The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,96

at the moment too slow to be anything more to her than a burden. He served her and himself best by acting as the distraction for the hunters, focusing their attentions on him so that she might ambush them, one by one.

He built the fire from the kindling they'd gathered earlier, igniting it with the eating knife as his striker against a piece of flint, and bits of the tattered cloth as both char cloth and tinder. The fire provided welcome warmth, but more importantly it gave off light, a flickering, dancing luminescence he had no doubt those camped across the lake could clearly see, even through the battalion of firs covering the island. If things went as they planned, Chamtivos would mark the location of the light, assume his prey were foolish in their desire to stay warm, and head directly for the spot as soon as they landed the boats.

Pain exhausted him, and boredom made him sleepy as he waited alone for dawn to arrive. He was as armed as he could be with knife, sling, and two of the three spears he'd made. Anhuset had taken the third spear and her pair of throwing spikes.

The sling would serve him best, then the spears, and finally the knife. If he was fortunate, he'd kill any hunter who approached long before they got close enough for hand-to-hand combat.

Anhuset was right when she said they'd come at dawn. The sun had barely washed the sky a pale yellow when he heard her signal whistle in the distance. The boats were in sight.

Serovek dropped several stones into a pouch he'd made from the hem of his shirt and took up the sling. He slipped his index finger into the looped end to his knuckle and pinched the knotted end between that finger and his thumb, creating a loop. He'd wait to load the pouch until he spotted his quarry.

Time crawled in the forest's deceptive quiet. Even the birds remained silent, sensing the presence of predators. Only once was the quiet broken by a distant splash of water followed by screams for help and more splashing, then silence once again. For a moment Serovek's breath seized in his lungs and his nostrils until he heard the cries. A male voice, not Anhuset's. Whatever happened to the man who fell into the water, Serovek was certain the hunters now numbered one less.

Were he uneducated in the value of patience in battle, he might have abandoned his spot to seek out his enemies as Anhuset had done instead of letting them come to him. His patience, however, was finally rewarded as was his and Anhuset's planning the previous night. Three shadows, purposeful in their creeping ascent toward the bramble wall, solidified into a trio of men. Two carried swords and spears, the third a bow. Chamtivos's betrayer had warned Anhuset there'd be at least four skilled bowmen in their group. Serovek wondered if the traitor himself was among their number. It didn't matter if he was. A man who sneaked a knife to his opponent because he believed in the fairness of a fight was still an adversary, just a nobler one. To Serovek's way of thinking, Anhuset was his only true ally in this deadly game.

He eased two stones into his free hand, loaded one stone into the sling's pouch. The three hunters didn't hear him, and judging by their actions, they hadn't seen him yet either. The topography worked to his benefit for the moment but not for long. Soon they'd be high enough up the slope to spot him behind the bramble camouflage.

It had been some time since he'd hunted with a sling, but Serovek practiced regularly anyway. One never knew when they might have to fend off a pack of wolves, furred or human.

The rush of battle fever surged through his body, pushing aside the pain of his injuries. He stood, swung the sling overhead in a fast arc and released the knotted end. A soft thunk followed, and the archer fell wordlessly into the underbrush before rolling down the slope to rest against a tree. He didn't rise.

The remaining two hunters barely had time to leap for cover when Serovek hurled the second stone, this time taking down of the spearmen. His companion scuttled through the underbrush back down the slope, making a thrashing racket as he went. Serovek didn't bother taking aim or reaching for one of his spears. The fleeing hunter was too well-hidden and too distant