The ambush wasn’t merely ineffective—it was downright laughable.
No doubt the bandits believed themselves concealed by the dense red abyssinia trees that clustered along the narrow trail cutting through the Mekbibya Forest. Far from it, it turned out. Their vibrant-hued cloaks—stolen from some Dalingcebo village to the north, no doubt—visible among the dull ochres, browns, and reds of the underbrush. Their scents, too, gave them away. Not a man among them had washed within a fortnight, according to the Hunter’s nostrils.
Worse, there were ten of them. A paltry number, far too few to pose any true threat to the Hunter. Yet enough that one might get off a lucky strike that injured Kiara or hobbled one of the horses. And with Elivast and Ash already exhausted, he dared not risk it.
Keeper take them! The Hunter growled low in his throat. The last thing I need now is having to deal with pissing bandits!
He and Kiara had ridden virtually nonstop for days hunting a demon. But no ordinary demon, this—though only a fool would consider any Abiarazi ordinary. Every one the Hunter had encountered, he’d despised.
Creatures of wickedness and cruelty, dominated by their innate lust for power, blood, and death.
Yet this demon the Hunter pursued was a creature so terrible and vile its own fellows had buried it.
Condemned to spend eternity trapped in the clutches of an ancient Serenii, locked away where its taint could not pollute the world.
And now the bastard had escaped its shackles, broken loose from the prison that had held it bound for six thousand years. The demon “He Who Is Nameless”—known by the people of Ghandia as Nuru Iwu, and who the Hunter had dubbed the far less unwieldy Nameless—now ran free across Einan. The taint of his evil would soon spread unless the Hunter found and destroyed him once and for all.
Weighed against that evil, bandits ranked terribly bloody low on the Hunter’s list of priorities. Unfortunately, he couldn’t simply avoid them, no matter how much he wanted to. A few minutes’ delay was worth eliminating any risk to Kiara and the horses.
He reined in Elivast and sprang from the saddle before the horse had fully come to a stop.
“What—” Kiara asked, beginning to slow Ash beside him.
“Give me a moment.” The Hunter rolled his eyes. “Got a bit of annoyance to clear out of the way.”
One eyebrow rising, Kiara reached for Deathbite, belted at her hip.
“Nah.” The Hunter waved her away with one hand, tossed Elivast’s reins to her with the other. “I’ve got this.”
Turning, he marched down the narrow, winding forest path in the direction he’d scented the ambush. A cold, hard part of him wanted to prolong the inevitable clash, to vent his frustration on the bandits. For days now, they’d been riding hard and searching for any sign of Nameless. In vain. All their effort had earned him nothing but saddle sores, dust in his mouth, and a mounting sense of worry. His cruel nature—a gift of his Abiarazi forefathers—longed to take out the anger and dread tightening like a crossbow’s string within his gut on the witless fools who’d chosen to accost him.
But did they truly deserve it? The Hunter he’d once been would have scoffed at the question. The mere notion of anything less than total butchery would never have crossed his mind. Now, he was too exasperated and spent to want anything more than to simply be done with it.
“Come on out!” he shouted into the forest. “Let’s not waste our time. I’m not handing over my valuables, so if you want them, you’re going to have to take them from me.”
