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An Excerpt From: WHISPER OF THE BLADE
Copyright © ANYA BAST, 2007
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing,
Inc.
Magnus guided his horse past the thick covering of
bushes and trees of the old forest he traveled through. He’d left the main
road through the Eastern
Mountains some time
ago to indulge himself in a solitary ride back to Ravensbridge.
He knew the way and, if he ever lost it, he had a compass and a map tucked
into the saddlebag of the chestnut brown stallion he rode.
The journey would take longer cross-country, but he had
no pressing need to be back at Ravensbridge.
Indeed, he did not even have a desire. Rolf, his castellan, could take care
of things until he returned. Everyone much preferred him gone these days,
anyway. Many of them wanted him dead.
He wouldn’t go easily, though. They’d have to lynch him.
Magnus refused to be punished for a crime he never committed.
The evidence was damning. Magnus knew that to every man,
woman and child at Ravensbridge it appeared he’d
committed murder. It even looked that way to Quinn. Sorrow clenched in his
chest and throat when he remembered the look of shock, then doubt in his
best friend’s eyes.
Even the person who knew him best in the world thought
he’d done it.
Magnus knew that Quinn was even now on his way through
these forests to seek the aid of a justice mercenary. That was the primary
reason Magnus had gone cross-country. He wanted to get a glimpse of the
woman who might stand in judgment of him, the woman likely to be his
executioner…if she could manage to kill him, that
was. Since he was innocent, he wouldn’t go down without a fight.
A full four weeks had passed since the crime had been
committed. Four weeks of hell in which he’d been accused, had protested his
innocence and finally laid down the law because he’d felt he’d had no other
choice. Unable to exist at Ravensbridge amid the
whispers, suspicious glances, and outright fear of him, he’d left to travel
to his sister’s keep.
A messenger bird, keyed to his location by someone who
had the Talent, had reached him yesterday, letting him know that Quinn
could not take the uncertainty of Magnus’ guilt any longer and had gone to
employ a justice mercenary.
The woman was
well known in the Eastern
Mountains and he knew
she dwelt in these leaf-laden hills. No one could pass through these woods
without her knowing it. As an empath, she could
sense the whereabouts of anyone because of the emotions they emitted. She
would never sense him, however, because he was also an empath.
The rare talent canceled out in two people face-to-face. Well,
theoretically, anyway. There were so few empaths
in the world, it had rarely, if ever, been put to the test. Mostly likely,
he would not be able to feel her emotion, nor her his.
The idea of meeting someone like her was an attractive
one…even if she might want to kill him. He’d take the risk.
Further into the forest, he heard the splash of water
and a woman’s voice swearing low. Silently as he could, Magnus slipped from
his mount, tied him to a tree and stepped carefully through the trees,
trying not to break any branches. She wouldn’t be on guard for sounds in
the forest. He knew that for certain. No, she’d been open to sensing
emotion, not listening for noise, just as he would be in her position.
From his place in the undergrowth, he caught a glimpse
of her in a large, still pool of water. She stood with her back to him,
lean, lithe body moving as she bathed herself. The sunlight sprinkled her
skin through the canopy of trees overhead and caressed her short,
curvaceous body. Long, dark hair hung damp down to the small of her back, twisted
into a braid that lay like a heavy rope along her spine. A pity her
buttocks were concealed under the water. He had the sense they were as
luscious and sweetly curved as the rest of her.
She turned a little, revealing the tender swell of a
breast topped with a pinkened nipple. Her profile
revealed her to be a beauty, but her features were set with an intense
expression, almost sorrowful.
But the most wonderful thing was that he didn’t know how
she felt. The absence of foreign emotion while he viewed another person
felt like a balm to his often-battered soul.
Magnus stared. He’d never expected beauty, not from all
the tales he’d been told about this woman. He’d expected her to be strong,
mannish, but while it was clear she was muscled, her body well-toned from
physical exertions, she appeared small, almost delicate. She seemed barely
able to hold a sword, yet she’d gone up against some of the worst scum Molari had to offer and had come away the victor.
Magnus took a step toward her before he remembered
himself. To court a conversation with Emmia, the
most deadly of justice mercenaries, was to court death.
And he was already doing that.
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