Hand of the Hunter: Chosen of Nendawen, Book II Read Free

feet. Valsun tried to pull him back down, but Darric shrugged him off and called, “Wizard, behind us, damn you! Now!
Now!”
    From some part of his mind that still held on to reason, Darric heard the wizard laugh—actually
laugh
!—and then the attackers were among them, steel and spears striking at Darric’s company. Swinging his club in a wide arc, Mandan shattered two spears and one skull—and after that none would come near him. The rest of the Damarans struck backwhen they could, for most had not yet seen the horror that walked among them.
    Another flash, and a spear of light shot over Darric’s right shoulder—he actually felt the heat of its passing, even through all the layers of his clothes—then it struck the thing advancing on them. The bolt struck it square in the chest. Clothes and flesh and bone burned away like parchment in fire, but still the thing came on, its eyes fixed on Darric.
    Three more steps …
    Darric brought his blade around. A clumsy blow. One Valsun would have berated him for. No grace. No thought for counterstrike. No balance. Just raw force behind sharp steel. Darric knew if he missed he’d find himself flat on his back, staring at the sky.
    His sword hit the thing where its shoulder met its neck. A bit of skin and soft flesh covering a thick net of muscle over bone. Darric’s blade cut through them all, sending a shock up both his arms, even rattling his teeth.
    His eyes locked on the thing’s face, saw the lips peel back. Not in pain. It was pure, gleeful malice. Even with a yard of steel lodged in its neck, its left fist shot out, striking Darric’s double-handed grip on the sword. It felt like a smith’s hammer hitting him, breaking Darric’s grip. Darric fell forward, rolling into his foe.
    It was like hitting a wall. And then Darric was in the thing’s grip, being pulled upward. The thing’s eyes narrowed to slits, which made their inner fire seem all the more intense. Its hands were iron strong. They squeezed Darric’s arms into his ribs and kept squeezing. Darric screamed and kicked at its shins and knees, then drove his knee into the crotch. His captor didn’t even flinch.
    The thing gave Darric a quick shake, back and forth just once, but with enough force that Darric’s teeth clamped shut over his tongue, and he tasted blood. He stopped struggling and looked up, afraid that one more shake like that would break his neck.
    The thing opened its mouth and inhaled, taking in a deep draft of air, tasting it. A shiver passed through the thing’s entire body—so strong that Darric felt it in his bones, so sudden and fierce that the thing’s skin actually rippled. It was like watching a cocoon in the final moments before the moth tore through.
    The thing looked down at the yard of steel imbedded in its shoulder. Not with pain or concern. Just an odd sort of curiosity. It released Darric’s left shoulder and grabbed its neck.
    “Be still, little mouse,” it said, and again the fetid breath washed over Darric, so strong that it made his eyes water. “Be still or I snap your neck. It’s better … so much better if you’re still alive for me.”
    Still alive? Darric’s mind seized at the words. For what?
    The thing released his other arm and used the free hand to wrench the sword out of its shoulder. Darric hard the snap of steel working its way through shattered bone, and heard the sucking sound of the skin and muscle clinging to the sword, but there was no surge of blood when the weapon broke free. It was as if no heart beat in the thing’s chest. It was only then that Darric’s mind seized on the obvious—
    Call for help, you fool! But he could hear the clash of steel on steel, and from somewhere that seemed all too far away the sound of Valsun shouting, “Help him! Damn you! Help—!” And then more steel and screams.
    The thing lowered Darric until his knees rested on the ground, then it planted the point of Darric’s own sword against his