Kirvahni appeared.
The Dalvahni and the Kirvahni were created by Kehvahn to hunt the djegrali. There any similarity ended. The Dal had their Great Hall, the Kir their Temple of Calm. The Dal were ferocious, relentless battle machines, unflagging in their fervor to seek out and destroy the enemy. They wielded sword, mace, and axe with equal skill and zeal.
The Kir were death in female form. They favored the short sword, bow and arrow, throwing stars, and knives.
Especially knives; the Kir were stealth itself and very, very good with knives. Their eyesight was keen, their aim deadly.
They were also meticulous, exacting, supercilious, and exasperating. Why Kehvahn had brought them into existence was a mystery.
Tall, lean, and strong of form, the Kirvahni wore her ruby red hair in a loose plait that hung below her waist. She was clad in brown doeskin breeches, a sleeveless tunic of the same, and boots. In one hand she carried a short sword. It was not her only weapon; of that Grim was certain. The Kir were fierce warriors, and this one appeared to be no exception. The ruthless intelligence in her hard gray eyes made Grim uneasy.
“What are you doing, warrior?” She spoke in the local language, her tone cool and superior.
“Putting out a fire.” Grim kicked himself for being unable to think of a cleverer retort.
“You are doing it wrong. Would you care for assistance?”
Grim sighed. Add critical to the list of things he disliked about the Kirvahni. The Kir exuded disdain. He’d like her to go away. Given the way his day had begun, he doubted fortune would favor him.
He stepped aside and waved his hand at the spreading wildfire. “By all means, instruct me.”
She made short work of it, dousing the fire with scrupulous efficiency. To her credit, she made no further comment once the job was done.
“You have my thanks,” Grim said. “What is your name, huntress?”
His politeness seemed to surprise her.
“Taryn. And yours?”
“I am called Grimford.”
She inclined her proud head. “Well met, Grimford. There is good sport here?”
“I tracked one of the djegrali here yestermorn.”
His statement startled him. It had been but the span of a few hours since his arrival. Yet the past hundred years were but a blur while the events of the day before were etched upon his mind.
Vivid and unforgettable, like Sassy.
Sassy—dear gods, what mischief had she gotten into while he tarried in the woods?
“I must go.” Grim gave the Kir his back. “I bid you good hunting.”
“Hold. I sense others of your kind nearby. What are their numbers?”
The question astonished Grim. He turned to face her once more. “Since when does the leopard question the wolf?”
“Since the leopard pulled the wolf’s tail from the fire.”
How like a Kir to taunt him with his mistake.
“The captain of my ‘kind’ is here.” Grim’s tone was curt. “Direct your inquiries to him.”
“Such is mine intention.” She looked him up and down, her sharp gaze taking in his modern garb. “You arrived here yestermorn? You acclimate quickly.”
There was a hint of steel in her fluid voice . . . and suspicion.
“A warrior must be prepared.” Grim bowed. “Farewell.”
Grim strode off. Instinct more than sound told him she had followed. The Kir were sure-footed and silent as elves.
He whirled about to find her at his heels.
“Is there something else you require?” His patience was wearing thin. Sassy was unattended, an alarming state of affairs. The woman could unhinge the sun from its celestial moorings whilst he wrestled with this Kirvahni thorn.
“I would know where you are going.”
“To rescue a damsel from a tree.”
“They grow on trees hereabouts?”
A crop of Sassys? Perish the thought.
“No, by Kehv, they do not,” Grim said. “For which I am supremely thankful.”
“You blaspheme.” The Kirvahni looked down her nose at him.
“Kehvahn should smite you for your insolence.”
“Perhaps he finds it a refreshing change from the Kir’s ceaseless caterwauling.”
“We do not caterwaul. We lift his name in song.”
“Is that what you call it? I could have sworn someone was boiling a clutter of cats.”
Her lips tightened. “You are trying to goad me. A waste of time. Escort me to your captain. I would have his counsel.”
“Find him yourself.”
Taryn shrugged. “Easy enough. The Dalvahni leave a trail a blind man could follow.”
“If your strategy is to persuade me with flattery, huntress, you fail.”
“My strategy, sirrah, is mine own affair. Will you take me to your captain?”
He considered the alternatives. He could allow this haughty female to find Conall on her own and cause, no doubt, a great deal