The air thrummed with the sound of the hunt assembling. Jack looked up when he heard the rising excitement and raucous laughter filling the air, along with sharp commands shouted towards servants scuttling to obey.

  He sighed as he watched a handful of lymer hounds, whining and tugging at their taut leads. The overeager scent?tracking dogs yapped and paced in tight, anxious circles, tangling themselves in their strained leads, desperate to be loosed upon the trail and run down their prey.

  I really don’t want to be here, he thought. I could be eating Zia’s biscuits or training with Toma, Nessa, and Ella… anything but here. Again, he felt his mind being probed for weaknesses. He clenched his teeth and hands, but it didn’t help.

  Beside him, a servant retrieved a bottle of chilled red wine from one of the small automaton porters; its beetle-like shell was opened to reveal a chilled container filled with wine and cooled snacks. The servant filled a half-dozen glasses with expensive red wine and offered Greaves and the others a glass. The Baron downed it in a single swallow and discarded the lead crystal glass into a patch of stinging nettles. Without complaint, the servant waded in after it.

  Nearby, a few dozen deerhounds barked and yipped, snarling against their restraints as handlers fought to control them. Horses snorted and stamped, hooves thudding into the loamy forest floor in impatient rhythm. The soft jangle of harnesses mixed with the rustle of leaves stirred by a rising breeze.

  The chatter and laughter of dozens of people drowned out the forest’s true voice. The morning chorus smothered beneath the rising clamour of boots on earth, jingling tack, and the idle boasts of pompous nobles. The sounds of the hunt didn’t echo through the trees, no, they smothered them, replacing the calm of dawn with a theatre of noise and pageantry.

  Somewhere deeper in the woods, a horn sounded, signalling the start of the hunt. Another horn sounded from another nearby group of hunters. Baron Greaves nodded to one of the servants, who pulled out a horn and returned the sound. A low, measured note that stirred something primal in the chest. Above it all, the sun filtered through the thinning canopy, casting gold across a forest bracing for blood.

  “Time to hunt,” Baron Trefin said. “Sooner we bag a stag, sooner we can sample the Viscounts’ extensive wine cellar.”

  The others chuckled.

  Jack stood with Greaves and the other five blood cultists near a clearing, adjusting the quiver on his shoulder as his mount was led over by a young stable hand. The white oak bow was slung along his back again… naked now, its pale wood and intricate runes exposed.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Your horse, young master,” the stable-hand said with a half-bow as he passed the reins.

  “Thank you,” Jack replied.

  The animal snorted as he swung into the aether-saddle. The leather creaked beneath him as the rune-enchanted saddle adjusted to fit his form. He tested the padding and smiled. The aether-saddle adjusted to absorb shocks.

  Is this how the wealthy live? In his past life, he rode horses, sometimes bareback, and he’d suffered for it. At least I won’t be saddle sore in the morning. Perhaps I can still go for a walk with Dad tomorrow. The thought came with a smile.

  The others mounted with fluidity and practised ease. Greaves was already astride his dark gelding, red embroidery gleaming like arterial filigree across his waistcoat. Baroness Quill rode a sleek grey mare with braided silk ribbons in its mane. Baron Argil’s black steed tossed its head as if bored by the whole affair.

  Metal stirrups clinked as the nobles adjusted themselves upon their horses. Leather saddles squeaked as they adjusted for each rider, and impatient horses brayed and stamped, hooves beating a restless rhythm upon the earth.

  All six nobles wore their titles like regal armour, but beneath their polish, Jack sensed something else, an intent that ran deeper than bloodlines or etiquette. Something older, darker, and dangerous. They smiled, thin, elegant things… but their eyes never left him.

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood upright, as if some unseen predator circled just beyond the tree line, sniffing for weakness.

  Jack glanced around for threats. The nobles were watching him… and he noticed. And they knew he had. Cold sweat dampened his back. What do they want?

  Subtle glances passed between them when he spoke, when he adjusted his gloves, when he breathed.

  I should’ve informed the Inquisition that they were blood mages sooner. In the chaos of his new life, he’d put the matter off until the last moment. A foolish mistake, he was coming to regret. Had he sent the evidence to the Inquisition describing the cultists and the orc warrior’s sacrifice a week earlier, this hunt might have never taken place.

  Jack felt alone while surrounded by enemies. He glanced at the canopy above. It felt too close, like the roof of his cage. Get it together. In a few years, I’ll be ready. The bastard will feel my…

  His thoughts were interrupted as Greaves rode closer. “Fine form, my boy. You carry yourself well,” he said. “There’s something about you,” the Baron went on, half to himself. “Something… touched. As if the Fates spun a new thread just for you.”

  Jack blinked. “T-touched, my lord?” He took a controlled breath to calm his growing anxiety. The Fates… they can’t know.

  “Guided,” Greaves said, his eyes almost glassy. “Yes. That’s the word. I can see it much clearer now.”

  “Guided?” Jack muttered to himself, but Greaves heard. He felt the pressure again, like fingers brushing his mind, searching for an opening. Looking for a weakness.

  The Baron smiled, the kind of smile that knew far more than it said. “Oh, nothing. Only that the Fates don’t often weave a thread twice. Yet here you are.” He chuckled as though it were nothing.

  Jack forced a polite smile, but the words rang in his head as they began to ride. Twice! What does he know?

  ? The Dragon Striker Duology ?

  by DanWerkhoven

  In a frozen wasteland stands a city built from the slaughtered corpses of an ancient race…

  alive, and her extract is the key to a powerful symbiosis between humans and uzhas.

  What to Expect:

  - Complex family dynamics

  - Alchemy and technology based magic system

  - A cold, harsh world that takes guts and two hearts to survive