that their warm blood and beating hearts did not give them away.

Jonmarc and the others were scattered in teams of two in nearby hiding places, obscured by brush, empty wagons, and debris. Jonmarc fingered a small amulet that hung from a leather cord around his neck.

"Do you think the amulet will work?" he asked, watching as the sun sank lower in the sky.

"Ada said it would," Trent assured him. "At least, until the rogues get real close."

At which point, the fight is on, Jonmarc thought.

Ada, the caravan's lead healer, had puzzled over how to mask the vital signs of the defenders. While a number of herbs and potions could actually mimic death, they also left the user in a motionless sleep, hardly ideal for springing a surprise attack. In the end, Ada had settled for creating amulets for each of the fighters.

"She said it would make us difficult to notice, but not invisible," Jonmarc quibbled. "And she wasn't entirely sure the magic would work on vayash moru."

"Hans said it worked on him," Trent replied.

"I hate amulets," Jonmarc muttered.

The sun disappeared below the horizon, and Trent gestured for silence.

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