The Sanction

Chapter 8

"What is taking them so long?" Macer shifted on his mount, impatience heavy in his voice. Beside him, Vilirus did not offer a reply. His dark gaze was focused on the stronghold that was heavily guarded and well lit. From their position hidden just within the tree line, he noted the Weres that lined the outer wall.

"We should have brought more Hunters," Macer continued softly. His horse pranced nervously beneath his agitated form. "Sutter said he would deliver on the eve of the new moon. He is late. If everything does not go according to plan -"

"He will not renege on his word," Vilirus offered nonchalantly.

For a quarter of an hour they waited in silence. When the tell-tale rumbled of hoof beats was heard on the gentle wind, both men turned their mounts around and ventured deeper into the trees and away from the clearing. Moments later, Silas appeared. Behind each of the three horses was attached a lead rope, and on the ground, leaving a blood-stained trail in the cold dirt through two very large sacks, was the smell of dead flesh.

"What was that charlatans excuse for delivering so late?" demanded Macer.

Silas' expression was guarded when he replied. "The Lost proved less than – cooperative."

Vilirus took control of his nervous horse with an expert hand. "We are being followed. They have been on our tails from the moment we came onto their territory."

"Let us get this over with then. The moon is almost to the center of the sky. It is time."

Before anyone could advance, something large and swift disturbed the trees in the darkness. The Hunters' swords were in hand in a flash. Except for the hum of steel, they made no other sound. A decisive growl warned of an approach. Almost completely invisible to the human eye, beneath the thick canopy of leafless branches, they caught the Weres scent long before they clearly recognized his silhouette. He stood a few feet away, breathing evenly, body held tight as if ready to bolt at any moment. He did not pose a threat – yet. Of average height, Macer noted that he was built like an ox – wide in the shoulder and slim at the waist – and was covered in a thin layer of hair. His hands lingered at his sides. Clawed fingers twitched ever so slightly.

"Where is your master?" he whipped in ire.

The Were looked up at him through lowered lids. "My leader commands that you follow me."

Macer nudged his mount forward and paused before looking down his nose. "We have brought the payment – a hundred heads as demanded. Tell that mongrel son of a bitch to bring my daughter here, to me."

"Your insults may very well cost you your life, bloodsucker. If you do not follow me, he will see her killed. Then either way, it is your loss."

He slinked back into the cover of the trees. Macer snarled and kicked his mount into a galloping run. The others followed. On silent feet the Were ran, and were it not for his scent that left a trail in his wake, the Hunters would have had a difficult time keeping pace. Well away from the clearing they rode until they came to a steep hill. Mounts were reigned in violently. Vilirus sniffed the air and frowned. Silas' feet touched the hard earth before any other.

"They are near the water," he informed, adjusting the sword on his back.

Vilirus chewed on his jaw brutally. "It could be an ambush."

"He would not risk it – not this far from the stronghold."

Macer was fast on his heels and wasted no time in unfettering the lead rope from the saddles. He wrapped both around his wrist and dragged the ransom behind him. Moving forward, he descended, sure footed. The Hunters followed close behind. Around them was much movement. Weres were seen lurking in the shadows, none veering close, but present all the same.