He had a good idea he was being followed. He knew the Alturans would stop at nothing to get back their Lexicon, and having met the High Enchantress he’d seen a woman who possessed an extraordinary determination. Killian had no wish to get stopped by Evora Guinestor.
He’d prepared his way both into and out of Altura with care. He’d cut across country to make himself even harder to follow, covering his tracks with every skill of forest lore he knew. He’d climbed down the rope and cut it — unless his pursuers could fly that would surely slow them down. The rope bridge across the Sarsen had been more difficult to cut, but he’d wrecked that completely.
It had been much easier when he’d escaped from Halaran. He’d only had to get to the Azure Plains and he was in friendly lands.
He had come clean away then; there hadn’t been the loose end of the girl left behind. Not that she knew anything about him, of course, but a physical description could be enough. He found he still thought about her sometimes, she’d been remarkably pretty — enough to stir him terribly when he’d kissed her.
He’d left the town of Hatlatu with caution. The townsfolk had said there had only been one Alturan, a woman. It had to be the High Enchantress. It was sheer recklessness to walk on the road with an expert enchantress lurking somewhere out of town. With every sense on high alert he’d ducked straight into the forest and shadowed the trail, still heading east.
And then he spotted her.
She’d chosen her position well. It was covered on two sides, and had a magnificent perspective on the road. It was sheer luck that Killian was on the approach that afforded him the opportunity to see her. At first he’d stopped and stared; the figure was so still it could have been part of the cliff, but then he saw it move.
Killian took a deep breath as he crawled under an arch of branches and drew closer to the peak.
If only he had managed keep some essence! He’d cursed that bladesinger time and time again for making him throw away his essence in such a wasteful way. He still had his necklace, all he needed was essence to copy the runes from it onto his body, and he once again could have been invisible.
It was no use worrying about what could have been. He only had his cudgel, but it would be enough.
He climbed slowly, without sound. She hadn’t seem him coming, he knew that much, her attention had been focussed on the road.
He thought about his strategy. He needed to catch her without her apparatus — the green dress, the orbs and knives, and other unknown weapons she undoubtedly carried about her body.
The face was the weak part. He would strike the High Enchantress in the face.
He looked ever so carefully around a corner of the rock.
She was gone.
His heart suddenly hammering he twisted, expecting to feel the scorching heat of an enchanted knife slipping through his ribs.
He looked wildly about, his cudgel out and ready. She was good, he realised. He had thought it all seemed too easy. Wouldn’t she have bladesingers with her? Soldiers, trackers? He cursed himself for a fool for expecting her to be out here by herself, reckless enough to stand on a mountain and announce her presence to the world.
His breath coming fast and shallow, he raced down the bottom of the peak. He kept a sharp eye out for a flash of green, any indication of Alturans or anyone at all. He stopped and listened intently.
He heard a soft splashing sound. The lake!
As silently as he could he crept along the bed of undergrowth and brush. A twig snapped under his feet and he stopped, ears pricked. There was another splash. Sweat dripped from his forehead to drip down his forehead, running into his eyes. He blinked the liquid away and silently continued forward.
Killian looked through the bushes out into the rippling water of the pool. He wondered if what he was seeing was an apparition, mere paces away.
It was a female figure with milk-white skin. Her back was to him. She was in perfect proportion, the slender neck perched on narrow shoulders, her arms busy at some task. She was knee deep in the water. Killian involuntarily caught his breath. She was beautiful. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Her body rose out of the water like some kind of forest spirit. Her thighs were white, the water running down them like beams of light caressing a piece of silk. Her shoulder blades arched down to a narrow waist, then flared out again at the hips. Two perfectly formed buttocks stood proudly, framing a perfect cleft.
She hummed a simple tune to herself, completely oblivious. The scene was so incongruous to what Killian had expected that he kept telling himself to look away — it must be some kind of trap, some trick — but he couldn’t tear his eyes off her.
She turned slightly, washing at her stomach. He could see one of her breasts in profile, small but firm, crowned with a pointed pink nipple.
She turned all the way around. He looked up at her face, this image of beauty.
It was Ella.