The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,97

now for a sure hit, and he didn't want to lose either of his spears in the attempt.

The second man he'd hit fell where he stood and didn't slide or roll down the slope as the archer had. Still armed with the sling and carrying one of his spears, Serovek made his way toward the dead spearman instead. “Better than falling down the hill,” he muttered.

He didn't have to worry about fighting or finishing off the second man. His had been a kill-shot. The rock had smashed one side of the man's face, caving in cheekbone and eye socket. The other eye stared sightless at the tree canopy.

Serovek made short work of stripping the corpse of its weaponry to arm himself with a more respectable arsenal: a less primitive spear, short sword, and two knives. He left the body for scavengers and turned his attention to the archer while keeping an ear open for any movement from the distant brush and wishing one of the three had thought to bring a shield.

Senses riding a blade's edge of anticipation at taking a volley of arrows in the gut and chest from a revived archer, he approached more cautiously. Reason told him that were the archer still alive, he would have shot Serovek several times as he stripped the weapons off his dead comrade, but reason wasn't always right and caution had its virtues.

The man was as dead as the other, though far less mangled. The sling stone had struck him in the temple. Serovek had aimed for his head and released the sling just as the archer turned to signal to his companion. His death was instant.

Serovek glanced behind him. His sanctuary looked far away, and any other hunter headed in this direction would know where he was, especially with two bodies sprawled in the brush and one survivor to warn the others not only of his location but that he was far from helpless prey. Still, it was a safer retreat than lingering here.

Once again, he took all available weapons, including the bow and quiver of arrows. Halfway back to the relative safety of the overhang and bramble wall, he suddenly pivoted, pushing his back against a stately conifer with a trunk wider than his shoulders. A thump sounded behind him, and he recognized the noise—an arrow striking the tree on the opposite side. A second archer, and if he wasn't misjudging the rustling behind him, the bowman wasn't alone.

“We should have beat you harder in camp, margrave, and you should have killed Anagan before he could find us and tell your whereabouts.” Chamtivos's voice silenced the emerging birdsong. “You can't hide behind that tree forever, and your sling won't do you any good now.”

The surviving spearman must have crossed paths with his master in his flight and wasted no time in telling him where to find his dead companions and Serovek. “It would take a lot more than the clumsy affections from the runt of a cur bitch's litter to break me, you piece of shit,” he told the warlord in a conversational tone, as if the two were friends discussing their day over a tankard of ale in a tavern.

Another thunk into the tree. Serovek wondered how many arrows the archer planned to waste turning the big conifer into a pin poppet. He glanced out of the corner of one eye, noting the gradual lengthening of a shadow only half a shade darker than all the others, easing toward him from the right.

Chamtivos's voice no longer held its gloating note. “Where's the gray whore?” he said in a guttural tones, the words hardly more than an incoherent snarl.

“Gone.” And with any luck alive and spilling the blood of this bastard's minions across the entire island.

The warlord's voice changed again, taking on a cajoling note. “I'm a reasonable man.”

Serovek snorted and regretted the action instantly as agony shot through his broken nose and into his skull.

“Bryzant paid me a small fortune to get rid of you, but I wager King Rodan would pay an even bigger one to have his valuable margrave returned to him,” Chamtivos said

Serovek might have laughed at so obvious a ploy had he not been reminded of his steward's murderous treachery. He watched the shadow coming closer, one silent step at a time. “I don't wish to indulge in another round of your hospitality while I wait for the king's ransom,” he replied. He turned perpendicular to the tree, bent, and scooped up a handful

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