In the Realm of the Wolf Read Free Page B

Dakeyras hunted it down. Amazing! He used a small crossbow. Taric saw it. The bear charged him, and he just stood there; then, right at the last moment, as the bear reared up before him, he put two bolts up through its open mouth and into the brain. Taric says he’s never seen the like. Cold as ice.”
    Kreeg found Taric, a slim blond hostler, working at the earl’s stables.
    “We tracked the beast for three days,” he said, sitting back on a bale of hay and drinking deeply from the leather-bound flask of brandy Kreeg offered him. “Never saw him break a sweat—and he’s not a young man. And when the bear reared up, he just leveled the bow and loosed. Incredible! There’s no fear in the man.”
    “Why were you with him?”
    Taric smiled. “I was trying to pay court to Miriel, but I got nowhere. Shy, you know. I gave up in the end. And he’s a strange one. Not sure I’d want him for a father-in-law. Spends most of his time by his wife’s grave.”
    Kreeg’s spirits soared anew. That was what he had been hoping for. Hunting a man through a forest was chancy at best. Knowing his victim’s habits made the task slightly less hazardous, but to find out that there was one place the victim always visited … that was a gift from the gods. And a graveside, at that. Waylander’s mind would be occupied, full of sorrow, perhaps, and fond memories.
    So it had proved. Kreeg, following Taric’s directions, had located the waterfall soon after dawn that morning and had found a hiding place that overlooked the headstone. Now all that was left was the killing shot. Kreeg’s gaze flickered to the ebony crossbow still lying on the grass beside the grave.
    Ten thousand in gold!
He licked his thin lips and carefully wiped his sweating palm on the leaf-green tunic he wore.
    The tall man walked back to the pool, collecting more water, then crossed to the farthest rosebushes, crouching once more by the roots. Kreeg switched his gaze to the headstone. Forty feet away. At that distance the barbed bolt would punch through Waylander’s back, ripping through the lungs and exiting through the chest. Even if he missed the heart, his victim would die within minutes, choking on his own blood.
    Kreeg was anxious for the kill to be over, and his eyes sought out the tall man.
    He was not in sight.
    Kreeg blinked. The clearing was empty.
    “You missed your chance,” came a cold voice.
    Kreeg swung, trying to bring the crossbow to bear. He had one glimpse of his victim, arm raised, something shining in his hand. The arm swept down. It was as if a bolt of pure sunlight had exploded within Kreeg’s skull. There was no pain, no other sensation. He felt the crossbow slipping from his hands and the world spinning.
    His last thought was about luck.
    It had not changed at all.
    Waylander knelt by the body and lifted the ornate crossbow the man had held. The shoulder stock of ebony had been expertly crafted and embossed with swirling gold. The bow itself was of steel, most likely Ventrian, for its finish was silky smooth and there was not a blemish to be seen. Putting aside the weapon, he returned his scrutiny to the corpse. The man was lean and tough, his face hard, the chin square, the mouth thin. Waylander was sure he had never seen him before. Leaning forward, he dragged his knife clear of the man’s eye socket, wiping the blade across the grass. Drying the knife against the dead man’s tunic, he slipped it once more into the black leather sheath strapped to his left forearm.
    A swift search of the man’s clothing revealed nothing save four copper coins and a hidden knife hanging from a thong at his throat. Taking hold of the leaf-green tunic, Waylander hauled the corpse upright, hoisting the body over his right shoulder. Foxes and wolves would fight over the remains, and he wanted no such squabbles near Danyal’s grave.
    Slowly he made his way to the second waterfall, hurling the body out over the rim and watching it plummet to the rushing