Evora could tell when she was being hunted.
Her guards couldn’t keep up a fast pace, and still be fully prepared for whatever was out there. Something was toying with them, slowing them.
High Enchantress Evora Guinestor had a fury now, a pent up rage that needed releasing. The trackers now told her they were only a day behind the thief and his captive. She would see him pay.
Joram waited until they were a short distance from the men. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Those wounds — they weren’t made by any beast. It was a man."
"A man?" Evora raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, a man."
"It’s true," one of the bladesingers said. Captain Joram frowned at him. The bladesinger looked away, unperturbed.
"How do you know?"
Joram continued, "It was a sword, or some kind of knife. The slashes were made by an edged weapon, not claws or teeth."
"But the sounds — the snarls, the roars?"
"I don’t know, High Enchantress."
Evora nodded. "You did well by telling me this away from the men. How are they holding up?"
"Fearful, but determined."
She decided she was beginning to like Captain Joram. He may have been thorough and rigorous, but he was also truthful.
"Good. Speed is our ally in this chase, but we mustn’t neglect our defences."
"High Enchantress, let me find this creature," one of the bladesingers said.
"No."
"I could wait..."
"I said no!" she turned the full weight of her glare on the man. He backed down.
Silently, they rejoined the company. Their faces were grim — they knew they were far from home. It was unlikely in this barren land, but if a party of Petryans caught them out here, it would be impossible to explain their presence. They would be considered a war party, and treated as such.
Captain Joram spoke, "Remember men, Raj Petrya are thus far neutral in this conflict, but our presence here is far from welcome. Stay alert. Scouts, I want you to stay in sight at all times. Trackers, always stay between the scouts and the main body. Move out."
The bladesingers stayed close to the High Enchantress as they moved. Every rock was a potential enemy. Every tree could contain a foe. It was tough going, and it wore on everyone’s nerves. The men had been up since before dawn and continued long past the sunset. It was the only way they could keep pace with their light-travelling quarry while still maintaining an effective defensive formation.
All the while, there wasn’t a man who didn’t know the High Enchantress was burning up inside. Calling always for more speed. Longer marches. Her countenance was so fearsome that the men relied on Captain Joram to communicate with her on their behalf.
They ate on the march. The sky was so darkened with clouds that Evora’s glowing timepiece was the only way to know it was midday. The men felt the presence of some unseen evil. The darkening of the sky only echoed the feeling.
Suddenly they stopped. One of the scouts was sprinting down the hillside, yelling as he ran.
"Pull yourself together, man!" Captain Joram said.
The scout came up to them, speaking between gasps. "Sir! I saw it. Gayal, he was on the ridge, some way back from me. One moment he was there, the next he was gone. It was so quick I couldn’t believe my eyes. The blood, it gushed out of his body."
Evora could see the men exchange fearful glances. She wished the scout would be quiet, hold his tongue and give his message elsewhere.
Joram pressed him for more information. "Yes, yes, man. What did you see?"
"It was a shape in white robes of some kind. It walked on two legs — it must have been a man. I thought I saw steel."
They all heard it then, a great snarling sound reverberating from the hills. Even Evora jumped when it was followed a heartbeat later by a piercing shriek.
The bladesinger looked at the High Enchantress, one eyebrow raised. Sighing, she nodded. He loosened the zenblade at his side, a wicked grin on his face.
~
THEY posted half the already-exhausted men as sentries and the other half caught what little sleep they could. The bladesinger had left at dusk, and there wasn’t a man or woman among them who didn’t follow his departure with their eyes, a prayer to the Skylord on their lips.
They lit up every nightlamp and everyone checked their weapons, and then checked them again. These weren’t common Alturan soldiers, these were elite infantry, with enchanted metal armour of overlapping scales and the best single-activation swords the enchanters knew how to make.
Yet whatever was out there had scared battle-hardened men, soldiers who had faced the imperial legion during the Rebellion without a qualm.
Far away they heard a snarling.
"Look!" a man said.
A piercing bright light flared somewhere in the night. Even through trees and other obstructions it still lit half the night sky.
"That’s one of ours," said the High Enchantress. The men looked at her. "It must be the girl. We’re close."