The Borderkind

CHAPTER 10

H alliwell sat on a fallen tree, catching his breath. His right hand moved inquisitively over the bark and the jagged tips of several broken branches and he wondered what had taken the tree down. He would have thought a storm responsible, but there was a section of the trunk where the bark had been stripped off and deep gouges cut in the wood, as if from horns or something equally deadly. In this place, it might be anything.

He hoped that whatever had knocked down the tree was long gone.

Julianna had continued on sixty or seventy yards in the general direction of what Kara called the Orient Road. He was both embarrassed and grateful for her courtesy. They’d stopped to let him rest. His legs burned from all the walking they had done in the past two days. Halliwell often thought of himself as an old man. The truth was that he was in decent shape for his age; no old man was going to make this journey and not drop dead of a heart attack by now.

But he felt older than ever.

Kara had none of Julianna’s courtesy. The little girl hung from the low branch of a tree just across from the fallen one and studied Halliwell with open curiosity and a bit of disdain. The detective-could he even think of himself as a detective in this place?-forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly and he stretched his legs, ignoring the twinging protests of his thighs and calves. His feet didn’t hurt, so that was a plus. But he suspected that they would, and soon. How far he would be able to go after that, he did not know.

Halliwell returned Kara’s stare, but she was unfazed by his attention. The girl swung on the branch and studied him, head tilted just to one side, like a faithful dog. He was reminded of a mental patient he had tried to interview once in an asylum in Bangor.

“How old are you?” Halliwell asked.

Kara dropped to the ground, dry grass crunching underfoot. She did a pirouette, amusing herself as children do. “I’m not really sure. How old are you?”

He hesitated a moment, on the verge of answering. Then, reluctantly, he picked himself up from the fallen tree, wishing he could sit there all day but knowing they had to move on. He brushed off the seat of his pants and shot the girl a smile.

“Young enough to make this trip but old enough to wish I was anywhere else.”

Kara’s dark, lustrous features expanded into a glorious smile. “You’re a clever man, Mister Halliwell.”

“And I’m beginning to think you’re quite a clever girl.”

Halliwell studied her more closely. Something in her eyes made him uneasy, and that megawatt smile did not help at all. Thus far she had proven herself a knowledgeable and skilled guide…or at least she seemed to be; they wouldn’t know for sure how good she was until she led them to Oliver. But Halliwell felt wary around her and caught himself glancing at her almost constantly. Whoever and whatever she was, it seemed obvious to him that Kara was not quite human.

Get used to it, he told himself. You’re going to run into a lot of that here.

But that did not mean he had to like it.

Here. He hated even thinking of here and there. It brought back the panic that churned within him. His nerves were frayed, and sometimes his hands shook. He tried to control it as best he could, knowing that Julianna had noticed.

Kara had noticed, too. A clever girl, he’d said. But there was far more to her than that. Halliwell studied her a moment longer. Kara did another pirouette and it was as though she had no idea he was there to watch her. Yet at the same time he thought she was completely aware of him, and this little dance was a performance for his benefit.

Ahead, Julianna waited. She made no gesture for them to hurry and did not call out, but her body language was signal enough. She was getting impatient. Halliwell could not blame her.

Kara led the way and Halliwell had to hurry to catch up. For her size, she moved with uncanny swiftness. He tried not to look too closely at her when she was walking, or to attempt to gauge distance visually. Something went wrong with his eyes if he did that, and a needle of pain would thrust into each temple.

“You’re sure this is the way? Oliver and the…shapeshifter…the fox-woman, they came down here?”

The girl turned and walked backward as she replied. “I can smell them,” she said, giving a small shrug. “Can’t you?”

“No,” Halliwell replied, knitting his brows.

“Pity.”

When they reached Julianna, she gave Halliwell a visual once-over and he knew she was checking him out to see if he was okay to continue onward.

“I’m fine,” he snapped, more harshly than he’d intended. He nodded, gesturing that she should get moving and not worry about him.

“All right,” she said. They continued along the path and past a stand of ancient oaks. “You feeling any better?”

“I’ve caught my breath,” he said, brushing off the question. He shot her a hard look, giving her a glimpse of the anger that he was trying to keep bottled up. After a few steps he spoke again, cautiously this time. “I’m…sorry about that, Julianna.”

As she walked, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail, using a rubber band to hold it in place. “Don’t worry about it, Ted. We’re in this together.”

Halliwell spoke without thinking. “Thanks to your fiance.”

Julianna glanced sidelong at him. “That’s not exactly fair. We don’t know the whole story, but from what we can tell, Oliver didn’t come here by choice and he sure as hell didn’t drag us over here.”

Over his shoulder, Halliwell carried the small satchel Ovid Tsing had prepared for them with food and water. He shifted it now to the other side, taking the moment to draw a deep breath and bite his tongue. Maybe Oliver Bascombe hadn’t dragged them across the Veil, but he had led them here. The guy might be just as much a victim as they were, but Halliwell couldn’t help blaming him, or even hating him a little.

“Ted?” Julianna prodded. “It’s not Oliver’s fault that we’re here.”

Halliwell shrugged, but would not meet her gaze. He felt the anger rising again. “You don’t know that.”

She stopped in her tracks and stared at him. Halliwell kept walking. When he had gained a few paces on her, Julianna started up again. She said nothing, but her jaw was tightly clenched as she fell into stride with him. Halliwell regretted that. They were stuck here together and he did not want tension between them, but he also wasn’t going to lie to avoid it. Oliver might not be a killer, but Halliwell still had some pretty pointed questions for the man.

He had to have someone to blame for his fear and rage, for his panic and sorrow. Who better than Oliver Bascombe? What he wanted more than anything was to meet up with the guy and get him by the throat, up against a wall, and squeeze answers out of him.

Halliwell practically trembled with the need to lash out.

Julianna wasn’t the target he wanted. As long as she didn’t push his buttons, he would hold it all in. For now.

Soon they passed a ramshackle building that Kara referred to as a way station. Halliwell imagined that it must once have been exactly that-a stopover point for travelers, perhaps for coaches, horsemen, and soldiers. But though there must still have been a need for such a place, it seemed abandoned. Sometimes there were things the detective in him could not ignore, and this was one of them. He wondered why travelers in need of a place to rest would avoid this structure. Perhaps something had happened here that kept them away.

They reached the Orient Road-little more than a dirt track-and turned to the west. In time, his feet began to feel like blocks of wood. The muscles in his legs burned as though frostbitten and there were aches all through his back. But Halliwell said nothing of this to Julianna. His comments had been hurtful. True or not, he ought to have spared her those words. No way was he going to look for sympathy from her now.

Halliwell hated it, but as the day grew longer and the shadows deeper, he knew he was going to have to stop to rest again. If he could hold on a while, perhaps they could eat something from the bag that Ovid Tsing had given them.

All throughout their trek along the Orient Road, Kara had been keeping up, but only barely. Like an even younger child she stopped to investigate everything, picking up fallen leaves and letting the wind take them, climbing rocks, weaving amongst the trees on the edge of the forest. Now she joined them by virtue of a cartwheel that carried her right up beside Julianna.

“The Bascombes are special,” said the girl. “It isn’t as though they can help it.”

Halliwell hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “What does that mean?”

“Is there something you’re not telling us, Kara?” Julianna asked.

The girl looked at them, all wide-eyed innocence. “What, me?” She grinned. “Don’t be silly. There are thousands of things I haven’t told you. We’re only just getting to know each other.”

Halliwell chuckled softly. He couldn’t decide if she was a complete smartass or really that innocent. Though he was wary of her, Kara also took him off guard with her oddity and nonsense, and the attitude she presented that seemed to indicate she perceived herself as the adult and the two of them as the tiresomely inquisitive children. In those moments, she helped to lighten Halliwell’s mood, which was good. Anything that took the edge off of the anxious, frantic buzz in his head.

“About Oliver,” Julianna prodded.

Kara shrugged, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know. It’s just that so many people are going to so much trouble over him. Would that happen if he and his sister were just ordinary?”

Halliwell would have pushed the question further, but Kara’s face lit up with pleasure and she ran ahead.

“What the hell is she doing?” Julianna asked quietly.

He didn’t know. With some difficulty, he picked up the pace and they both hurried after the girl. Evening was still a ways off, but the shadows stretched across the road now from the woods on both sides. Things dashed through the underbrush. Halliwell’s nerves were so brittle that the movement startled him, every time, even as he tried to keep his focus on Kara.

Thirty yards ahead, she stopped in the road. With the waning light, it was difficult at first to see what had gotten her attention. Only when they walked up and were nearly on top of it did he and Julianna realize she was crouched over a large pile of horse shit, buzzing with flies.

The girl sniffed the air as though she wanted to inhale every bit of the aroma. Julianna grimaced and made a disgusted noise.

“What’s so special about a pile of manure?” Halliwell asked.

Kara ignored him. She started off again at a trot that he was sure was meant to mimic the horse that had passed along the road recently. A giddy little noise escaped her.

“I’m not sure the girl is entirely sane,” Julianna said, voice low and deadly serious.

Halliwell picked up the pace further, a strange exhilaration filling him as he pushed past his exhaustion. “You think?”

Kara continued to run ahead and passed another pile of horse shit. A few minutes later, they came to a quaint little stone bridge that crossed a narrow but swiftly moving stream.

Halfway across the bridge, Kara dropped to her knees and peered at the stone construction as though fascinated by its design. There was still something childlike about the way she conducted these examinations, but he had begun to think there was more to it than that.

“I’m not sure she’s entirely insane, either,” he said.

Julianna had nothing to say to that. By the time the two of them crossed the bridge, Kara had moved on to the other side of the stream. Halliwell paused and grunted as he dropped into a crouch. He tried to see what had fascinated her so much about the stones that made up the bridge, but noticed nothing but a few muddy hoofprints. And perhaps that had been her interest after all.

“They’ve been here,” Kara said.

Julianna ran to join her. They were just off the road on the edge of the stream. Halliwell took his time, studying the location. There were hoofprints on the far side of the bridge, dug into the dirt as though the rider had drawn back on the reins, causing the horse to slow quickly.

“What is this?” Julianna asked. “Blood?”

Halliwell snapped his head around and stared at the woman and the girl. Kara knelt in the scrub grass on the side of the road and looked more closely. She breathed it in.

“Yes. Human blood.”

She can tell that just from the scent? Halliwell thought. He wished he were more surprised.

“There’s more over here,” he said, pointing out a spatter of dried brown on the ground by the road.

Kara stood up, then spun slowly in a circle as though she could see, with her own eyes, the scene that had played out here earlier that same day.

“There was a scuffle at the water’s edge. More fighting over here. Soldiers were camped on the roadside.”

“Why do you say soldiers?” Julianna asked.

“That many men all in one place. In this part of the kingdom, and without any wagons or horses, they could only be soldiers. Oliver and Kitsune came upon them here and fought them.”

“Is there…” Julianna glanced at Halliwell and the detective saw the fear in her eyes and turned away, striding back up to the road to study the hoofprints. “Is any of the blood Oliver’s?”

Kara did not respond at first, and her silence forced Halliwell to turn and look at them again.

“How could I know that?” the little girl said, wide-eyed and mystified.

“You know a lot of things that surprise me,” Julianna said, the hard edge of suspicion in her voice.

Halliwell figured it was driven more by her own fear for Oliver than anything else and decided it was time to intervene. He gestured toward the flattened, broken scrub grass and the remains of a small fire in the clearing on the side of a road.

“It’s obvious a group of men were camped here, at least briefly. The evidence of a struggle would be hard to miss as well. The blood tells us somebody was wounded. By the amount, and judging by Kara’s assurance that it’s human blood, I’m going to say at least two of them didn’t survive. But there are no bodies, which also supports the military theory. They’d be unlikely to leave their dead behind. The blood’s dry, but still tacky, like fresh paint. Whatever happened here did so today. And if Kara’s right about Oliver and his friend using the Orient Road, then they might have been involved.”

“Oh, they were,” Kara said.

Julianna crossed her arms. “How can you be certain?”

The little girl held up something that was invisible in the dying afternoon light.

“What is it?” Halliwell asked.

“Fox hair. Kitsune has been this way.”

Halliwell left the road again and walked toward Julianna. Her body was tensed like an animal about to bolt. The frustration and fear came off of her in waves. He felt it keenly and knew it well. It was only a fraction of the emotion he struggled to contain in himself.

“They’re still alive,” he said.

She stared at him. “Oh, so you’re Nostradamus, too?”

The detective scratched at the back of his head. “This Kitsune, she’s a Borderkind. Supernatural. Whatever. The point is, she’s along with Oliver to help him, protect him. No way is she going to stand by and let him be killed. If she’s still alive, then so is he. And since Kara didn’t mention any puddles of Borderkind blood-”

The girl squealed and clapped her hands. “Oh, well done! I’d say you’re right about that.”

“So where are they, then?” Julianna asked, walking in a circle, kicking at the scrub grass, peering into the woods and back across the stream and up to the road.

Kara skipped up to the road, spun, and bowed, one hand stretched out to guide the way west, further along the Orient Road. “This way, my friends.”

Halliwell and Julianna joined her and the three of them set off again.

“All right, spill,” Julianna said. “How do we know where we’re going?”

“You got me,” Halliwell replied. “Here’s what I figure. The soldiers weren’t on horses. Somebody came riding up on horseback, or maybe Oliver and his friend somehow got hold of a couple of horses-”

“There was only one rider coming over the bridge,” Kara corrected.

Halliwell smiled. There were a lot of things he knew, but how to figure how many people were on the back of a horse just from its tracks was not among them.

“All right. Point is, the rider came up during the fight. At some point, he pulled the reins. The horse stopped in the middle of it. It’s possible they took the horse away from him.”

Julianna shot him a panicked glance. “Don’t even say that. If they’re on horseback, we’ll never catch up with them.”

Halliwell wanted to tell her that at the speed he was capable of traveling, they were never going to catch up to Oliver anyway, not if Oliver kept moving. But he kept his mouth shut.

“We don’t need to be faster than they are,” Kara said. “Not if we know where they’re going.”

“And do we?”

The little girl gave him a smile that lit up the mischief in her eyes. “We do now. The horseman that came through was riding hard. One rider, alone, moving swiftly. I’d wager that’s a royal courier. If so, he’d have been headed for the summer residence at Otranto. The only reason for that would be if Hunyadi is there.”

Julianna uttered a soft laugh of disbelief. “Wait, you think if Oliver found out that the king was at this summer place, he’d go there? Knowing the guy’s trying to kill him?”

Kara sighed and shook her head, and there was something of ancientness about her eyes then. “You don’t listen. Even if your lover saves his sister, both of them will be hunted and executed unless he can secure a pardon from both kings. Having Hunyadi so nearby would likely be too tempting to ignore.”

“Likely,” Halliwell repeated. “What if you’re wrong?”

Julianna watched the girl closely.

“If I’m wrong,” Kara said, “then we have little chance of overtaking them, unless the two of you can grow wings.”

Oliver ran across the courtyard of the castle of Otranto, sword in hand, the sergeant shouting at his men. The order to kill him echoed off the inner walls of the courtyard and off the castle keep. The scar-nosed guard wasn’t going to catch him on foot. Even the sergeant concerned Oliver only a little. The only two things he feared in that moment were sorcery and arrows. Either could kill him on the spot.

An arrow whisked in front of his face, close enough to make him falter a moment. It struck the ground with a dull thud. Several others followed rapidly, thunking into the dirt around him. If not for the fact that most of the archers had withdrawn from the wall, he would have died right then.

“Kill him!” came the cry from behind him, back by the main doors of the castle. But this time it was not the sergeant screaming for his blood. It was Hy’Bor, the Atlantean advisor to King Hunyadi.

Oliver hurtled toward the gates of the outer wall. He gripped the sword tightly, but it danced uselessly in his hand. If he stood and fought, he had no chance of survival. Serpents of ice coiled around his heart as he understood what a mistake he had made.

He would die here, and in some prison within the Sandman’s castle, Collette would be mutilated and murdered by a monster. If death was imminent, he wished he could at least have seen his sister again, held her close, let her know how much she meant to him.

Anger burned in him, at himself, and at all the people who wanted him dead simply because they were afraid of the world beyond the one they knew. Where was he supposed to run? To the gates? There were guards on the other side. He was not getting out of here alive.

“Fuck it,” Oliver snarled.

He spun, raising the Sword of Hunyadi. The sergeant and the scar-nosed soldier ran at him. Others were coming, climbing down ladders from the battlements and bursting from doors across the courtyard.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something red flash in the late afternoon sun. He heard a scream and glanced over to see one of the archers fall over the edge of the battlement and crash to the ground below. The second of them had an arrow nocked, about to be let loose, but he turned as the fox leaped at him in a blur of copper-red fur. Her jaws snapped shut on the meat of his forearm and the archer cried out in pain and tried to shake her off.

In an eyeblink, Kitsune transformed. Where the fox had been there now stood the woman. Her cloak whipped around her as she moved, the hood hiding her features. The archer tried to fight her off, but Kitsune snapped out a hand and gripped his throat, then hurled him down into the courtyard with the other. As he fell, she ripped his bow from his hands.

The last of the archers still on the battlements had turned on her now. Eyes fearfully wide, he loosed an arrow. It flew at Kitsune but she dodged easily.

With a cry of fury, she slashed the claws of her left hand across his face. The man screamed and staggered back. She tore the quiver of arrows from his back and then pushed him over the front wall of the castle. He cried out as he fell, tumbling out of sight.

All of this happened in seconds.

With no more arrows flying, Oliver had a moment to simply stand and wait for the king’s guard to reach him. The sword felt heavy in his grip but he gritted his teeth and raised it higher. Beyond the sergeant and the one with the scar, he saw Hy’Bor approaching. The Atlantean sorcerer carried himself with far too much arrogant dignity to run, so instead he strode imperiously, shimmering with a strange glow that disrupted the air so that he seemed to be stepping between moments, crossing twice the distance in half the time.

“Come on, then!” Oliver shouted, and he held the grip and pommel of the sword with both hands. The wind blew and he caught the scent of flowers somewhere not far off. The incongruity chilled him.

“Take the assassin’s head!” the sergeant yelled, brandishing his own sword now.

“I’m no assassin,” Oliver said.

No one was listening. The sergeant came at him, sword raised. His attack was clumsy and easily parried. Oliver spun inside the man’s reach and shot an elbow to the sergeant’s head, knocking him backward.

With a scream of rage, the sergeant swung again, with more focus and skill this time. Oliver blocked, the blades ringing crisply in the air. The scar-nosed soldier was only steps away. Years of fencing lessons swirled in Oliver’s head. He had a talent for it, but had never fought more than one opponent at a time.

Oliver feinted, and when the sergeant went to block, he slapped the flat of the blade down on the man’s wrist, breaking the bone. The sergeant cursed and dropped his sword.

“Bastard!” shouted the scar-nosed soldier. He came at Oliver with little finesse but with the size and fury of a bull.

His attack was easy to sidestep. Oliver grabbed his arm and used his momentum and weight against him, turning and shoving the man so that he stumbled and crashed to the ground. With speed that belied his size, he leaped to his feet again, enraged.

When an arrow took him in the shoulder, he spun around and fell to his knees, grabbing at the shaft that jutted from his flesh.

Another whistled through the air above Oliver’s head and he spun just in time to see it strike home in the chest of the Atlantean. The weird, warped shimmer of air around Hy’Bor ceased instantly. The sorcerer stared down at the arrow protruding from his chest and staggered off. He fell on his side in the courtyard, crumpling to the ground. The impact sent up a puff of dirt. But one of his hands waved in the air and then began to distort the space around it. Weakened he might be, but Hy’Bor still lived.

“Take him!” the sergeant shouted again. “Kill them both!”

“Would you just shut the hell up?” Oliver snapped.

The soldiers began to surround him and he kept his guard up, turning around in a circle, watching to see which of them would make the first move. There were three, then five, then he lost count. Had the order not been to kill him, he would have surrendered then and there. But surrender meant death, and he would rather die fighting.

An arrow struck a soldier from behind with such force that its tip poked out through his abdomen. The man started to fall and a second caught him, holding him up.

“Oliver!” Kitsune called, and fully half of the soldiers turned to face her as she raced across the courtyard with the swiftness of her breed.

“Borderkind!” shouted one of the king’s guard.

Kitsune drew back the bowstring, an arrow at the ready. “Stand down. The first one to touch him, or come near me, gets an arrow through the eye.”

It seemed to Oliver that the world held its breath.

Then Hy’Bor began to chant in a language unlike anything Oliver had ever heard. Fear flashed in the eyes of every one of the soldiers around him and they all drew back a step.

The Atlantean was rising. It was difficult to look at him; his body seemed out of synch with reality, as though parts of him had been stripped out and hidden away.

“Kit,” Oliver began, warily.

Before Kitsune could reply, there came the shriek of stress on wood and metal and the main gates of the castle swung inward with great force. Framed in the massive gates, with the golden afternoon light streaming in behind them, were half a dozen of the fishermen Oliver had seen while riding toward the castle. They carried fishing poles and several lugged strings of hooked fish, the catch of the day. All of them were dressed in rugged clothing that had seen better days but there was an air about them that dispelled any suggestion of simple country folk.

The man in front had black hair and a neatly trimmed beard, both shot through with silver. His face was pitted with pockmarks, and though he was only a bit larger than Oliver, physically, he moved with such confidence and power that it seemed his mere presence might knock them all to the ground.

“Hy’Bor! What transpires here?” the fisherman shouted.

No one in the courtyard moved. Even the injured men, cradling broken bones or nursing wounds, ceased their self-ministrations.

The Atlantean had stopped chanting the moment the gates swung open. Now he stared at the newcomer, breathing heavily, fury dying like embers in his eyes. He plucked the arrow from his chest and a trickle of blood flowed out, staining his robe, before becoming a drizzle of clear liquid, and then ceasing altogether.

He wore a terrible sneer as he gestured toward Oliver and Kitsune. The soldiers around them flinched at this attention.

“Highness, we have an Intruder among us. You have sworn out a warrant for his death. Yet here he is, coming into your own castle disguised as a courier, undoubtedly to attempt to assassinate you.”

Oliver glanced back and forth between the two men. This was King Hunyadi? This fisherman? Yet despite his clothing, Oliver believed it immediately. The man carried himself like a king and those within the walls of the castle of Otranto froze in his presence, unwilling to do anything without his leave. The soldiers were on guard, ready to finish Oliver off, but they hesitated, waiting for the king to speak.

“Undoubtedly,” King Hunyadi said, but he arched an eyebrow and studied Oliver with open curiosity. When he saw Kitsune, his eyes narrowed and he nodded slowly as though he had deciphered the last line of a difficult riddle.

Hunyadi handed his fishing pole to one of his friends and left them standing by the gates. He strode toward Oliver and Kitsune. She shifted her bow so that the arrow was pointed directly at his heart, but the king neither slowed nor even seemed to notice her.

“You, Intruder, remind me of your name.”

“Oliver Bascombe, Your Highness.” He lowered his sword. The soldiers did not attack.

Hunyadi paused ten feet away, behaving as though he and Oliver were the only people in the courtyard. He crossed his arms, a bemused look upon his face. “Tell me, Oliver, why does a man beard the lion in its den? You’re aware of the death warrant I’ve placed upon you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you a lunatic, then, coming here?”

Oliver met his gaze evenly. He started toward the king, but he held up the sword in both hands as though to present it to him.

“No, Your Highness. Just an ordinary man. A man who does not wish to die. Once upon a time another such man came to you. His name was Professor David Koenig. You granted him a year to prove himself worthy of your trust, and when he earned that trust, you gave him this sword as a gift.”

A pair of soldiers stepped in to prevent him from reaching the king. Oliver knelt and laid it on the ground. He had made himself completely vulnerable now, but it was too late for fighting, in any case. His life was in the king’s hands.

“I remember,” Hunyadi said. He uncrossed his arms and stepped nearer, staring down at the sword. “How do you come by it?”

Oliver looked up at him. “Professor Koenig gave me this sword so that you might see it and remember, and look kindly upon me as I ask you for the same boon you granted him. One year, to prove myself worthy of your trust. He gave me this gift moments before he was murdered by the Hunters who are abroad in the Two Kingdoms, exterminating the Borderkind.”

Hunyadi nodded slowly. “You may pick up the sword. Sheathe it.”

The Atlantean stormed toward them. “Your Highness, you cannot trust the man! He is an Intruder, and he travels with a Borderkind witch.” He gestured around the courtyard. “Some of your men are badly injured. Bascombe came disguised as a courier, who is in all probability dead, murdered by his hand, or her claws. They are your enemies.”

The king considered this.

“With all due respect, sir, we are not your enemies. We are simply trying to stay alive,” Oliver told him.

Hunyadi walked over to Kitsune. All throughout this exchange she had held her bow up, arrow pointed at his heart. Now he approached until the tip of the arrow touched the rough cotton of his shirt. Kitsune’s jade eyes gleamed in the shadows beneath her hood. The king reached out with both hands and slipped the hood down to reveal her face.

“You are Kitsune,” the king said, and it was not a question. “Your legend is a favorite of mine. The tale sings of your beauty, but you are beyond all expectation.”

“Thank you, Highness,” Kitsune said, revealing rows of tiny, jagged teeth.

“Your companion asks for my trust. Will you not give me yours?”

In the fading light, with evening beginning to fall upon the castle, Kitsune released the bowstring slowly and then let bow and arrow fall to the ground. She inclined her head in the tiniest of bows.

“Make her swear fealty to you!” Hy’Bor cried desperately.

Hunyadi waved this away. “There is beauty in wild things, my friend. A beauty that is crushed by placing such demands upon it. I will not try to tame the wild.”

Oliver stood slowly and slid his sword into its scabbard.

King Hunyadi looked pointedly at his Atlantean advisor. “See to it that they have food and a place to wash off the grit of the road. Then bring them to my chambers.”

The shrieks of the Perytons filled the air above the Akrai, the ancient Greek theater that sat on the mountaintop above Siracusa. Like harpies, they descended upon the Borderkind gathered there on the ancient stone stage. The sound of their green-feathered wings beating the air was like thunder and they moved so swiftly that even Frost barely had time to react as the Hunters fell upon them.

One of the Perytons soared down from the sky and grabbed hold of him with fingers like knives. Frost smiled, full of hatred, and sent ice spreading up the Peryton’s arms, freezing its leathern flesh. White crystals of rime formed on its face.

Then the second one hit him from behind, driving its antlers into his back. The enormous prongs thrust into Frost’s body, cracking ice, plunging deep into his frigid form.

The winter man screamed.

With those hideously long razor fingers they began to tear at him. Frigid water spilled from his wounds and splashed on the Sicilian soil. The air was hot and humid, and the summer day waning fast.

He looked up, the white-blue mist of his eyes obscuring his vision, and saw the Peryton above him hiss and bare its fangs. He wondered if the venom they carried could kill him.

Frost did not want to know the answer.

His fist became a single long, tapered spike of ice and he punched it right through the Peryton’s chest, piercing skin and muscle and breaking bones. The icicle burst through the creature’s back. The other, the one behind him, continued to attack, carving chunks out of his body.

Frost weakened as his life spilled away.

Then someone called his name. He glanced up to see a blue blur in the waning light, spinning toward him. Blue Jay danced across the ancient stone stage where tragedy had once unfolded, the magical wings of the trickster whirring around him, half visible even to the eyes of his own kind.

With the slash of his wings, he decapitated the second Peryton. Its blood was sickly yellow-green. The Hunter’s head struck the ground, antlers impaled in the earth.

Frost lay on the ground, bleeding ice water, barely propped up on his arms. Blue Jay crouched by him.

“Help the others,” he rasped, cold mist rising from him as he tried to heal his wounds, freezing them over with a pass of his hands.

Blue Jay shook his head. “We don’t stand a chance. Look around.”

The winter man did. The Perytons filled the sky. Several of them pursued Cheval Bayard, who had reverted to her true form, and was attempting to flee. As Frost watched, Li rode his huge tiger after her and leaped into the air, spheres of fire leaping from his hands and enveloping one of the Perytons. Its wings burned a moment but the fire quickly died. They could not be killed that way. Still it veered off, feathers singed. The tiger reached Cheval and spun, roaring, protecting her, keeping the Perytons at bay for a moment.

But not for long.

The two Mazikeen, silent as always, were in grim combat with Jezi-Baba, but the witch was far more ancient and powerful than they. Golden light like a summer dawn glowed around them as the Mazikeen commanded the earth to rise up around her. Deep roots of ancient trees burst through the stone stage and wrapped around Jezi-Baba, but an instant later they began to blacken and die, and fell away from her robes like cobwebs brushed aside.

She grabbed one of the Mazikeen around the throat and the same thing happened to him. His flesh withered and blackened and fell away to ash, the robe crumbling in her hands. The witch cackled and moved after the other Mazikeen. He cast a spell that lanced her eyes with that golden light and she shrieked and staggered back, hands over her hideous face.

But Frost feared it would not last.

The Manticore was wounded, half its face ripped away into a grotesque grin, flaps of flesh hanging down. Some of its teeth were broken, thanks to Chorti’s metal claws. But now Chorti was down and the Manticore raked talons across his chest. The monster leaped on top of him, opened his massive jaws with their hundreds of teeth, and was about to snap his head off.

The Grindylow reached them just in time. Grin wrapped his long arms around the Manticore’s head and pulled the creature off of Chorti, lifted it up, and hurled it with incredible strength at the rows of stone seats around the stage. The Manticore hit with an audible crack, but in a moment it moved, bones still cracking, resetting themselves, and it was up, beginning to stalk toward them again.

“Go back, all of you!” Frost commanded, struggling to rise. “Back through the Veil, back to Perinthia! Now!”

Blue Jay helped haul him to his feet. The trickster’s eyes were dark and cold. “Are you out of your mind? We don’t stand a chance in the city!”

Frost grimaced in pain. “The Hunters are here. All that waits for us there are the damned birds.”

“How can you-”

“We don’t have time to argue,” Frost said, as another Peryton rode the winds, diving toward them out of the sky. “Cross the border! Go back!”

Even as Blue Jay turned, the air blurring around him, mystic wings shearing the wind and the spirit, keeping the Peryton at bay, Frost shouted to all of the others, repeating the command over and over. One by one he saw them step through shimmering early evening light, moving out of this world and through the Veil, into the one beside it.

Only when they all were gone did he slip through the border himself. His last glimpse of the Akrai was of the Manticore and several Perytons rushing toward him, blood on claws and teeth, death in their eyes. Blue Jay spun into a blur that disappeared, winking out completely.

Then the winter man crossed over, leaving the Hunters behind.

But the hunt would only be more savage, more determined now. The Myth Hunters had spilled their blood. The had the taste and the scent.

That was all right with Frost.

He was sick of running.