The man, sensing his superiority, smiled wickedly.
Never releasing her grip, Danica leaped and rolled right over his shoulder, letting her weight do what her strength could not. They twisted and squirmed, Danica bending her knees to keep her full weight on the hold. The man wisely dropped to the ground, but Danica rolled again, under and to the side, now with her forearm locked tightly under the man's chin.
He gasped futilely for breath, scratched and clawed at Danica's arms, then shoved his own hand into Danica's face, probing for her eyes.
Danica felt the hardness of a stone under her hip and she quickly shifted again, putting the man's head in line. Frantically, brutally, the young monk realigned her grip on the man's hair, leaving the back of his head exposed, and began slamming him down to the stone.
Still, he could not breath; all the world disappeared in a darkening fog.
"He's dead!" Ivan cried, and Danica realized only then that the dwarf had been uttering the words over and over.
Horrified and sorely bruised, the young woman released her grip and rolled away from the man, fighting back her nausea.
"That one'll be gone soon, too," Ivan said calmly, indicating the man slumped against the tree, two daggers protruding from his bloody torso. "Unless we tend his wounds."
The man seemed to hear and looked pleadingly at the three companions.
"We must," Danica, composed again, explained to the dwarves. "I think this one knew my name. There may be a conspiracy here and he" - she pointed to the man against the tree - "can tell us what it is."
Ivan shrugged his agreement and took a step toward the man, who seemed to take some comfort in the fact that his life would be spared. But there came a click from the side, and the man jerked violently a moment later, a crossbow quarrel next to the silver-hilted dagger.
The lone surviving Night Mask, wounded with a crossbow quarrel protruding from his shoulder, crashed through the brush, on the edge of delirium from the searing pain and the loss of blood. One thought dominated his thoughts: he had failed in his mission. But at least he had stopped his cowardly comrade from revealing the greater mission-rule number one to the merciless band.
The man didn't know where to run. Vander would kill him when the firbolg learned that Lady Maupoissant had survived - the man regretted now that he had chosen his one remaining shot to finish the potential informant instead of trying again for Danica. Then he took heart as he reminded himself that even if he had been able to hit Danica, even if he had killed her, the dwarves would have had their informant and the more important plan to eliminate Cad-derly would have been in jeopardy.
Still, the man regretted the decision, all the more when he heard the pursuit. Even wounded and weakened, he was confident that he could outrun the short-legged dwarves. When he looked back over his shoulder, though, he saw the young monk, flying effortlessly through the brush, gaining on him with every sure-footed stride.
The trees and brush opened up to more barren, rocky ground, and the desperate man smiled as he recalled his immediate terrain. He was a Night Mask to the bitter end, loyal and proud. His duty, wicked though it often was, had been his all, a dedication bordering on obsession.
The cruel monk was only a few strides behind him, he knew.
Loyal and proud, he never slowed as he came upon the edge of the hundred-foot cliff, and his scream as he leaped into the air was one of victory, not terror.
What the Shadows Say
ong shadows of the day's last light streaked across the barn's floor and walls. Gray webs glistened across gaps in the rafters, then went dark as the sun slipped farther away. Vander leaned against the wooden wall, glad to be back in his body again, but not so glad to learn what had transpired in the few short hours that Ghost had taken his form.
The fanner's girl was dead, and her end had been most unpleasant.
' Memories of the time he had fled to his homeland, the Spine of the \\brld, when Ghost had caught up to him and taken his body, coursed through Vander's thoughts, forcing the firbolg lower against the wall. For the proud firbolg, the defeat was complete. To Vander's warrior sensibilities, this was the ultimate humiliation. He could accept being defeated in honest battle,