In the ravine, a horse whinnied and men shouted. The Hunters were across the creek, the only obstacle left a steep, brush-covered slope. Simon tugged at the hilt of his sword, ensuring it was loose in the sheath. His heart thumped in his chest and every thought felt crisp and clear. The sun was bright. A bird sang. He seemed to be noticing everything at once — when he checked his sword again, his hand was shaking.
They might die in the next moments.
He intended to fight to the end. Running wasn’t an option; other than Tara, he assumed the others wouldn’t be able to keep up. They were soft, not used to the sort of life Simon had always led.
“Ouch,” Avery said after Mark was out of sight, voice startlingly loud in Simon’s ears. He stared in the direction of the approaching Hunt, and noted somewhat absently, “You voted him off the island, Casey.”
“... did that actually work?” Tara asked, then she shook her head in absolute disbelief, while Simon went through a quick mental pre-battle checklist, surveying both himself and his companions.
Simon said, “In case this turns into a fight, Avery, you need to put your hair up so nobody can grab it. Casey, your shoe’s untied. Tara, zip your coat up; that canvas is thick enough to protect against the hellhound and dull blades.”
Casey gave Simon a startled look, then answered Avery’s comment about Mark while hastily propping a foot on a log and fixing his loose laces. “I just didn’t know what else to do. His presence would guarantee that some of us would die. That’s my mojo talking, guys. Fifty-fifty odds on us talking our way out of this without him.” The hunt had been slowed by thick brush as the Hunters navigated their way up out of the ravine, but it was coming fast.
Simon realized he was shifting from foot to foot in nervous anticipation and forced himself to stand calmly as Casey added, “You know, I feel bad for him. I don’t think he has a single friend.”
“He’s hated with good reason!” Tara said, tone rising. She handed Avery something — a hair tie, Simon realized. Her coat was now zipped, and she’d produced a pocketknife from somewhere. “I don’t even have any friends, and I’m much nicer to people than he is.” She unfolded the knife as she spoke, and then held it pinched between her thumb and index finger, as if she intended to use it as a dart.
“That’s ... all true. Except for the friend part. You’ve been adopted by us. Like it or not, you’ve got friends now.” Casey flashed her a quick grin.
She snorted. “I can’t decide if that’s weird or comforting.”
“Why not both?” Avery suggested, as he shoved his long curls into a messy bun. "Weird is good."
They were, Simon recognized, making a very strange attempt at normal chatter in the face of impending battle. It wasn’t how he reacted; he grew deeply focused and coolly efficient when threatened. However, he’d seen it before, often from men unaccustomed to fighting. He made a mental note of their reactions for a future debrief — if they had a future. However, now was not the time to distract untrained fighters with a rebuke.
Now, the Hunt thundered towards them, a dozen horsemen bursting from the trees and in hot pursuit of an ensorcelled hellbeast. Simon noted that Todd brought up the rear, bouncing sloppily around in a saddle and striking his visibly exhausted and limping horse, an enormous bay mare, with a leafy switch. The blood mage was a threat, though likely not a factor in the next few seconds; he was too occupied with keeping his mount between himself and the rocky ground to be spellcasting.
Simon thought they could counter him simply by harassing his horse, too. Tara had alluded to him having Sight, but even that required a certain degree of focus to use. He turned to quickly to tell Tara to turn invisible, to secretly force Todd’s mount to dance about while the others talked — but she was already gone without a trace.
They just hadn’t had time to discuss a plan, between getting rid of Mark and the time wasted with the rest of the groups’ chatter. This was going to be pure chaos if it turned into a fight, and his stomach twisted with ominous forboding. He could hear his own pulse in his ears, and he realized he was clenching his jaw so hard his teeth hurt.
As the Hunt thundered down upon them, Simon realized he knew nearly all of the riders. All of these men were from wealthy merchant or noble families. He’d dined with them on countless occasions and spent many evenings drinking and playing card games.
He clenched his jaw as anger rose. His mind raced ahead with the implications. Mydhali said he’d left the Hunting party a few weeks ago Simon’s time, only to return and find everyone geasbound. That meant they’d initially Hunted him of their own free will. Even if Rishard had ordered it, they could have made a mere token effort and returned empty-handed. He had thought he’d mattered to them at least a little more.
And then he had no more time to think.
The Temple Huntsman, riding ahead of the group, pulled up ten paces away from Simon and called the ensorcelled hellbeast to his side with a sharp whistle. The man’s identity was impossible to determine, since he wore a red mask to conceal his features, but Simon assumed he was either a high-level priest or a Learned Man, given the group he was leading.
Casey dropped a hand firmly onto Simon’s shoulder; the energy swirling around him felt like the static before a lightning strike, and Simon only narrowly avoided flinching. Ordinarily, faced with an inexperienced mage pulling that degree of power, he would have swatted Casey’s touch away and put dozens of paces between them, likely at a run.
Avery stepped up beside Simon on the other side, the iron rod tightly gripped. To Simon’s surprise, mostly because he’d expected the grimalkin wizard to have as much fear of Casey’s dangerous power as he would have of the Hunt, Mydhali loomed behind them all. Simon wondered whether Mydhali had been ordered to defend him, or was the man joining of his own volition?
When he glanced back, Mydhali’s expression gave him no hint. It held no fear, just cool resolve and clear focus.
Tara remained missing. He hoped she wasn’t being foolish.
“That elf is Marked for the Hunt!” the Huntsman called out, as he galloped closer.
Casey’s grip on Simon’s shoulder was solid, and he replied, as the Huntsman pulled his horse to a sliding stop before them, “Simon is bound to me by geas, and I claim him! I need his services, and a geas is laid upon him, binding him to me!”
Simon hoped this would work. It might; the Huntsman was there to ensure the Temple’s laws were upheld. If he were loyal to the Priests rather than Rishard, he might declare the Hunt complete, and they would simply leave.
But his luck was never that good. He flexed his hand, prepared to draw his sword from his sheath.
The Huntsman’s eyes narrowed. “An unfortunate fate for a man brave and canny enough to lead Hunters on a merry chase for half a year. I expected he would die an honorable death, rather than such an ignominious end as to become a geasman.”
“Good eve, Simon.” That was one of the nobles riding behind the Huntsman. He moved forward now, stopping beside the black-garbed leader of the Hunt. Sir Endrah Halvers, second cousin to Yienry, wore the Halvers' brown-and-gold colors as his due.
Simon had known Endrah when they were both small, and they might have become close if Lady Ellia had not intervened. They both had a fierce love of horses, and he had fond memories of time spent together riding ponies at a dead run through autumn-fallow fields. However, when Ellia learned of their nascent friendship, she had promised to have Simon’s favorite pony sold to the mines should he ever speak to Endrah again. Endrah had then been encouraged to associate with Yienry’s sons, who she considered more appropriate playmates. Immediately, Endrah had stopped coming to Halvers Keep after making his dislike for his cousins known.
Now, Endrah leaned on the pommel for a moment, brown eyes studying Simon and the Earth humans. He finally said, “Simon, who are your companions?”
“My name is Casey Osbourne. This is my brother Avery.” Casey stepped forward, introducing himself — a savvy move, Simon thought, since Endrah’s choice to speak to Simon and not Simon’s master was a deliberate slight. “I’m not of your world. Todd Riley forced me through a portal only moments ago, and my friends followed me. However, I would like to thank Todd for creating the opportunity, as we had previously discussed a visit. What Simon tells me about this world is intriguing... I am a businessman.”
Casey’s voice was smooth and confident, and he’d grasped exactly what was needed despite his initial confusion. Simon was impressed by his ability to mix truth with falsehood and seem utterly plausible.
“He is a skilled and wealthy trader.” Simon addressed Endrah, who would be, by far, the most intrigued by the idea of commerce across the veil between worlds. Riestavel’s royal family had a similar arrangement with another world; it was where they got certain spices. “Theirs is a land of little magic, but their science and technology are far beyond—”
“—Hello, Casey.” Todd interrupted the conversation, having finally succeeded in pushing his sweating, trembling, limping mare forward — the horse seemed as wary of the power still crackling around Casey's hands as Simon was. Blood trickled from his shoulder down to his fingers, staining his white robe red, and he held one arm tight to his chest. His jaw was taut with pain. Tara had clearly injured him when she’d thrown the iron rod and rock at him. The Staff was strapped across his back; Simon realized the shaft was metal, and collapsible.
The others bore him no mind, or even smiled as he passed. Simon's trepidation grew. Even those who didn't care about horses would typically put on an act about it if they saw a maltreated animal. Noblemen didn't abuse equines or allow it to happen in their presence; it was considered low-class and crude. But, Todd had been beating the horse with a stick earlier.
Todd’s horse stopped with her legs braced, head hanging down, and muscles twitching. To his horror, Simon belatedly recognized the mare as one of Yienry’s. She was older but much loved, a willing and well-trained animal who Yienry often took on hunts — and, apparently, Hunts. To see her in this state now was devastating, and worse, Simon suspected it was deliberate. The mage would be drawing power from her suffering.
Casey said, “Todd.” It wasn’t a greeting. Casey pronounced his name in the same tone one might say, “Eww,” upon finding dog droppings on one’s shoe.
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Endrah leaned on the pommel of his saddle and said, “How is it you know the blood mage?”
Something very angry sparked in Casey’s brown eyes. He said, “He was a miserable little shithead that I went to school with.”
“A shithead?” Endrah said, likely puzzled by the slang. It wasn’t a word in the Eastland language, though Simon rather liked that turn of phrase and had mentally filed it away for future use.
Casey clarified, “A total pissant. One time, there was this pretty girl who’d told him no about a billion times when he asked her out to Prom, which was pretty much every day. She hated his guts. She agreed to go with me, and he tried to bully me into backing out as her date, ‘cuz he was punishing her for saying no. So I punched him in the nose, and he ran away, which was pretty disappointing because I only got to hit him once.”
Some of the slang made no sense in Eastlander, but Endrah seemed to be getting the gist. He scowled, cementing Simon’s belief that the man was geasbound. This wasn’t going to end well. Casey’s dismissive tone and that story about Todd might have worked to earn Endrah's approval had the men been free. Endrah, notoriously, had a keen sense of fair play and didn’t like bullies.
Todd snorted. “That’s not how I remember it. Sir Endrah, this man is gay — I believe the term I’ve heard you use is an invert. The most eligible young woman in our town was coerced into attending a ball with Casey. I attempted to defend her honor, but he and his lover there—” here, Todd jerked his chin at Avery, “— ganged up on me and beat the crap out of me. I’m lucky to have survived.”
Casey grinned a threatening grin. “Avery’s not my lover, he’s my brother. And, I’ve never needed Avery’s help to pound you into the dirt. Get down off that poor horse and come over here, I’ll be happy to demonstrate that.”
"I'd have to believe the word of Lord Riley," Endrah said, tone firm. "We love him, and he has been nothing but honest with us."
Lord? Simon wondered who had granted the man a lordship? Had he been adopted by one of the noble families, or had the King ennobled him? Sohan was stingy with titles and generally limited them to the occasional knighting. Sir Endrah had earned his title by nearly single-handedly defeating several assassins after the late queen.
The last time Sohan had granted a lordship, it had been for a ninety-two-year-old man who’d served the crown as an officer in the King’s Guard for seventy-five years. It had been given on the man’s deathbed without land or right of succession, and Lord Alevin had died that night with his Lord’s Seal clutched in his hand.
Casey seemed to realize things were amiss, too. Perhaps he'd always known, informed by his Gift. He said, too low for the men on horseback to hear, “When the fighting starts, Simon, can you prioritize taking out the hellbeast? Avery, I want you to watch my back. Mydhali, help Tara with Todd. I’m going to try something.”
“Where’s Tara?” Simon asked, when what he really wanted to say was that he should be the one giving orders. He had experience in this sort of combat; he had a better idea of tactics. He knew these men, and their strengths and weaknesses... Anyone could take out the hellbeast if there was the possibility of a healer — Drel — later to treat the bites, so Simon would have tasked himself with watching Casey’s back. He was the one who had a sword and knew how to use it!
Then, the question of Tara’s location answered itself when Tara exploded out of nowhere to launch herself at the blood mage — and Simon’s frustration flared. They weren’t being tactically smart. She’d gotten closer to him than Simon had ever expected; Todd was definitely distracted. But, with Sohan and Yienry, and presumably every man in this part bound, they couldn’t risk killing the man!
In reaction to her sudden appearance and lunge, Todd yanked savagely on the reins and viciously spurred the horse, and the mare spun away from Tara with her chin to her chest and blood-tinged foam spraying from her mouth. He appeared to be simultaneously trying to kick the horse into a run while clutching at the reins in a terrified panic. The exhausted mount, mouth gaping wide as Todd continued to try to yank her jaw off with the reins, reared in a panic. Instantly, her saddle spun sideways around her body, her bridle came off, and Todd was flung hard to the ground as she shied away and then took off in a ragged gallop.
Simon sucked in an alarmed breath; that was the sort of fall that could very easily kill a man of Todd’s size...
“Your mom,” Casey said in a pleased voice to Simon, “has her useful moments!”
Nadria had, apparently, unbuckled the horse’s tack while they’d been talking.
“We wouldn’t be in this mess if not for her!” Simon shot back.
“Fair enough!” Casey agreed.
Todd was moving, pushing himself up onto his knees, his previously injured arm clutched tight to his chest.
But, before Simon could issue an order to target the Staff that Todd still had slung across his back, the Huntsman unleashed the hellbeast. It charged for Mydhali, but Simon darted in front of it as the geas’s influence compelled him, and he swung a long, low, sweeping blow at its forelegs. That strike severed one leg above the elbow and left the other dangling by a scrap of skin. The hellbeast slammed chest-first into the ground and then shoved itself toward Simon with powerful back legs as he deliberately drew its attention by standing in front of it. Two more hard strikes, and he’d beheaded the creature.
Mydhali bent over, picked the hellbeast’s head up by the back of the skull, and lobbed it like a ball at Endrah. Simon winced as the teeth snapped shut on Endrah’s sword arm, and Endrah screamed in horror. Unless treated by magic or immediate amputation before the rot had time to spread throughout his veins, that would be a deadly wound.
No time to worry about that now, though. He turned his attention to the Hunters. He couldn't see through the thundering mass of horses and riders, but it seemed that while his attention had been diverted by the hellhound, the horsemen had surrounded Tara and Todd.
Mydhali darted past Simon again and then swiftly dodged an attempt by one of the men to spear him with a pike. The pike head went under the grimalkin man’s arm without contact, missing his ribs by a fraction of an inch. He grabbed the shaft with his other hand, yanked it towards himself, then used the butt end to unhorse the young nobleman holding it almost faster than Simon could follow. The man hit the ground hard, and Mydhali sent the horse galloping off with a resounding slap on the animal’s rump.
Simon, at barely eighty pounds, had no hope of duplicating that impressive show of power. He was, however, fast on his feet. He ducked and wove as the men on horseback crashed into each other in a disorganized attempt to spear him. Fortunately, these were not trained soldiers, and their inexperience meant that the fight was unfocused and quickly turning chaotic.
He broke a spear that a man tentatively jabbed at his chest with a sweep of his sword, and the rider dropped the shaft of the weapon as the blow reverberated up the length of the wood. The man grabbed reflexively for it, lost his balance, then his stirrup, and nearly fell, and his horse spooked and bolted while he clung to the beast’s neck and screamed fruitlessly, “Whoa!”
A second man reached for the spooked horse’s reins to try to stop the runaway, fell from his own mount when a third horse crashed into his, and was then trampled. That, Simon thought distantly as he jumped over the spasming body, was a fatal injury. A shod hoof had left a bloody dent where his nose had once been.
Both horses galloped off, with the remaining rider out of the saddle, perilously perched astride the horse’s withers.
In a continuous whirlwind of motion, Mydhali threw the knife at the Huntsman, hitting his hand, then he scooped a rock up off the ground and pitched it with pinpoint accuracy at the man’s other elbow. The crack of breaking bone was audible. The Huntsman lost his reins, then bailed from his saddle rather than be swept away as his horse, no longer under his control, broke into a canter and headed for the trees.
... there was a reason why Simon taught every horse he rode to stop and steer with seat cues, independent of the bit and reins!
Mydhali’s other two knives were already gone. Simon hadn’t even seen him use them.
Now that Mydhali had cleared a path to her, Simon could see Tara — and she had the Soul Staff in one hand, having somehow wrestled it from Todd’s possession. She pinned Todd down with one clawed foot on his throat. Her hands were bloody, and so was his shirt.
“UNDO IT!” Tara screamed at him
“I can’t!” Todd was crying, tears streaming down his face. “I don’t know how without the Staff!”
“Bull fucking shit! You cast the spell; you can undo it!” The claws of her foot were digging into his throat. Rivulets of blood trickled downwards, staining her toes and his skin red.
“They cast it, not me! Don’t kill me!”
Simon also thought the remaining men were hesitating to engage because Tara could kill Todd in a heartbeat. All she would need to do would be to shift her weight and crush Todd's throat. He shouted, “Tara, he’s likely telling the truth! All his spells are crafted through the Staff you’re holding. You’ll need to use it yourself to turn you back. You can do that! If you kill him, everyone he’s bound will die, and you’ll be stuck forever as a monster!”
A shout made everyone look over as Sir Endrah, with the head of a Hellbeast still clamped onto his forearm and riding a different horse than he’d been on a minute ago, thundered towards them. Simon had no idea what had happened to the man’s previous mount, nor whose he was riding now. His perspective on the battle had been entirely limited to what was in front of him, which had mostly been Mydhali being impressively violent.
Tara froze, looking up, eyes widening, just as Endrah rammed the horse into her. She reeled backwards, tripped over a rock, fell, and landed on her ass. However, she never let go of the Staff.
Simon swore viciously under his breath. If she’d taken two steps to the side, she could have used the Staff in her hand to shove Endrah out of the saddle, same as Mydhali had earlier, with another man... they were all such amateurs.
With expert skill, Endrah spun his mount around on its haunches, leaned all the way out of the saddle, grabbed Todd by the arm as Todd sat up, and yanked him to his feet. He straightened back up, kicked a foot out of the stirrup, and shouted at Todd to mount behind him, but Todd ignored that, pulled Tara’s gun out of his waistband, and leveled it at her.
She froze, eyes widening. Todd made a “gimme” gesture with his hand, and the Soul Staff jerked in her grasp. “Hand it over, Fugly, and I won’t put a hole in your head.” He cocked the hammer on the gun. Tara abruptly let go of the Staff, and it zinged into his hand.
Mydhali, fist-sized rock in hand, pulled his arm back, then hesitated. His calculation was likely similar to Simon’s. Kill Todd, and a lot of people would die, including Yienry — and Mydhali himself, because of the geas binding him to Yienry.
“Kill Endrah!” Simon hissed, trusting grimalkin ears to hear what was too soft for humans. If they took out Endrah, Todd would have fewer opportunities for escape and would be more likely to deal.
Myhdali heard and threw the rock, but at that instant, Endrah’s horse shifted aside, and the rock missed the man’s head by an inch.
Todd pulled the trigger on the firearm.
Nothing happened except a . Simon made a mental note to never trust anything Todd said, under any circumstances. Tara had given him the Staff back in exchange for her life, and he’d tried to kill her anyway.
Todd bellowed, "Nadria, damnit!"
Tara snarled, “Nadria, fuck it! Took you long enough!”
Simon presumed that Nadria had tampered with the gun, but not in time for Tara to keep the Staff. She’d absolutely been involved in whatever had happened to Todd’s horse’s tack.
Todd, firearm clutched in his good hand, scrambled towards Endrah while several of the other men held Tara and Mydhali at bay with spears. Tara’s face was a mask of rage, eyes glowing green with magic, sparks dancing around her fingertips. Mydhali looked cool and calculating.
As Simon watched, Tara reached for Power, balling energy around her hand. She was going to do something... the men facing her surged forward, and she retreated backwards, weaving magic in the air between her hands.
Before she could finish her casting, there was a muffled clap of sound. A line of rippling energy swept across the field of battle. Casey shouted something unintelligible. Avery’s voice, louder and pitched to carry, followed, but the words didn’t make sense to Simon. Tara’s summoned power disappeared as if a light switch had been flipped.
“That idiot just cast a hell of a null ring!” Mydhali crowed in delight.
