The six remaining venatores clearly did not expect Shade to turn back towards them. Their shouts carried to him on the half-dying wind, and they pointed at the Night Rider as he drew his sword and urged his mount on.

Vic, well-trained calvary mount that he was, lowered his shoulder and bounced off the lead venator’s horse, throwing the rider off balance and making his mount shy left. Unbalanced, the venator forgot about swinging his sword and grabbed for the horse’s mane—but by the time his hand made it there, a silver-bladed schiavona separated his head from his shoulders.

It bounced, and the sweet smell of blood mixed with the salt smell of two seas before being drowned out by the drizzle. The body collapsed, spooking the venator’s already unhappy horse, who bolted and dragged the body a hundred yards before stopping.

Twisting in his saddle, Shade carried his sword’s momentum forward into the next rider, stabbing him in the left shoulder. The poor bastard tried a cross-body thrust, but he was right-handed, and Shade was on his offside. The venator was foolish enough to go for a killing blow, which slowed him. Shade was content with a quick stab and the scream that followed.

By then, Vic’s momentum carried him free of the enemy. Leaning back, Shade whirled his mount around, and Vic rocketed forward before the four uninjured venatores realized what was happening. Quick pressure from Shade’s legs sent Vic after the two on the left, and his sword snapped back up.

He caught the first one, a redhead wearing a torn red tunic—did Instance get a piece of him?—under the arm when the fool raised his sword for an overhead strike. The artery gushed blood, and he collapsed from the saddle as Shade moved on to his next opponent.

“Look out!” This one’s Evendarian accent was pronounced as he tried to warn his companions. He even got his sword up in time, aiming for Vic’s neck.

Decent tactics. Disable the horse and spill the rider. Shade approved, or would have if he’d meant to give this traitor half a chance to live.

Not so much.

A touch of his heels and Vic bolted forward, slamming broadside into the venator’s squealing chestnut mare. Shade parried the attempted slash, carried it wide, and buried a dagger lefthanded into the venator’s neck. He left it there.

Three down, three to go.

A quick glance showed him the first enemy he wounded was running away. How brave. Shade spared him no other mind, turning Vic with his legs before leaping out of the saddle. The two other venatores had their horses turned around and galloped towards him as a team, barely a horse’s width apart, which was about the stupidest thing they could have done.

Two quick strides right, and Shade slipped between the two, his sword arcing up. One slice left, one slice right—he cut into one rider’s thigh and the other’s shin. Both howled in pain, the one to the right cursing a string of obscenities that focused on Shade’s long-dead mother.

That one had too much anger and adrenaline coursing through his system to realize that his shin was cut to the bone. He kicked his horse with his working leg, bearing down on Shade.

“Fucking whoreson!”

Shade cocked his head, squared up, and stood his ground.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” But the venator kicked his horse too hard with that one good heel when he forgot the other leg wouldn’t work. The confused animal swerved.

Seeing his opening, Shade danced to the rider’s offside, grabbed his arm, and hauled him out of the saddle. The Night Rider’s sword came down in a flash of silver, and blood splashed up; Shade twisted his head aside to keep it from getting into his eyes.

By the time he dropped the body and looked up, the last venator was struggling to turn his horse and stem the flow of blood from his left thigh at the same time. But he still glared at Shade with murder in his eyes, still had a sword in his hand, and was still a threat.

Part of Shade wanted to let him live, but these same men had murdered—or captured—his friend. They swore allegiance to the Queen of Olor, abandoning their countrymen, and for what? Money? A little comfort? The assurance that they, too, would not be hunted or enslaved?

Only a fool thought Nydein OlorIlliet would treat Evendarians with dignity. Particularly after this many years.

He was too fucking tired to prolong this fight.

Whipping his arm back, Shade flung his schiavona with all his strength. He watched it arc through the air, flipping end-over-end once, twice, and then a third time before it slammed into the last venator’s chest. Spooked, his horse reared, and he flopped out of the saddle, gurgling his last before he hit the ground.

Scowling, Shade trudged the fifteen feet to him to pull his sword free. He could still see the last venator in the distance, riding south for all he was worth.

He could follow. The other man’s horse was likely as tired as his own, judging from how it weaved left and right. Vic was young, fit, and better bred. Shade could catch him.

Or he could let the Bridge eat him.

He sighed. “I hate this place.”

How many bodies had been left on the Bridge in past years, how many swept out to sea? Was it the storm that made the air feel heavy, or the weight of too many souls left to wander when their bodies were left unburnt? Shade shook himself. Now was not the time to be maudlin.

Nor was this the time to think about battles past. He could not change wrongs already visited upon his people. He could only move forward. Fight while he could.

His muscles ached, and he burned for sleep, but thanks to these fools, he now had more work to do before he could rest.