Adept (The Essence Gate War, Book 1) - By Michael Arnquist Page 0,107

had dawned upon Amric as well. “That is no fellow,” he breathed.

Those hands reached up and unwound the strips from about the head, and then swept back the hood of the cloak. Auburn hair tumbled free, and startling green eyes regarded them both from an oval face swollen with a myriad of cuts and abrasions. Amric saw a strange mixture of fear and anger pass through her expression as she looked past them to search the darkness beyond. When frantic gaze returned to the two of them, she sagged with relief and seemed to regain a measure of her confidence. The warrior frowned. It appeared that she had expected someone else, had been in fact braced for another attacker of some kind.

“Well?” she demanded. “Which one of you is going to help a lady to her feet?”

They rejoined the others on the road near the cave.

Amric let out a breath he had not even realized he was holding when he saw the three men astride their horses, with no further sign of the foul black creatures. Halthak held the reins of the quivering black mare, and was speaking soothing words to it in a low tone. As they neared, the huntress slid from her seat behind Amric on the bay gelding and gave a sharp whistle. The mare jerked the reins from the Half-Ork’s hand with a toss of its head, and trotted to her.

“You are developing a way with horses, healer,” Amric said with a laugh, as Halthak gave a rueful shake of the stung hand. “But the horse well knows its mistress.”

He watched as the woman ran her hands over the horse and down each of its legs, checking for serious injuries. Amric noted that she kept her back to Halthak, Valkarr and Bellimar as she did this, and when she swung into the saddle a moment later, she kept her head low and looked out at them from under a tangle of tresses such that her features were almost entirely masked.

Amric cleared his throat. “The lady declined to give her name until we were all together, but she was an unwilling guest of the same black man-like creatures we encountered in the forest. Now, if I may introduce––”

The huntress, however, paid no heed to him whatsoever, and instead circled her horse wide around the group and left the road at a canter. She reached the trail leading up to the cave and dismounted, searching the hillside for something. Syth urged his horse forward after her, but Bellimar held up a hand and shook his head.

“Give her a moment, gentlemen,” he said with a hint of a smile. “Introductions should resume shortly.”

Syth exchanged a puzzled look with Amric, but held his position. For long minutes, the woman clambered over the hillside, thrashing about in the weeds in search of something, casting repeated glances over her shoulder toward the group.

Bellimar rode a few yards away from the others. He had his back to her as he sat relaxed in the saddle, scanning the countryside. At last she returned to her horse with a purposeful stride and rode toward them again. Amric saw that she now held a bow in one hand, and a quiver full of arrows was slung across her back. His eyes narrowed. She was guiding her mare with only her knees, so that both her hands were free. Valkarr nodded at him; he had noticed the same. Amric threw a hard warning look to Syth and then rode forward in a slow, non-threatening walk to meet her. The other men waited, expectant, as she approached. Bellimar guided his horse into a languid turn to face her, the same enigmatic smile playing across his features.

“Madam, I think there may be some misunderstanding––” Amric began.

His words died in midsentence, however, as the huntress suddenly stood tall in her stirrups. She raised the black arrow she had been holding along her thigh, nocked it to her bow, drew back and fired, all in a blinding flicker of practiced motion. Amric muttered a startled oath and jerked to one side, his sword ringing forth. But the shot flew well wide of him, and he realized it was not intended for him at all. He whirled to chart its course and saw Bellimar’s pale hand flash up before his face. Vibrating in his clenched fist, its razor point inches from his left eye, was the black arrow.

Amric’s mouth fell open. The old man had caught the bloody thing in mid-flight, without