Dem waited until full darkness before shifting and slipping from camp like a fleeting shadow, unseen beneath the clouded sky. The black rat moved west, body low, every sense stretched thin for the slightest disturbance.
More than an hour later, he found the hunters.
Two dozen seasoned veterans made camp, half armed with military crossbows. Near a large circular tent, three figures sat around a table—two of them familiar. Matrea. And Captain Rubai.
Matrea looked pale, almost sickly. "I won't do it. I'm turning in my commission. I want no part of this."
Rubai snorted. "You'll do as you're ordered, or there will be consequences. Not just for you—for your parents."
"Bastard." Matrea's hands tightened on her blades. "Then we let the circle decide."
Rubai laughed. "If you insist. Since you challenged me, I'll name Black Dawn as my representative."
Matrea hissed, the urge to kill her captain nearly overwhelming her.
A nasally voice slipped from the shadows, moving with unsettling grace. "Is there a problem with my payment?"
"No," Rubai said smoothly. "Seems we won't need to kill tribals to draw out the Sentry Commander. He arrived at the same time we did."
Black Dawn's beady eyes reflected nothing but malice and madness. "I was brought here for one man—a tribal who knows Sybasi knife work. I hope he's worth the trip."
Rubai shrugged. "Kill him, and you're paid."
"And my bonus?" Black Dawn's gaze followed Matrea as she stalked away from the fire.
"She'll be waiting in her tent."
Black Dawn's laughter rasped like crows. "Reluctance improves the experience."
Matrea sat on the edge of her bunk, outer clothes stripped away, dressed only for sleep. Sweat glistened on her pale skin. Her bright green eyes held a flicker of despair. She gripped her black daggers without conviction. She was skilled—top tier—but there was a vast gulf between skilled and unbeatable.
The tent flap opened.
"I've decided to fight," she said.
Black Dawn's blades slid into his hands. "Removing your hands will correct that attitude."
Matrea changed her plan mid-breath.
She slashed for her own throat.
Steel flashed.
A blade carved deep across her wrist, her dagger clattering uselessly to the floor as her other arm was seized and twisted.
"Bastard!" For the first time in her life, fear hollowed her chest. "Just kill me. I won't cooperate."
She spat—or tried to. Black Dawn tilted his head, eyes glittering as if he'd anticipated it.
"So dramatic." He slammed the pommel of his dagger into her forehead. Her vision spun.
He caught her as she sagged, lowering her onto the bunk. "See? That wasn't so difficult."
Matrea fought to stay conscious, darkness creeping in. "I've seen you both fight," she whispered. "Without a doubt… he will kill you."
Black Dawn laughed, yanking off his shirt as he straddled her. "I'll tear him out by the roots. No tribal boy could—"
The sentence died.
A blade punched through his throat from behind.
Blood sprayed. His eyes widened in shocked disbelief as he collapsed forward, body shuddering once before going still.
Dem withdrew the knife and hauled the corpse aside, dumping it onto the furred floor.
"We meet again, Hunter Matrea."
Matrea stared at the body, blood streaking her face in a way that did nothing to diminish her beauty. She'd worn a mask most of her life to avoid being targeted. In the end, it hadn't mattered.
Dem touched Black Dawn's corpse and willed it into his storage ring.
"Not going to say anything?"
"T-thank you." Matrea sat up slowly, clutching her injured wrist. "He… he was going to—"
Her composure cracked, just enough to reveal the woman beneath the mask.
Dem sat on the bunk, unhurried. "I caught fragments of conversation. I'd like your version."
Matrea swallowed hard and nodded. "Your name is spreading across the Four Kingdoms. That man—Black Dawn—was considered a peerless blade."
Dem snorted softly but motioned for her to continue.
"Captain Rubai took a contract to remove you. The plan was to kill tribals until you showed up with the Sentry Force."
Dem's expression tightened. "What do you know about us?"
"Can I have something to drink?" Her hands trembled; her mouth was dry. "I'm not stalling. I'll answer everything."
Dem handed her his flask. "Talk while I look at your wrist."
She drank—highberry, not water—then steadied herself. "Not much is clear. Some think you number in the hundreds. Others say far fewer."
Dem cleaned the wound and drew out a curved needle. "Why come after us?"
"The Kingdom of Haral doesn't like the idea of a tribal force roaming freely," Matrea said. She winced as Dem applied medicine and began stitching. "It threatens the balance."
"And the voderbeasts?"
Matrea blinked. "Voderbeasts?"
"There's a herd—twenty thousand—near the Whitehill wintering grounds."
She shook her head slowly. "That wasn't us. At least… not that I know of."
Dem finished the final stitch and wrapped her wrist carefully. "You'll take your people and return to Thaigmaal at first light."
"Captain Rubai won't allow that."
"He won't be coming with you." Dem stood. "You'll raise the alarm in an hour. There will be no sign of him. Or Black Dawn."
He met her gaze. "Do you understand?"
Matrea nodded. "I understand."
After a moment, quieter: "Thank you."
"There are limits."
The voice spoke from the shadows, and Rubai jolted upright. A figure stood between him and his weapons, cloaked in dim firelight and darkness alike—Demetri Swiftwind, Commander of the Sentry Force.
Rubai's jaw tightened before he forced his breath steady. "You're the Sentry Commander?"
Dem nodded, his voice quiet but carrying. "We keep crossing paths. The Gathering. The Rat King's tomb. And now this."
"We're hunters," Rubai said stiffly. "We go where we please. You don't barge into my tent whenever you want."
Dem shrugged. "I can see you'll be a problem if I don't end this now."
Rubai drew a breath—then froze.
His shout for help died as a whisper when Dem's blade slid into his ear.
Rubai stiffened, body locked in place as darkness rushed in.
"Your crime," Dem said calmly, "is selling out your own people to achieve your ends."
There was no remorse in him. He had been betrayed once before—by Grim—back when he'd been nothing more than a street rat.
Dem searched the tent, gathering valuables before consigning Rubai's body to his storage ring. Moments later, a black rat slipped from the hunter camp, unseen, heading west.
Telo poked his head into the command tent at dawn, surprised to find Dem still in bed. "Thought you'd be up already."
Dem dressed quickly, earning a protesting chirr from Nephira, who had been coiled around his arm. The tatzelwurm pounced back onto the bedroll and burrowed into the warm furs.
"Just thinking through the voderbeast problem," Dem said.
"And the hunters," Telo added.
"Them too," Dem replied, following him outside.
The leadership council gathered around the cookfire, breaking fast as they debated options. Dem listened while the odun chiefs offered plans.
In the end, only one held weight.
"We dig trenches," Telo said, rubbing his face. "Across the valley. Six trenches, six feet deep, ten feet wide. Whitehill can field enough hands." He glanced at Dem. "They've already begun evacuating. I'll inform the Clan Chief personally."
"This may be the best we can manage," Dem said. "If the herd breaks into a run, each trench might thin them. With luck, we cull two thousand head."
Rodric nodded. "With bad luck, half that."
"That won't be enough," Tier said quietly. He had returned from Whitehill at dawn and had been pulled into the meeting. "Winter crops are already planted. Some structures can't be moved. How do they survive?"
"By eating voderbeast," Reyka said flatly. "We'll empty our quivers as they run. Two thousand sounds reasonable."
Tier exhaled. "Maybe."
"Does anyone here actually know voderbeasts?" Dem asked. "Beyond 'mean and stupid'?"
Tier nodded. "A clansman, years back. Tried raising calves. Slaughtered them after a year."
Dem laughed once. "Good. Find him and bring him here."
He stood. "Telo—you brief the Clan Chief yourself. Everyone else, grab a shovel. That herd is walking now. Once something spooks them, we're out of time."