Arabesque

Marin

Marin ran, her long strides covered the ground quickly and silently—but she remained cautious as she moved across the damp mulch of the forest floor. She held her breath as she listened to the stillness, and swept her gaze steadily, watching for the slightest movement in the shadows. The bay trees were closer and thicker than the eucalyptus had been, and it was dryer here. Steam rose from her cloak as her body's heat warmed it. The kayal's footprints and dander would be impossible to find here without striking a light, so Marin had to rely on other tracking skills.

The ground sloped gradually downward. She ducked beneath a fallen bough that she sensed rather than saw, and the soft crunch of dry leaves beneath it echoed far too loudly in the still air. The ground then leveled into a stretch of mud that sucked at her boots before it began another gentle upward slope.

Moving from tree to tree, she crept along, bow in hand. Each step surely brought her closer to the kayal. And—was that it? Just ahead she glimpsed a black figure moving in the same direction—away from her—but not as quickly as she.

Making no sound, she closed on the figure, drawing an arrow from her quiver and nocking it to the bowstring by touch.

Marin was only ten paces behind the fleeing kayal. She braced herself against a tree, feeling behind her to make sure its wide, solid trunk would be adequate cover if she needed to fall back. She raised her bow, drew back the string and took aim. Yes, it was still there, pausing as it sniffed the air.

Marin doubted one arrow would kill the dark thing. Although she wanted it dead, she would force it to run, not turn to fight. Lavvann's company beyond the trees should be in position by now.

Her fingers tightened as she steadied her aim. Abruptly the figure half-turned and raised its hand as if signaling her to halt. What—Marin paused, unsure whether to heed the signal, wondering if this hesitation was a trap that would kill her.

The figure slowly drew back a hooded cloak, revealing no demonic creature but a man. Even in the darkness she could see the outline of a man's face, not the horrid countenance of a kayal. That one simple motion resembled the grace and efficiency of one of Torre Lavvann's silent signals, not the jagged, unpredictable movements of a vile entity on the wrong side of the veil. This person, whoever it was, turned his head toward her without hesitation, and Marin felt he was looking directly at her in the darkness. Wait.

She froze, heart pounding, as the stranger beckoned her closer. Drawn in by something she couldn't explain, Marin lowered her bow, the arrow drooping in her hand. She stepped around the tree trunk and moved forward, apprehensive but fascinated—and feeling curiously safe.

"You have mistaken me for the enemy, my lady," said a soft male voice as she approached. There was something familiar about it. "What you seek is just ahead," he went on, voice falling to a whisper as she approached. "But beware—the creature is not alone. Your captain and the others are riding into a trap."

Was this man accusing her of something? Did he somehow know that she had planned to take this kayal single-handedly, or at least send it stumbling into Lavvann's ambush with her arrow between its foul shoulders? "How... how can you know this?" She kept her voice low but fierce. "Who are you?"

His voice carried an echo, like a song from a distant shore. "I once was with the Four Banners as you are now. My duties and allegiances lie elsewhere, but on this day we have a common purpose."

He offered his hand, and now Marin was close enough to see him better. Waves of light-colored hair reached nearly to his shoulders, his teeth were white, and his eyes had a sapphire glint, even in deep shadow. They shone with a light too wise, too bold and intimate for a man she was seeing for the first time. Then her hand was in his, and the touch felt so... familiar.