Chapter 2
Chapter two
Deyvid
The second he knew the mage was down, Deyvid ran.
Shifters. Dammit. He’d hoped to be done with this contract before any of them arrived. And from the capital, no less. This was a complication he didn’t need.
He made for the river as fast as he could, knowing that his best chance at escape lay in water.
Very few shifters had forms that could swim, and even fewer could track that way.
As long as he kept his head down and his scent covered, he might be able to outrun them.
Staying put, of course, was out of the question.
With a wrench, he considered his pack left carefully stowed, a mile and a bit farther back in the woods. He was going to wish he had those dry clothes soon enough, but he’d double back later, once they were gone, and if he got out of this.
It didn’t gall to let them take responsibility for the kills. Deyvid had already been paid. It did gall that he’d been seen. The big man on the far side of the road, the one who had fallen out of the sky as a raven and landed on the ground as a man … Deyvid was afraid he’d seen a little too much.
It’s not going to matter as long as I make it to the river in time. He lengthened his stride to something like a run, uncaring of the branches that he broke and the leaves he left trampled. Leaving a trail was inevitable. He might as well do what he could in order to get more speed.
The river was close. Deyvid could hear the burble of it through the trees and smell the cool dampness suffusing the air.
He dropped his cloak, knowing that it would only slow him down in the water, but kept his blades.
He wasn’t about to give up his daggers now.
Besides, one of them was covered in the blood of the mage he’d killed.
It would benefit from some time in the water.
He was two steps in when he heard a howl in the distance.
Time’s up. Deyvid dove headfirst into the water.
The river wasn’t particularly wide or deep, but the edges of it were thick with reeds and pussy willows.
It would make a decent place to hide once he got far enough along.
He struck out into the center of the river, not moving with the flow of the water but against it.
With would be faster, but that was exactly what they would think he would do. Better to go against and make less progress but hopefully fool them. Then he’d look for a good place to hole up until he was no longer being searched for.
Shifters, curse it. Of all the luck.
Deyvid swam with powerful strokes, going as fast as he could, not just to make better time but also to keep himself warm.
It was spring, and the water still felt fresh from the mountains it had flowed down from.
He was already shivering. He wouldn’t be able to spend long in such a temperature.
Just a bit farther, he told himself as he kicked against the current. Just a bit farther.
Damnation, and things had been going so well.
He’d been able to avoid the notice of all the shifter patrols and local guards ever since he’d gotten to this part of the country.
This close to the border of Mersaighe, he’d thought he was safe.
Riyalians had little to do with their neighbors to the southwest, and the distaste was entirely mutual.
Mersaighans were a magic-heavy people, their greatest fighters heavily reliant on their offensive-spell capabilities.
Riyalians, on the other hand, preferred to channel their magic—those who had it—into transforming their shape into that of an animal.
Or perhaps, in the case of the man Deyvid had seen in the road, two animals. He’d looked on the verge of taking another form as he tried to get to the mage. You’re welcome, Deyvid thought sourly to himself.
He was starting to get numb with cold, but luckily, it was beginning to get dark as well.
Not that darkness was necessarily an encumbrance for many shifters, but they must be tired after that fight as well.
Surely they’d make camp soon, and he could haul himself, wretched and trembling, from the river and bury himself in dry leaves for a cold camp until he could make his way back to his belongings.
After another seemingly interminable stretch of swimming, Deyvid felt the beginnings of a cramp come on in his right leg.
He wasn’t going to be able to keep this up for much longer.
Well, this was as good a spot as any, better than some, even.
There was a fallen tree to the right, with a trunk thick enough to hide him from eyes that might peer down from above, and reeds dense enough at the base of it that he ought to be able to use them as a half-decent shield.
He swam over, teeth gritted against the cold and the pain, and thought to himself, not for the first time since striking out from his clan, that he’d really made a mess of things.
You’re alive, he reminded himself as he settled into the reeds. You’re still alive. You’re independent. You kill for no one but whom you choose. It’s worth it.
And it was worth it. Deyvid knew it was. Just, it would be nice if he could both cleave to his purpose and be warm at the same time.
Deyvid laid one hand on the trunk of the tree above him to hold him steady in the current and looked around.
Nothing moved. The air was surprisingly still, and while he heard the little sounds that one would expect from encroaching night in a forest, none of them seemed to be pointed directly at him.
Maybe, just maybe, this was going to work out for the best.
Even he could admit that it was a good thing the shifters were finally showing their faces down here.
Their people were getting understandably angry at the way their complaints had been ignored.
It took a lot for any rural people to trust a stranger, and Deyvid knew he was about as strange as they came, but he was determined to repay the tentative tendrils of trust that had been offered to him.
He was doing a job. He had done well so far, and by the three, by the three, he was going to finish it. As soon as he got out of here, he’d—
Swish.
He stiffened. Where had that sound come from? Was he being watched? Keeping his head still, Deyvid cast his eyes around, searching for the source of the noise. He saw nothing on land, but there was something, some thing in the water, fast and sleek and coming right at him.
Deyvid didn’t have a clue what it could be.
Surely this winding stream didn’t have any large predators in it, but he gripped the handle of one of his knives in his cold and trembling hand and prepared himself to strike.
Closer, closer … When the creature was barely two feet in front of him, he pulled the dagger, brought his hand back, prepared to strike—and found two small, almost dainty paws pressing against the front of his chest.
Startled, Deyvid nearly lost his grip on his dagger as he looked into the big brown eyes of a river otter. He husked a laugh, then groaned because he knew, without a doubt, this was no mere otter. Wild animals didn’t behave this way. Curious shifters, on the other hand?
“You found me,” he said hoarsely, putting the dagger away. It would do him no good now. He was likely surrounded. He should have known better than to think he could outdistance a whole pack of these people. “What are you going to do with me?”
The otter looked at him searchingly, an odd expression on an animal, before it delicately reached out and bit the tie of his shirt that was dangling free in the water. The otter tugged hard, once, then let go and pushed away, making quick time toward the shore.
Well, that was plain enough. Deyvid sighed, then followed it, forcing energy into his leaden limbs.
The second the air hit his sodden body, he began to tremble even worse.
Oh, this was going to get uncomfortable fast. By the time he was fully on dry land, he was staggering with fatigue, stiff with cold and pain, and ravenous from hunger.
“Don’t suppose you brought me any dry clothes, did you?” he asked the otter perched on the shoreline. A second later, it transformed back into the human he had known it to be. “Of course, it’s you.” Deyvid groaned. “I thought you were a raven,” he managed around his chattering teeth.
“Oh, I am,” the man said urbanely, looking not a bit put out by either the temperature or the interrogation. “I contain multitudes.”
“What a delight for you, really,” Deyvid muttered. “However, unless your multitudes contain a blanket, maybe we could hold off on the show-and-tell until I manage to find one.”
The shifter smiled at him. “Prickly, aren’t you?”
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘cold,’” Deyvid said stiffly.
“So start a fire, then.”
Deyvid did his best to arch an eyebrow but couldn’t force his frozen facial appendage to cooperate. Damn it. “With what?” he asked. “My supplies are nowhere near here, and I don’t carry a flint and striker on me when I’m going into a fight.”
“Huh, you can’t just conjure one?” the tall, handsome, and decidedly nude shifter asked provokingly.
Deyvid scowled. “What on earth would make you think I could conjure flames?” he demanded.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the same thing that makes me think you have some way to shield from an arc lance?”
Well, damn it. He’d seen it. Deyvid tried to play it off. “Ah, I think I know what you’re referring to. Clearly, the shot didn’t hit me,” he said, gesturing down at his still whole and decidedly unburned body.