Vengeance of the Hunter (27 page)

“A
what?
Tykhe’s teeth! I knew you liked her.”

“Go to sleep, Rab.”

* * *

Dolmerrath
,
Jeuchar 7
,
AC 1876

With most of their number having full or partial human blood, and with Hawk patrols already known to roam the coastal woods, the
Whippoorwill
had to take the greatest of care in sending her passengers ashore. A craggy stretch of beach was their landing spot, narrow enough at high tide that they could land only one rowboat at once, and protected by the northernmost boundary of Dolmerrath’s Wards. Even from out on the water, Kestar couldn’t help but notice the dread creeping into the faces of the schooner’s crew—and of most of the group that had come out of Shalridan with them. Without lights and in utter silence, Kirinil and Alarrah had to escort the rest of them ashore, and guide them up a long rope ladder into the network of caves that made up the elven stronghold.

They went two by two with the elves. Kestar never knew how well the landing treated the others, for even from aboard the vessel, even after Faanshi had warned him of what to expect, the magic of the Wards swamped his awareness without mercy. It was worse out on the water, but by the time his feet touched land, he was shaking in every limb from visions of his mother drowning, of Celoren shot by hidden archers, and of Faanshi and himself burned alive by the Anreulag come to destroy them all.

Other elves met them as they came ashore, but he barely noticed faces, much less names, as they joined Kirinil and Alarrah to guide them into their home. He registered little of anything at all until they reached a chamber with a bed, and his last memory before deep and dreamless slumber was Alarrah’s shining hand at his brow.

When he awoke again, with a clear, soft light falling down from nowhere upon his face, he was relieved beyond measure to find Celoren waiting for him. His partner was dozing in a chair against the wall, next to the curtain that served as the chamber’s door, and he looked as ragged and disheveled as Kestar himself felt.

“Well, I’m glad we’re both in one piece, anyway. We are, aren’t we?”

His voice was husky and thick with sleep. Yet Cel started at the sound of it and rubbed his bleary face. “I think so. Hello, cloud-head. Are you all right?”

Kestar considered that, sitting up cautiously in the bed where he’d collapsed. Nothing hurt. His thoughts felt sluggish, but they were clearing. And that meant he was as safe as he could expect to be in the last place he’d ever thought to visit—the last refuge of elvenkind anywhere in Adalonia. “I think so. You? Everyone else?”

“Likewise. I checked on them before I came in to wait for you. Your mother was still sleeping when I found her. Faanshi too.”

That too was a relief, and Kestar relaxed before he’d even realized he’d woken up tense. “Good. Good.” He looked up to meet Celoren’s eyes, adding sheepishly, “So. The elves haven’t killed us yet. That’s got to be worth something.”

“They might yet. We’re Hawks. Or we were, anyway. But I’m not convinced yet they’ll be willing to acknowledge that distinction, even with Faanshi vouching for us.”

Faanshi. She no longer flooded every corner of his brain, but Kestar dimly sensed her nonetheless, not far away, and at peace. “No, she brought her friends all the way to Shalridan to find me, and they risked their lives to do it.”

“Do you believe what she said, then? About her great-aunt’s vision?” Then Celoren caught himself, and smirked a little. “No, that’s a stupid question. From everything Faanshi’s said, her okinya’s visions sound a lot like your premonitions.”

“I did notice that.”

“Here’s a better question, then. Have you thought about what we’ll do now that we’re here? Are we really going to throw in our lot with the very people we’ve been hunting?”

Kestar stretched, ran a hand through his hair and then finally reached without thinking for the amulet that hung around his neck—only to catch himself as he remembered. He had his father’s amulet now, not the one the Order had given him. “We can’t go back to the Church.” Carefully, respectfully, his fingers closed around Dorvid Vaarsen’s amulet.

“Or anywhere else in polite society, for that matter. Of course, polite society, if Shalridan’s any sign, is about to get a lot less polite.” All traces of levity left Celoren’s face. “What do you think? Are we about to be at war again?”

They’d left a city in flames, where rioters had freed them from a Church that would have seen Kestar Cleansed, and his friend and mother hanged with him. There’d been fighting, far more than Kestar had ever expected to see in his life.

And there’d been death.

Shaymis Enverly’s in particular still haunted him.

“I think we have to expect it,” he said. “And we’ll have to be ready, in case the Anreulag does find us. I’m no longer Her sword to strike, Cel. But the people I care about most in the world have come to these caves with me. I don’t know if the elves will want us fighting for them. For Mother and for you, though, I’ll be a sword still.”

Cel rose from his chair and strode over to him, a solemn determination kindling in his hazel eyes. “And for Faanshi?”

“She’s saved my life twice now.” The wonder of that still hadn’t left Kestar, and he still couldn’t quite fathom what exactly that shy-eyed maiden with power in her hands was, or why the gods had seen fit to drop her like a thunderbolt into his existence. But he’d heard the people of Shalridan calling her name in the streets, and in his heart of hearts, in that inner meadow where his mind had met hers, he knew beyond question that the people of Shalridan had a point. “I’ll be a sword for her too, if she asks it.”

“Well then. One sword isn’t much. You’re going to need at least one other.” Celoren abruptly grinned. “After all, the girl saved my life along with yours. She’s clearly an excellent judge of character, despite an apparent preference for cloud-heads.”

Kestar couldn’t help but grin back as he let his father’s amulet go, and reached instead for the promise of his partner’s hand.

“Far be it from me to argue with her. We’ll fight for her, and for the elves if they’ll have us, together.”

* * * * *

The Rebels of Adalonia series began with an assassin, a knight and a half-elven healer...
Get up to speed with the first installment, available now!

Valor of the Healer

The Rook

An assassin hired by vengeful elven rebels to kill the calculating Duke of Shalridan, Julian walks into a trap and barely escapes with his life. Healed by a beautiful captive in the dungeons, he’s enthralled and vows to free her from the duke’s clutches.

The Hawk

A Knight of the Hawk duty-bound to cleanse elven magic from Adalonia, Kestar has a secret—and heretical—ability to sense the use of magic from afar. He knows something suspicious is happening in the duke’s keep, but he has no idea how deep the conspiracy goes.

The Dove

A half-elven healer with no control over her magic, Faanshi is the goddess’s to command. She’s always been a pawn of the powerful, but after healing two mysterious and very different men, she faces a choice that may decide the fate of the whole kingdom...

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About the Author

The very first thing Angela Highland ever wrote, at age eight, was a short story about a girl who ruled over the leprechauns for a day. She progressed rapidly to pretending to take notes in class when she was actually writing novels, and writing fanfic before she had any idea what fanfic was! Music has been a part of her life almost as long, thanks to six years playing flute and piccolo in school band and an adulthood dabbling in flute, guitar, bouzouki and mandolin. Music is likely to appear in anything she writes.

Angela (Anna the Piper to her friends) lives in Kenmore, Washington, along with her partner and housemate, two cats, and a whole heck of a lot of computers and musical instruments. Despite the fact that she is a mild-mannered former employee of a major metropolitan newspaper, rumors that she is a superhero are exaggerated. (Even if she did pull the door off a refrigerator.)

She also writes the urban fantasy series The Free Court of Seattle under her real-life name of Angela Korra’ti. Come find out more about her works under both her names at
angelahighland.com
.

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ISBN-13: 9781426898266

VENGEANCE OF THE HUNTER

Copyright © 2014 by Angela Korra’ti

Edited by Deborah Nemeth

All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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