Mask of the Blood Queen by Erik Scott de Bie

Author:Erik Scott de Bie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dragon Moon Press
Published: 2017-02-27T20:35:05+00:00

Thirteen

Snow crunched under leather boots with a sound like grinding glass as the seekers approached, breath steaming low in the winter air and cold steel gleaming.

Behind a petrified log, Regel crouched low amongst the frost-laden brambles and willed his heart to slow and his breath to deepen. Two of them he saw, and one he did not: a man and a woman of powerful build cloaked in boiled leather and furs. The man fairly bristled with daggers of various makes and shapes, a number of them thrust through loops of scarified skin on his powerful arms and legs. The woman carried herself in a strange, loping gait, thanks to limbs too long for her compact body and jointed in two places each, rather than one. She looked mundane until she unfolded one long arm from under her robe, revealing a wicked axe that seemed to float in the vicinity of her body as though held by someone else entirely. Just looking at her made Regel feel uneasy, so he closed his eyes and let his senses expand, negating the need to watch.

He intended to remain hidden as they passed. Preferably they would not find him at all, and then he could continue on his way. But if he had to kill them, he would take down the unseen third first, then pick off the others when they came to investigate their companion’s absence.

A fight would not be to his advantage, based on positioning and his defenses. He had no armor of any kind, and he wielded only a crude sword from one of his slain warders and a pair of stout knives. Old and battered past the point of reliability, the sword held most of its weight toward the tip of the blade, discouraging Regel’s own style, which relied more on finesse and precision than strength. The too-short daggers would make clumsy hand-to-hand weapons and even poorer if thrown. He wondered how the Children of Ruin made do with such inferior arms, which led him to a shuddering fantasy about what a horde of barbarians could accomplish when properly supplied with fine steel and armor.

Destroy what remained of sanity and humanity in the world, no doubt.

After they passed, he waited a ten count, then a twenty count, with no sign of the third seeker. He knew someone was there: someone light of step, favoring oiled leather, and carrying a bow—

The creak of a bowstring alerted him with less than a heartbeat to spare, and Regel tensed to launch himself aside just as an arrow sunk into the log by his face. He caught sight of a lithe figure slinking behind a thick trunk for cover before he could throw a blade. He had no chance to silence her before she loosed a ululating cry that resounded through the icy forest, drawing hunters.

Regel bit his lip, not wasting breath on a curse. He tensed for a leap over the log even as the archer reappeared—just enough to loose another arrow, but neither close nor revealed enough for an effective throw.

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