The witch I’d aimed for hurls a spell satchel at me, and my arm burns from the hit.Muchworse than just pins and needles, as Brigitta said, but at least it wasn’t a direct blow. I hit him with a marker, and he steps back. One more down. I whirl Skoskse around in the limited space of the barn’s corridor.
The last guard—a young woman with slick black hair named Mella—must be hiding in a stall. I twist my head around, my scalp tingling, wincing at an attack that hasn’t come.
Skokse blows out a breath. My hands tense in her mane.
Suddenly, the horse kicks, slamming both back hooves into the stall behind me. I hear a groan and turn to see Mella crumpling under the remains of the wooden door. I curse. It’s a game to us, but Skokse doesn’t know that.
“We’ve got her, don’t worry,” Alois says, rushing over. The two others have potions and spells at the ready to heal their comrade.
I toss a red marker on Mella’s limp body. Alois shoots me an annoyed look, but I just shrug, turning my horse around. Four down. Eight to go.
Skokse and I charge out of the barn. The commotion in the stable was loud enough to summon more of the Grenzwache, but they’re too far away to risk my throwing a precious red marker. I kick Skokse, and we head down the hill. My horse is pure muscle and strength, barely showing any signs of exertion as she races toward the relative cover of the trees.
Every battle is a hunt, I think.Time to fight back.
Behind me, I can hear horse hooves.
I squeeze Skokse with my legs but let go of her withers. The bag with the markers is securely tied to my waist. My heart thuds as I look around.
There. A relatively low branch that’s thick enough…
Carefully, I pull my legs up. Sensing my movements, Skokse slows, but not by much. Her pace is even. I nudge her toward the tree, and before I can tell myself what a stupid thing it is to do, I kick up with my legs and grab for the branch with my arms.
Oof.The wind is knocked out of me as I cling to the branch. I scramble, pushing my feet against the trunk to launch myself higher. Skokse wheels around, nodding her big head at me.
“Go,” I gasp, pointing.
The horse thunders into the thicker trees as I climb higher. This fir has enough cover that I won’t be easily spotted. I stand on the branch, leaning my back against the trunk, watching. Waiting.
Six guards on horseback race toward Skokse. I see one wave to the others, pointing toward the trees. Skokse is visible, but only just. The riders slow, fanning out along the edge of the grove.
Skokse, bless her, moves closer to a path near my tree, drawing them in. The riders start heading into the denser woods.
Six. I take a breath, holding my markers in my left palm, gripping one with my right. I have to be quick. I throw one, aiming for the second rider, and my next marker is already leaving my hand before the first hits. In quick succession, I get three hits. The remaining three riders circle around, looking erratically, everywhere but up. I get one more hit before the other two pinpoint my location. I toss a fifth marker, striking the penultimate rider, then I leap from the tree—right at the last guard. She screams in surprise as I land on top of her, mashing the red marker on her back.
Her horse bucks, and we both fall off, a tangle of arms and legs. The others rush, making sure no one is gravely hurt. Now that each of the six bears a red mark from my attack, they’re friendly. Out of the game.
“Better hurry,” one says as I whistle for Skokse, who weaves between the trees back to me. “Brigitta’s coming.”
I use a stump to help launch myself onto Skokse’s back.
Sweat and dirt streak down my face as I lean over Skokse, letting the horse skirt the edges of the dense trees. I’m reaching the end of my ideas, and exhaustion and fading adrenaline are making it hard to think. I’ve gotten ten of the guards with my markers. I need two more.
I could head deeper into the forest, into the areas that have been forbidden. I know the Origin Tree is…somewhere there. But that area will likely be guarded even more heavily.
I narrow down the locations. As captain of the Grenzwache, Brigitta is the most elite warrior, and she knows the game better than any.Where would she be?
On my tail.
She would follow the blood trail—even if the trail is red powder and not literal blood. I close my eyes, envisioning her seeing Alois in the stable, finding the riders at the trees. None of them moved, I realize. They stayed where they were after I marked them—dropped like bodies. Dots for Brigitta to connect, making a line straight to me.
I pull Skokse up to the tree line and hop down, patting my horse on the neck. “Thank you,” I tell her. She stomps, her sharp hoof cutting the soft earth.
I slip into the trees. I’m not that far from the riders I struck down. I move silently through the forest, careful of every step, creeping closer, closer. Back to the very guards I’ve already marked.
Hunting.
None of them hear me as I position myself behind the trunk of a huge oak.
