scanned the area with hands over eyes, some with binoculars or spy glasses. A few began crafting sigils, which was the right idea, even though it wouldn’t do them much good. They fanned out, moving with care, but obviously confused.
One of the Starmark guards had entered the zone with them. She stood with feet planted, gaze lowered, expression thoughtful. An observer.
A battler approached her. “Are you sure there’s a dragon out here?”
“Yes. In striking distance.”
Also the right idea. Trust any Amaranthine’s senses over your own.
Another rookie quietly asked, “How can you tell?”
Which wasn’t as stupid a question as it might sound. Knowing a predator is nearby is a good start, but how you know determines your next step.
But their observer wasn’t on the team. She simply said, “There are boundaries, and he promised to stay within them.”
This was too easy, but these battlers really were Naroo-soh’s choices. They’d catch on. They’d learn, and then Sinder would have to try harder. But he’d impress them this once. Because the thing to remember when tracking a dragon, if there was any chance of anyone surviving the encounter, was that your eyes can deceive you.
When you’re scanning your surroundings, and you’re sure there’s no place where any dragon could possibly hide, you’re wrong. He’s there, and he’s still. He’s listening, and he’s laughing. And he’s almost certainly behind you.
Sinder’s jump-scare tactics didn’t gain him any popularity. After three days, the rookies still couldn’t find him in an open field. By the fourth, they were beginning to suspect they never would. Not without help. By the fifth, they were sure of it. Which was as ready as they’d ever be.
“Bring on the Elderbough,” Sinder drawled, by way of introduction.
The ranks fell silent as their instructor stepped out of the woods.
Sinder eyed them critically. Yes, they were surprised. But by now, they should be desperate enough to take what they could get.
When this group was first selected, Boonmar-fen Elderbough was supposed to have handled their training. But things went south, and Boon was off the grid. It had taken a little convincing, but in the end, Naroo-soh had agreed to send another brother.
“My name is Torloo-dex Elderbough.”
The battlers exchanged glances.
Sinder was pleased to see that the prevailing emotions were confusion and … awe. He was willing to bet that none of them had ever met an Amaranthine this young. Torloo looked twelve.
“Naroo-soh is my brother.” With a soft smile, he said, “Here is his promise. If by midsummer your skills exceed mine, he will come here, and he will run with you.”
Quite the incentive.
Sinder wondered how long it would take these rookies to realize that this kid had been running with Elderbough trackers since always. He was good. As in exceptional. Torloo could be ruthless, which might have been scary if he weren’t so damned cordial about it. Adoona-soh’s baby boy had already put Sinder on his back more than once. He was almost as good at it as Juuyu.
“New goal!” Sinder tossed his hair over his shoulder. “Now that you have an Elderbough to advise you, we’ll make the game harder. Find me before I find you.”
FIVE
Night Maneuvers
As soon as Torloo took over, Sinder stopped talking. Well, he stopped contributing useful information. His little asides were bland or barbed. All part of the plan. These battlers needed a tangible enemy to curse, corner, and confine. Because the real rogue was the worst taunt, the biggest affront, and a true monster on two legs or four.
Twelve years gone, and he was still out there—rending lives and raping girls.
Human agencies didn’t understand why it was taking so long to take this guy down. Every other year or so, they’d sling accusations and demand results. But a heart-to-heart with a few members of the Amaranthine Council, always with Lapis in attendance, sufficed to remind them what they were up against.
What these rookies were up against.
What Sinder could do with a few whispered words.
He tried not to look at them, to meet their gazes, to use their names. Otherwise, their hard eyes and muttered oaths might get to him. And this wasn’t about him. This was a dress rehearsal, and they needed to fully embrace their parts.
Sinder wasn’t thrilled to be the villain’s understudy. Neither was he loving Wardenclave’s rugged, rustic vibe. He was more of a climate-controlled penthouse kind of dragon. Communications and computer code. Social media and slipping onto servers. The team usually relied on him for information extraction, yet they’d shunted him to a place