The usurper’s guards were clumsy, clanking things, like overbred cattle. And like cattle, they had been selected for their compliance, their stupidity, their ability to trust a reaper just because he fed them. They made easy kills, but had fat for brains. Their corn-fed muscles would not nourish her.
Josephine watched them from the bushes, her movements liquid and silent – a true hunter. She placed each massive paw with care, distributing her weight across her toes before shifting across the shoulders, lifting a leg without disturbing so much as a pebble. It was unnecessary precaution, frankly. She did not think they would hear her coming if she stomped through the thicket like a sow. “Halt!” they shouted, and Josephine paused, following their line of sight. Her eyes narrowed.
No. It couldn’t be.
She observed the exchange with interest, her eyes fixed mostly on the familiar familiar with the oversized feet and attitude. From her position upwind, she could not smell the pair of them, nor could she hear them very clearly…but she could see them well enough to deduce that yes, it could be. It was them. When Guy crossed the brook to retrieve his badge, Josephine began her retreat.
Mace, we have a problem, she informed her fairy telepathically, as she picked up the pace across an exposed meadow, strides stretching to eat the distance between her and the next copse of shaded trees. Barring snow, she was faster than a Lynx, and could only hope that would prove true now.
What’s going on? His voice in her mind was professional, but she could still sense his concern.
Alliance SpecOps. We know them.
What?
It’s Penry and Altair. They’re on me, I’m leading them away from the camp. Josephine wove through the trees expertly, but not so precisely that she did not brush the reaching twigs, leaving her scent on everything. It was impossible to tell how close they were, but Altair was all but certain to have noticed her presence, back there. And if she remembered anything about him, it was that he was relentless. If that was still true, he’d come after her. Keep your distance.
I’m not just gunna leave you to deal with them on your own, Jo, Mace snapped, down the bond. Where are you?
I can handle it.
Where are you?
Josephine rolled her eyes. Men. This one, in particular. She cut a wide arc across the forest floor, into the trees that shifted constantly, their gnarled branches creaking with the movements no normal eye could detect. Then she slowed. Her gait was almost casual, as she wove a large figure-eight through that ever-changing, inscrutable wood. She did not think it would be long, now.
It wasn’t.
“How lucky I was, to have been upwind,” she purred, emerging from the bushes. She did not sit, but her posture was casual, belying her suspicion. “Hello, Altair. It’s been a long time.” Her eyelids fell demurely, head cocking. “Where is that strapping Lieutenant of yours…or is it Captain, now?” She drew a deep breath, turning her head over her shoulder – but the scent she caught was not Guy’s. Shit.
I told you to keep your distance, you overprotective boar. Mace strode out of the trees and stood behind her, sword drawn. So much for subtlety. He shot her a warning glance. She could feel the weight of equilibrium gathering around him, like a primed flash grenade; her skin prickled with it. You think they’re looking for a fight?
Only one way to find out.
“If you’re here to bring me in, then come out and face me.” Mace spoke toward the trees, his voice carrying. They were well beyond shouting distance of the road and Mordred’s men, now. “If you’re not, then stop hiding in the trees like a spook. There are outlaws in these woods, but the ticks are worse.”
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