raising her bow, eyes focused on something below. Following her gaze, he could see only the shadowed angles of the barracks roof. The tower was loud with alarm now, the shouts of the North Guard punctuated by the excited yapping of the hounds. Many torches had been lit and cast a shifting flicker of shadow that only made it harder to discern the object of Ellese’s interest. Then he saw it, a small shape crouched near the western edge of the barracks roof, as still as any statue but undoubtedly the form of a man. The barracks lay within the walls of the keep, but the gap between the roof and the outer battlement was an easy jump even for a man without Dark-born speed.
“I need him alive,” Vaelin told Ellese as she drew the bow.
He heard the mirthful anticipation in her voice as the arrow’s fletching brushed her cheek. “So do I.”
The shadow moved the same instant she loosed, becoming a blur in the flickering torchlight. Ellese let out a curse as her arrow careened off the roof tiles and spun away. She immediately nocked and drew again, body moving with a speed and skill that could match the best archers Vaelin had seen. The shadow, moving faster than any man ever could, streaked across the apex of the roof and leapt just as Ellese’s bow thrummed once more. Vaelin saw the shadow twist as the shaft struck home, the blurring form seeming to slow in midair as it tumbled, colliding with the outer battlement of the keep before plummeting to the ground beyond.
Vaelin jumped up onto the battlement, resisting the impulse to leap down onto the barracks roof, knowing all he would accomplish would be two shattered legs. Instead, he cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed to the North Guard in the courtyard. “Get the hounds through the gate! Make sure they don’t kill him!”
He turned and leapt down from the battlement, descending the stairwell and emerging into the courtyard in a sprint, with Ellese and the others close behind. He ran through the gate, following the barking cacophony of the hounds until he caught sight of the pack. They were all Renfaelin hunting dogs, each standing three feet tall at the shoulder with long snouts and strong jaws. The pack whirled in a cluster about a blurred, thrashing shape. Dogs repeatedly darted forward in an attempt to bite their quarry, without apparent success. Vaelin saw three cast away by the blurred shape, the hounds tumbling through the air and coming to rest several yards distant with a pained whimper. But the pack was fifty strong and tireless.
As he drew closer Vaelin noticed how the shape became less blurred, resolving into a man. It blurred a few more times, casting another brace of dogs into the air, but came to a sudden halt as four hounds leapt in to clamp their jaws on its limbs.
“Easy now,” Sergeant Jolna called out as the pack closed in for the kill, the man in the centre of the pack jerking in pain as ever more teeth sank into his flesh. Jolna had held the position of Master of Hounds for many years, rearing all of these dogs since birth. They shrank from him as he waded amongst them with his cane whipping the air. The enraged snarls of the pack slowly descended into growls, though those holding the man continued to do so.
“Sorry, my lord,” Jolna said as Vaelin halted nearby. “Their blood’s truly up tonight. Not often they get to hunt all together like this.”
“And fine work they did, Sergeant,” Vaelin told him. He fixed his gaze on the assassin, the hounds parting as he moved closer. The broken stub of Ellese’s arrow jutted from the man’s shoulder, and a heavily stained bandage was wrapped around his thigh. He shuddered in suppressed pain as he raised his face, Vaelin finding it masked in a thick sheen of blood. He noted it was thickest around the eyes and nose, a clear sign of prolonged use of a gift. Despite the blood, Vaelin could make out the scar on the man’s forehead.
“Brother . . .” the assassin gasped, grimacing in pain before offering Vaelin a broad grin, his teeth gleaming red and white in the gloom. “It’s been far too long.” His eyes flicked to Ellese as she came to a halt at the edge of the pack. Despite the recent exertion her face was bleached of colour and devoid