a mount, so try not to terrify their horses so badly they run away,” she told him. Especially the horse that carried two small barrels. “Most of the supplies will be this woman’s. But if you protect her well, any meat will be yours. So go into the trees with her and hide. Only come out when I call you.”
After rubbing his head against her shoulder, Caeb prowled into the foliage.
The fisherwoman watched with wide eyes, for that was not likely something she’d seen before in her travels. “He understands you?”
“He does,” Lizzan said. But understanding was not the same as listening—or obeying. “But he is a cat. So he’ll still do exactly as he pleases.”
She glanced across the river. The bandits had reached the ferry. No doubt they were looking back at her, thinking how swift and easy this would be.
They had best pray that it would be over quickly. Because Caeb only did what he pleased . . . and it only pleased Caeb to hide when hiding was prelude to stalking his prey.
Or playing with it.
CHAPTER 8
AERAX
A single body lay on the road ahead.
Aerax slowed his mount, heart thundering. But the corpse was not Lizzan’s. Instead it was a man, his body mauled by bite wounds and long ragged claw marks.
Behind him, Seri sucked in a breath. “Caeb did that?”
“He did.” Though the long-toothed cat had not done all of it. The evidence left in the tracks told Aerax that the man had been running down the road when Caeb caught up to him. Then the cat had played with him. But the footprints that overlaid the man’s and Caeb’s—and the slice across the man’s neck—told him that Lizzan finished him before Caeb was done.
“Your cat will attack humans?” Kelir frowned at him.
“Only with permission.”
“Who gave him permission?”
Without answering, Aerax urged his horse forward. More bodies were sprawled at the end of the road. Five men, killed by crossbow and sword. On a limestone dock, Caeb lay facing the water. Near to him sat a dark-haired woman, her hair too coppery to be Lizzan’s.
That the woman sat so close to Caeb without fear said Lizzan had made a friend of her. She appeared to be unarmed—and unharmed—as she turned to watch their approach. Held in place by its tether, the ferry drifted slightly from side to side in the current, as if not properly tied to the dock’s mooring post. Horses waited on the boat, bridles still secured to the livestock lines.
Aerax dismounted near the first corpse, giving Seri his reins. Tyzen drew up his mount beside them, followed by Ardyl and Kelir.
“These men must have been attacked immediately upon reaching this side,” Tyzen said, “because the horses are still aboard.”
So they were. But the horses had been led off the boat . . . and then were loaded onto it again. Perhaps by the woman waiting there now.
“Were they set upon by bandits?” the big Parsathean warrior asked, face grim.
“No,” Aerax said, and crouched to examine the man’s body. Four crossbow bolts jutted from his chest. His purse strings were newly cut, leaving only bits of leather string still attached to his belt. “These men were the bandits.”
Ardyl huffed out a laugh. “These men? You are certain?”
Nodding, Aerax scanned the road. “This one approached her while the others unloaded the ferry.” Perhaps appearing amiable, because she’d allowed him close. But the scuffle of prints told Aerax the man had not remained amiable. Jaw hard, he continued, “Then she used him as a shield when the others loosed their crossbows at her. The remainder were killed by her sword, except for the one who ran.”
Silver glittered as Ardyl’s brows rose and she glanced toward the woman at the dock. “Her?”
Aerax shook his head. “Another woman was here.”
“Where is she now?”
So close. Lizzan must be, though he could not see where she’d gone.
From atop his horse, Seri said, “That boat is floating away.”
Aerax pivoted back in that direction. Not floating away. But being steered away—as if someone concealed on the ferry had lowered the rudder.
Not just someone.
Aerax sprinted for the dock. Too late. She had already gotten so far that he couldn’t make the jump. With a curse, he stopped at the dock’s edge, gaze searching the crowded boat. Joy burst through him at the sight of her.
Ah, but Lizzan was not hiding now. Rising from the deck, she stood at the pilot’s box, hand on the rudder. Not hiding. But still running.