"E donkinit," he said, using slightly formal speech. "I am Gifted, and offer you and yours no harm. I am named Sallis ti Ath."
Coming from a direction Sallis did not expect, the sylph entered the circle of firelight cautiously, silvery-gray eyes wary, earpoints laid back in his silver hair. He wore breeches of some sort of spun fiber that came short of his knees, and a shirt with laces halfway down the front. A cape that looked like yellowflax covered much of the rest of him. He carried a short staff and a net.
"Come and join me," invited Sallis. "I am no slaver."
"Yet you are a hunter," said the sylph, keeping his distance.
"Takes one to know one," replied Sallis peaceably, eyeing the staff and net.
"I do not hunt my own kind."
"Very perceptive." Sallis managed a smile. "What draws you so close: knowing I hunt wrongdoers, or that I am Gifted?"
The sylph's eyes glowed as they reflected the firelight, their owner moving sinuously until he stood almost opposite Sallis. He glanced across at the sleeping Oston and stood on the balls of his feet, ready for instant flight.
Sallis offered no reassurance or encouragement. He suspected his words would not influence this sylph anyway.
"Donkinit, dondurkinit; ab necul vuca," he replied, eventually.
"There is a world of difference between Gifted and sorcerers," said Sallis, stung into defending himself. "Donkinitul ne durmagula."
The sylph stared, but looked no less wary than before.
"You hunt now?"
Sallis gave a smile of anticipation. "We chase a killer, yes."
The sylph shuddered and his earpoints wilted before recovering. They still lay back in his hair, shouting mistrust to the world.
"Just the one man," he continued. "I know he passed through. One man alone."
The sylph moved back from the fire and the glow from his eyes faded. His voice reached Sallis from the darkness. "A man of malice and sadness," said the wild sylph. "Yet his heart is not so dark as yours."
"When that man dies, my heart will lighten," promised Sallis.
"No," disagreed the sylph's voice, "only darken further."
"Did you see him pass through? How far ahead is he? Has he left the forest yet?"
Sallis did not know if the sylph heard him or not, but no answer came from the darkness and before long, all the normal forest sounds returned. The wild visitor had gone.
Sallis woke Oston.
"Your watch," he replied. "Wake me before dawn."
Sallis wrapped himself in his bedroll, but sleep was a long time coming.
***
Chapter 12 - Passing Through
"When did you go fishing?" demanded Oston, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He stared at the four small fish, gutted and wrapped in broadleaf, sizzling in Sallis's small pan over the fire.
Sallis smiled. "I've not strayed from this spot. We happen to be in wild sylph country and a one of their hunters left us these as a gift."
Oston stared. "I've never heard of wild sylphs behaving like this."
"These do," replied Sallis. "Though I think it depends who's traveling through their lands."
"We're honored guests?"
"More a 'please pass on quickly'," replied Sallis. "Sylphs aren't often fanatical for the Gifted, and wild sylphs even less so. These are ready; don't burn your fingers."
Oston grunted thanks and began to devour the small mountain trout. "So you've antagonized the crowd living here too? Doesn't surprise me."
Sallis gave his companion a tolerant smile. "Wash that down with water, then we'll get on."
Before leaving, Sallis buried the remnants of their fire and scuffed over all traces of the small camp, while Oston saddled both Hammer and Glyder. Sallis felt very aware of patient silver-gray eyes watching every move as he worked. The sylphs did not show themselves, but then he did not really expect them to. Wild sylphs were usually shy of all humans, not only Gifted ones.
Before the fish even had time to settle on their stomachs, they were on the road again, following the rutted track through the dark forest.
"Nearly as bad as night," grumbled Oston.
"Hardly," replied Sallis, as he passed through a ray of sunshine. "There's plenty of plants growing down here and they need light to survive."
Oston changed the subject. "Did you have an enjoyable chat with the wild sylphs?"
"Yes, and their females came along and danced to keep me company before I woke you up. But they prefer dancing for tall skinny humans, rather than short, fat ones."
"Be still, my violent hands," growled Oston. "No need to break his neck just yet."
Sallis laughed.
They did not press hard, as Sallis knew they were catching up with his target. The horses had been ridden quite hard yesterday, so they probably deserved an easier day.
Oston shuddered. "Why does it feel like someone's watching us?"
"Probably because someone is," answered Sallis. Although he had glimpsed no movements, he had the same shivery feeling. "The wild sylphs will be keeping an eye on us."
"What do they think we might do?"
"Turn off and try to find their home," replied Sallis. "Wild sylphs fear slavers above all else."
"Strange creatures. The sylphs I know all seem happy enough."
"A matter of culture," said Sallis. "The sylphs we know were all bred for slavery, but these were born wild."
"But it's what they are," insisted Oston. "How do the infertiles cope? You know how the breeders treat them; they need someone."
Sallis, who had never met a wild sylph before last night, shrugged. "Perhaps they look after each other. Or else wild sylphs treat their infertiles differently from the way domestic sylphs treat their own. Maybe wild parents don't reject them."
"I suspect they do," said Oston. "The same for all sylphs. To them, infertiles are useless mouths, and parents raise them until they're old enough to stand up by themselves, then reject them. All sylphs do that, so I don't see these being any different."
Sallis heard truth in Oston's words. The infertile wound, caused by the pain of separation inflicted by their own parents, was how humans managed to get such docility and obedience from their infertile sylph slaves. Rejected by their own kind, infertiles readily bonded with human owners, willing to accept any attention, even negative attention, that showed they at least belonged.
"Breeders are more independent," he said. "They probably find some use for infertiles."
"They'd better," said Oston. "Infertile sylphs outnumber males and females combined. And I don't see too many wild infertile sylphs passing through our markets."
"You might not be looking hard enough," said Sallis. "Everybody knows a certain number of sylphs in the markets have been taken illegally."
"Only if they're breeders," retorted Oston. "I expect they push surplus infertiles out from their colonies."
Sallis shrugged. "I've never heard of it, but I suppose you might be right. They say a lot of the young males leave their homes and look for other tribes."
"Instinctive, I was told," said Oston. "Helps prevent the bloodlines from growing too close."
Sallis wondered how many of them made it. Sylph males were rare enough as it was, and he suspected a good number of these young wild sylph males found their way into stud farms, never to leave again.
"Enough of bloody sylphs," continued Oston. "Are we getting any closer to him?"
Sallis nodded. "With every step," he said, grimly.
***
Chapter 13 - Captured
They were still deep in the forest's gloom when Sallis turned Glyder off the main track to follow a fainter, but still visible, path. Oston paused, then turned Hammer's head to follow.
"Hope you know what you're doing," said Oston. "It's easy to get lost in forests."
"Only for city boys," retorted Sallis. "Some of us know how to follow the sun."
Oston craned his neck and peered upwards. "If you could see the sun."
"Th
e sylphs have no problems," Sallis pointed out.
"But they live here," protested Oston. "They've probably given every single tree its own name."
"Besides," continued Sallis, changing the subject away from sylphs, "the killer went this way. The trail he left doesn't lie."
Oston subsided.
The trees abruptly thinned, and Sallis reined in to stop himself blundering onto a grassy clearing, at the center of which stood a small, wooden house, its roof made from thatch. Smoke tumbled from the lone chimney, but there was otherwise no sign of life.
"Woodcutters?" asked Oston.
"The trail leads directly to it," whispered Sallis. "Wait here, and I'll scout around in a circle, see if it passes out again."
Glyder's reins were thrust into Oston's hands together with a whispered admonition to keep silence, and Sallis melted into the forest. He kept the clearing and the small house in sight as he circled around it, hoping to pick the trail up again.
Well, part of him hoped he wouldn't.
And he didn't.
As he moved, he weighed his options. He suspected the house consisted of a single room, with perhaps a mezzanine over to separate a sleeping area. Though wood was piled to the eaves at the back of the building, he saw no sign of activity. Only the smoke, tumbling from the chimney.
No tools in sight, and no outbuildings. No horse either, which surprised Sallis. The killer must have some transport to have kept ahead for so long. Worse, he found no sign of a horse hidden in the forest.
But Sallis chose to ignore the warning the lack of an animal should have shouted to him. His anger and hatred rose as he realized the killer must be inside the building. He returned to Oston.
"He's in there," he whispered. "No sign of the trail leaving that hut."
"How many windows?" asked Oston.
"One at the back and the one we're looking at."
"Door at the back too?"
Sallis nodded.
Oston took one look at Sallis's face and firmed himself. "We'll have to take it from the sides," he said. "Then through the doors at the same time. D'you think he knows we're here?"
"I hope not yet." Sallis's voice had firmed and his expression grew determined. "He's about to find out."
They secured Glyder and Hammer, Sallis's horse looking most put out that he didn't receive his usual gentle pat as his master stepped away.
"Remember to keep low under the window," warned Sallis.
Oston gave his companion a tolerant look as they parted company. Sallis had opted for the front door, leaving Oston with the back. Once in position, they crept out from the trees, swords drawn. They reached the ends of the small house, where Sallis paused to listen again.
Still nothing. The trail led straight to the hut and did not leave again. The man must be inside. Sallis stuck his head around the corner, spotted Oston at the opposite end, and raised his hand.
Oston withdrew and Sallis knew the guardsman was making his way towards the back door, while he crept towards the front. There was a latched door, which he hoped remained unlocked, because kicking in a door often brought more trouble than it was worth.
Silently, Sallis lifted the latch, pulled the door open and jumped inside, aware of sudden light as Oston did exactly the same at the back. He barely had time to take in a single room, as he'd suspected, and a brilliant fire at the far end, before the world turned black.
***
When Sallis came to, he and Oston were secured to the uprights of the far frame that helped form the small house. Tied tightly, he could not move arms or legs, and he hoped his blood still flowed freely.
An ax hung on either side of the fireplace and Sallis spotted children's toys carelessly pushed into one corner. In the opposite corner, he saw the unmistakable shape of a quarterstaff. Sallis doubted if the real owner would be along to collect it any time soon. Their swords were laid along the wall under the window.
A man sat at the only table and, if he was a woodcutter, Sallis would eat the thatched roof. A mop of shaggy black hair covered a round head that sat atop a squat body. Sallis knew the sort: men, often unfairly classed as unintelligent, used for those unpleasant tasks the criminal classes would rather not do themselves.
But these men, undesirable as they were, had their own code of honor. They did not kill families, they recoiled from murdering children and they would not slaughter sylphs.
Which meant this man was different from the rest.
At his side, Oston stirred and groaned, and the man looked around, dark blue eyes regarding them both solemnly.
"Awake now?"
The man's voice sounded surprisingly normal, and Sallis realized he had expected a low growl or slow speech. He stared back.
The man stood and crossed to join them. Well, to join Sallis, because he ignored Oston completely.
"So you can follow," he said.
Sallis's anger flared. "Why did you kill them?"
No reaction at all; no guilt, shame, pride. Nothing.
"Once you touch, that is it," continued the other man. "You can no longer follow." He stretched out a hand, but stopped short of touching Sallis. "Even if unconscious? You've already touched me, when I tied you here."
"Why did you murder them?"
The man shrugged. "To bring you here," he said. "Nothing more." He gestured around the room. "You have caused us so much trouble, Sallis ti Ath. Not only your friends had to die. A family of seven lived here." Finally, some emotion from the other man: a small smile. "And I've taken great care to ensure that nothing of mine has been left behind this time. You may as well relax; he will be here soon."
"Who is he?" demanded Oston.
The man ignored him again. "Poor Sallis ti Ath," he said, his voice holding a slightly mocking tone. "Denied his prey. Seething with hate because he lost his friends, and that hate burns more brightly because here stands the killer. And he can do nothing."
The man turned on his heel, opened the door, and left the small house.
"What is that all about?" demanded Oston.
"Good question." Sallis strained against his bonds, but they held firm. He realized something else. He could no longer sense the other man. He had spoken truly; Sallis had, no matter how inadvertently, touched his target and could no longer follow him.
"Why didn't he kill us?"
Sallis remembered Sandev's words. The only real mystery was why he hadn't killed Oston, but he said nothing. "There's more than one of them," he said.
"This 'he'?"
"His horse must be hidden somewhere, or how else could he have kept ahead of us? But I never found his trail, which I would have. That means someone else hid his horse for him. He claims to have left nothing behind in this room, which suggests someone else tidied it for him."
Oston chuckled. "Vayburn was right about one thing."
"What's he got to do with anything?"
"You really would have made an excellent guardsman."
Sallis gave a skeptical grunt. "You don't pay well enough," he retorted.
Both men continued to struggle against their bonds, in the hope of working a rope loose, or reaching a knot they could work on with their fingers, but their captor knew his work too well.
"The beggar must have been a sailor," growled Oston in disgust. "He's got me tied up too well."
Sallis felt frustration on more than one level. Not only was he secured so he could not free himself, but he had failed to catch the killer. That did not mean he had given up, though. He did not believe in giving up.
They had been struggling for almost an hour, when Sallis saw a shadow pass one of the windows. And both men stilled as the latch on the front door suddenly lifted.
Someone was about to come in.
***
Chapter 14 - Unexpected Surprise
Sallis had never expected to see the man who now entered again. Hazel eyes, light brown hair and a lined face.
"Gamal?" Oston recovered first.
"Shush!" Gamal looked over hi
s shoulder and slipped the door shut behind him. "With any luck, he's still looking for your horses."
"How did you find us?" demanded Oston, while Sallis watched thoughtfully.
"Never mind that," replied Gamal, drawing his dagger and working it through Oston's bonds. "I followed you. I've moved your horses somewhere safer, but we must leave quickly. There are two of them."
The rope securing Oston finally parted and the solidly-built guardsman stepped forward and rubbed his arms.
"He said someone would be coming," said Sallis, his dark eyes suspicious. "I did not expect it to be you."
"Me?" Gamal's eyebrows lifted together. "You're lucky I followed you here. You're even luckier I noticed your tracks turning off the main route."
"Then how do you know there are two?"
"Because I've seen the other one in the woods. We must hurry, else he'll be here." He pointed at Sallis with his dagger before beginning work on his bonds. "For some reason he's especially interested in you. Something to do with you being Gifted, perhaps?"
Moments later, Sallis was rubbing his own arms, pleased to note that nothing had gone to sleep. At least his blood flow had not been interrupted.
"Don't forget your weapons!" cautioned Gamal, indicating their swords.
Oston claimed his and strapped the belt around his waist. Sallis picked up his own which was unsheathed, as he always slung his sword belt around his pommel, and leaned forward to touch the staff.
Gamal smiled. "A replacement for the one I broke?"
"Something like that." The moment Sallis's fingers grasped the wooden stave, he nodded in approval. This was a well-made staff, solid and portable. Long, but not overly thick.
"Well, if you feel you might need it, bring it along. Looks like the rightful owner has no further need for it."
"If someone's coming for us, I suggest we disappear now," said Oston, sounding almost cheerful. "Lead on to the horses, Gamal."
Gamal gave a quick nod, and opened the door a crack. Satisfied they were alone, he left, Oston and Sallis almost treading on his heels.
Sallis held his sword at the ready, face exuding cold determination. "Why did you move the horses?" he asked Gamal.
"In case he went looking for them," replied Gamal. "He might have wanted to kill them to slow you down."
Sallis's mouth worked soundlessly. He no longer had the trail; touching his quarry had returned his following talent to quiescence. The man might be anywhere.
Gamal looked at him closely. "You've lost it, haven't you?" he asked, quietly. "Well, you're in luck. Not only do I know who the killer is, but I also know where he lives. Care to come with me on the journey?"