Exton

I've found, as I expected, that the going is quicker if I simply permit Jeb to lead the way. His instincts are superb and have prevented me from becoming tangled in briars, stepping in holes, slipping on wet stones, and a hundred other hazards. Nemesis is in my hand, just a sword at the moment. Thus far we have met but little resistance, such that I have not needed to bestir myself at all; the big werewolf's natural weapons have proven more than adequate to the task.

The shifter's nonsense about "the Right Hand of Death" has stood us in good stead tonight. One look at my masked form, naked blade in hand, and Jean-Marc's followers have told us all they know. For their cooperation, they receive a quick, merciful death; we cannot have them coming up behind us.

The forest is thinning, thank the Powers. It has been long since I was a woodsman, and my skills are rusty at best.

Jeb sniffs the air, then breaks into a lope. I follow as best I can and we break cover to find ourselves at the edge of a small stream. The ground around it is torn up, as if by a struggle, and there is blood on the ground, spilled not so long ago.

Perhaps a few hundred yards farther along, we come upon Nekron and Raina. Here the ground is strewn with the bodies of werewolves - perhaps eight or ten, all told - yet the pair do not appear even to be breathing hard.

They whirl, hearing Jeb approach, weapons ready; but recognizing us, they are quickly lowered again.

"How fared you this day, my friends?"

Nekron favors us with one of his sadistic grins. "Much better than the opposition, as you can see, old man. We've recovered Alise; she and Stoney are returning to the Manse as we speak."

"They will be welcomed; the household staff has been alerted to await their coming and to make themselves useful in any needful capacity."

I frown, seeing the numbers of the dead. How many are left? Will they remain at their headquarters, or head for the Tavern?

"They cannot but know we will come for them. Since stealth is of but little use to us at this point, we will make a grand entrance." I turn to Raina. "Milady Raina - I have some knowledge of your companion, but little of you. Can you ride?"

She nods. "I could ride before I could walk."

"Excellent." I gesture to the forest and whistle. Three coal-black stallions with eyes of fire appear at its edge and trot toward the clearing, toward us. I smile at my companions' dumbfounded looks.

"I am a Rider of Herne," I explain. "As such, I have certain privileges."

We mount up. Jeb will fare better in his current form, for even a Nightmare might object to such a rider. My companions turn to go, but I catch hold of Nekron's sleeve.

"I owe you an apology, sir. I assumed without evidence that you were involved in Alise's abduction, and I acted on that assumption without thought. I should have known better, and I do apologize."

He smiles, and I see a glimpse of the Southern aristocrat he once was. "Apology accepted, sir."

I take in my companions in one sweep of my gaze - the werewolf, here to redeem the honor of his kind; the vampire, here for the love of a woman, and the sake of an all-too-rare friendship; the shaman, here to avenge her almost-sister. I nod toward the horizon. "Let us be off. We have work to do."

"Indeed, sir." Nekron gives the others a secret smile, and his accent is back. "The last ride of Magnus Mortuis and his immortals."