I slipped forward through the forest alone, crouched low and moving as stealthily as possible. I could feel the hungering at the edge of my turning shield, and I heard their screams and the shouts of the soldiers as I drew closer and the muffling effects of the darkwood trees eased. There had to be thirty of the monsters assaulting the camp, although their numbers decreased slowly but steadily as the soldiers no doubt killed them. A few of the hungering tested my shield, but most seemed to be ignoring it and attacking the soldiers. I moved away from the road, keeping my barrier relatively slack against the monsters, until I came parallel to the camp. I took a deep breath, crossed my fingers, and stepped toward the road.

The shield resisted my movement at first. It pressed against the hungering, trying to ward them out of its area, but the hungering severely outweighed me, and the spell pushed me back, instead. I leaned into it, at the same time willing the barrier to become porous. I took a slow step forward as I felt the barrier flex, then another. My head pounded as the strain squeezed my mind, but I clenched my jaw against the pain and took another slow, gradual step.

I stumbled as the barrier gave way, allowing the hungering to pass into it. I froze, my crossbow ready, three more hanging on a rope across my shoulder, feeling the hungering in the midst of my spell. My biggest worry was that the things would turn on me the moment my shield didn’t hold them out, and several of them moved slowly in my direction for a few seconds. They paused, then turned and rushed back toward the camp, and I sighed in relief.

I hadn’t thought that allowing the creatures inside my barrier would let them attack me. If that were the case, then they wouldn’t have fled from in the first place. That meant that my spell had to be less of a shield and more of a current, constantly pushing the things away from me. The shield, where the current bunched up, was its strongest point, but any of the hungering inside my spell would want to flee it – and the only way to do that was to get into the camp.

I moved silently to the edge of the trees, and as I did, the sounds of battle swiftly grew louder until they echoed through the trees. I heard the slavering sounds of the hungering, their claws dragging across wood and metal. Men screamed and shouted, calling out commands and roaring battle cries. The sound of metal striking hardened bone cracked in the air, and occasional cries of pain told me that the hungering were giving as well as getting in the battle.

I moved closer, until the trees thinned and the road glowed a paler shade of brown in the darkness. I crouched down and peeked out, staying low and keeping my body behind a large tree to shield it. The road was still only about ten feet wide there, nothing more than packed, rutted dirt worn into the forest. Across the road, the ground sloped slowly up toward the peak of Blacktop. No trees dotted the long grass of the fifty-foot-long hillside as it gently reached up to a height of twenty feet or so, although trees fanned out along either side of the slope, almost seeming to funnel the hungering toward the summit and the defenders there.

It looked like the soldiers took a page from the Boravans in building their defense. They’d dug a trench across the hillside maybe four feet deep, then piled the dirt up behind it. However, they’d gone one better, half-burying a wall of shields at the top of that barrier. The soldiers stood behind the shield wall, ten of them battling against thirty hungering and holding them at bay. I assumed the rest were in reserve, resting to swap out when the front line grew tired. It was a solid defense, one made even better by the handful of crossbow bolts that flew from behind the front line and buried themselves in the onrushing creatures.

The hungering didn’t ease their assault, though – if anything, it looked like it was growing fiercer with every passing moment. That was probably the effect of my turning, driving the creatures toward the soldiers, but the solid wall of defenders held them at bay with ease. I lifted my crossbow and sighted carefully, wrapping the bolt in twilight magic as I did, then waited. I wasn’t the one starting this battle off, after all.

A man screamed in the darkness, and a shout rang from behind the front wall of defenders. “Ambush!” a man cried out, his voice commanding. “Shield wall to the rear! To the rear!”

The front line of defenders didn’t move, of course; the commander was doubtlessly ordering the reserves to build a shield wall after Renica got one of them. Another scream rang out, then a third; Renica had as many crossbows as I did, and she didn’t seem shy about using them. I waited a moment, then slowly squeezed the trigger of my crossbow.

The magically enhanced bolt shot from the crossbow and sped forth. It struck one of the soldiers in the frontline square in the center of his chest, impacting the heavier chain armor and padding there. The bolt punched through the man’s armor like cloth and ripped his heart in half, and he dropped instantly.

“The front!” the deep voice shouted. “Take cover in front!” Even as I slipped a second loaded crossbow from the loop around my shoulder, the defenders stepped away from the shield wall, reducing their vulnerability to someone at the base of the hill. At least, that would have been the case if the archer didn’t have the Solar Strike spell. Sadly for them, I did, and I cast it as I fired my second bolt.

The bolt lanced forth, punching through one of the shields and taking a soldier low in the gut. It wasn’t a fatal shot, but it didn’t have to be. With the two adjacent soldiers down, a gap formed in the line of defenders – and the hungering poured through it, eager to be away from me and hungry for omeni flesh. The soldiers shouted in dismay as the undead breached their walls and fell back, trying to reform their shattered line. I sent another crossbow bolt their way, this one striking a man in the shoulder. The wound wasn’t serious, but it caused his shield to droop, and one of the hungering tore it free from his arm before dragging him down, tearing the line up even further.

“Shore up the front wall!” the commanding voice shouted, still out of my sight. “Fall in on the front wall! Hold the creatures back!”

Another scream rose from the camp, and I assumed that Renica took advantage of the soldiers turning their backs on her, but I approved of the commander’s call. Renica’s bow might or might not kill soldiers; the hungering absolutely would. More soldiers appeared, pushing the hungering back, and I fired another bolt, punching through an upraised shield and dropping another soldier. I fired my last loaded bow, watching as it caught a man low in the throat and the hungering dragged him down, surging into the gap his absence left.

I put down the bows and hefted my war axe. I couldn’t give the monsters free rein in the camp; I didn’t know where Viora was or how safe she was, and I didn’t want the rescue attempt to kill her. I just needed the defenders to be too busy fighting the monsters to bother with me. I burst from the woods and sprinted up the hillside, running easily through the long grass. I leaped over the narrow trench and landed on the earthen berm, jamming the butt of my axe into the ground to stabilize myself. The hungering nearby turned toward me briefly, but I simply stood still, waiting for them, and they broke and fled, some running down the sides of the hills, the rest pushing further into the camp.

I hopped over the low wall of planted shields and found myself facing a wide-eyed soldier holding a broad-bladed spear. I batted the weapon out of the way, nearly knocking it from his hands, then slashed sideways across his chest. The axe cut across his chest, slicing through the muscles, and he dropped his weapon from limp fingers. I kicked him sideways, and he fell into the dwindling press of undead, who quickly ended his screams.

A man with a sword and shield turned and rushed me, and I swung low at his exposed shins. He leaped back, but I hooked the rear spike of the axe behind his shield and pulled, dragging him past me and into the claws of the hungering. He shrieked and lashed out wildly as they pulled him into their midst, but his cries cut off in a wet gurgle a moment later.

I moved into the line of soldiers, who either had to ignore me to face the hungering or had to turn away from the hungering to face me. My axe glittered and flashed in the moonlight as I dodged axe blows and spear thrusts, returning the favor with swift slashes and lunges. My axe sheared through armor and weapons, lopping off limbs and burying itself in backs and stomachs. I didn’t fight to kill; I attempted to would the soldiers, allowing the hungering to swarm over them. There were more of them than we’d expected; they must have built the camp in advance and left some soldiers in it when they went to burn Borava.

It didn’t matter to me, though; at that moment, I wasn’t Ionat, or even John Gilliam. I was the Faceless Man, a hunter and killer of men. Death incarnate had come to this camp, and however many men faced me, I would slaughter them all. I moved like the wind, slipping aside from blows, dodging lightning thrusts, and sliding heavy slashes. Every slash of my axe cut through flesh, and the screams of my victims rose in a dreadful cacophony around me.

The undead creatures moved as I did, parting around me like the Red Sea, stopping only to feast on fallen or wounded soldiers. Even then, if I moved toward them, they dropped their meal and fled, my spell apparently stronger than their hunger. As the soldiers realized that, their resistance against me organized, and I found myself facing pairs of them instead of single warriors. I blocked a spear thrust only to have a sword blade slide along my side as I narrowly dodged; I ducked beneath an axe blade and a spearpoint took me in the side of the thigh. Blood flowed from a half-dozen shallow wounds, but I ignored the injuries and pushed forward.

My axe cut through armor and sliced upraised shields. I shattered spear shafts and cleaved through heavy sword blades, always moving deeper into the camp. Wounded soldiers fell back, bleeding from deep cuts or cradling the stumps of severed limbs, and after a moment, I felt the press of defenders start to ease as the line retreated, reforming to face me instead of the hungering. Only a dozen of the undead remained along with five soldiers, and the monsters hung back, seemingly content with feasting on the remains of those who’d fallen.

One of the soldiers stepped forward, larger than the rest and dressed in gleaming silver plate armor rather than chain mail. He held a heavy blade in his fist and had a buckler strapped to his left forearm, and his gray eyes gleamed in the moonlight. He lowered the blade toward me, his face grim.

“I don’t know who you are,” the man spoke in a deep, resonant voice. “I assume you come from that wretched hole of a village we burned, though, and you’re seeking revenge. Is that more or less right?”

I shook my head. “I’m just a hunter who found some rabid animals,” I said, spitting to the side in contempt. “I’m here to put them down, nothing more.”

The man laughed and shook his head. “You’ve got spirit, boy, but it’ll take more than that to defeat a Vanator.” He looked at the others. “Fan out and surround him. Kill him quickly while I deal with the hungering.”

They nodded, but I moved before they could. I slid forward and slashed at the closest soldier, my axe cutting through the meat of his upper arm, then jammed the stubby spike on top into his ribs and twisted it, shredding his lung. He grunted, then coughed up a crimson spray as blood flooded his lungs. I kicked him away from me and ducked as I saw a blow flying at me from the side. I spun and cut with my axe, catching the next man in the leg and sending his foot flying free.

A spear stabbed at my shoulder, and I twisted, allowing the blade to slide along the skin rather than punch into the joint. Blood flowed from the wound, but I knocked the weapon aside. Before I could return the blow, a shield slammed into me, knocking me backward. I tripped over a fallen soldier and rolled, coming to my feet with a knife in my hand. My hand swept down, and the shield-bearer slashed out with his shield, batting the weapon aside – but not the second blade that spun in the air and plunged into his chest. He gasped and fell back, grabbing the blade and yanking on it, but I ignored him and lunged at the spearmen. My axe swept at him, glowing with the spell wrapped around it…

And shattered as a heavy sword intercepted it, cleaving through the haft and the spell with equal ease. Pain spiked in my temples as the Vanator stepped forward, his foot crashing into my chest with the force of a truck. I flew backward, rolling as I did, and came to my feet. My chest ached and throbbed, but nothing seemed broken. I jerked my hatchet free with one hand and a knife with the other, holding them out before me, my hands moving and my feet wide. The Vanator just shook his head and lowered his weapon, seemingly unconcerned.

“Go ahead and kill him,” he told the last spearman, resting the point of his sword on the ground.

The spearman swallowed hard and glanced between me and the Vanator, then hefted his weapon and moved toward me. He thrust with the spear, but I slid the blow with my hatchet, ducking beneath it, and hurled the knife in my left hand. The blade sparkled as it slammed into the man’s cheek, tearing it open and sinking into the bone beneath. The soldier dropped his spear with a scream, grabbing the dagger and trying to pull it free, and I lunged forward. My hatchet cut through the chain armor covering his neck and plunged into his throat. I jerked it free with a minor effort, then took another knife from my dwindling stash and watched as he fell to the ground, blood spraying from the severed carotid artery.

The Vanator watched all this appraisingly, then chuckled. “Not bad,” he admitted. “A bit clumsy, but you’ve got real talent.” He lifted his sword. “In fact, normally, I’d offer to recruit you – the Vanatori can always use someone with your skills – but that won’t be possible, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?” I said evenly, watching his eyes carefully. The man was talking instead of attacking, and that either meant that he thought he could kill me at any time – which he might have, but after seeing me butcher half of his men wouldn’t be a sure thing – or he was trying to distract me. “Am I supposed to ask, ‘Whyever not?’ now?”

“You’re using magic,” he laughed. “I can see the glow of it around you. No Vanator would ever…” He lunged forward in the middle of his speech, his blade flashing up and spearing out at me. If I hadn’t been watching and ready, that would have been the end of me. I saw the slight tightening of his eyes, though, and the shift of his grip, so I slid to the side, crossing the dagger and hatchet and pushing his thrust past me. I lashed a foot out at his knee, but he shifted his leg to take the blow on his calf, then reversed his thrust and slashed toward me. I pressed upward and ducked, pressing the blade over my head, then disengaged my dagger and twisted. Solar raju coated the weapon as I drove it at his thigh, and it struck with a clang – and snapped in half as the spell faded and died.

I staggered from the spell backlash, and he swung a backhanded slash at me. I leaned back, so the blade only sliced a thin line across my chest, then barely managed to push aside a thrust that would have taken me in the stomach. The man let go of his sword with one hand and smashed out at me with a fist. I ducked, but the blow clipped the top of my skull, stunning me for a moment and allowing him to cut me across the stomach. I doubled over and fell back, but he staggered as something clanged against his back and a crossbow bolt dropped to the ground behind him.

He spun, then dodged nimbly aside as a large, dark shape soared through the air where he’d been standing. Vikarik landed and twisted to face him, letting out a bark that knocked him back a step before charging him. The Vanator twisted to the side and slammed the pommel of his sword down on the cairnik’s head, knocking Vikarik sprawling, but the dog recovered quickly and rushed him. He slashed at the dog, and Vikarik yelped, but in that instant, I drew one of my last knives and flung it at his face. The blade spun through the air, gleaming in the moonlight – and clanged off his almost casually upraised buckler.

I drew my last knife and rushed at him, moving to flank him. He turned to keep Vikarik and I both in his sight, his blade held loosely in one hand pointed toward the dog, his shield facing me. Vikarik lunged, and he slashed down at the creature. In the same moment, I brought my hatchet down on his shield, hooking it and pulling it to the side, then wrapped my dagger in twilight magic and thrust it at his side.

Power roared from the dagger in a flood, and it plunged through his armor, sinking into the flesh beneath. I’d hit him below his ribs, the blade angled upward to slice through the bottom of his lung and into his liver. He grunted and staggered back as the power surged through him, devouring his organs, yanking the knife free. He slashed at me with his sword, and I crossed the weapons in a block that caught his blade. I lifted it past me with the hatchet and stabbed again with the knife, but he caught my wrist in an iron grip, pushing it away from him and squeezing the bones there painfully. He tried to bring his sword into play, but my hatchet was hooked into the blade, and he didn’t have the space and leverage to free himself.

His knee flew up, and I twisted, dodging the blow. The movement freed his sword, though, and the flat of it slammed into my shoulder, knocking me sideways. I turned the move into a roll as he slashed downward, but he thrust his blade, and I barely managed to knock it aside with my hatchet. A loud clang sounded, and he staggered forward as another bolt shattered against the back of his helmet, and I used the moment to kick his foot, knocking it out from beneath him.

He fell to the ground, landing well, but dropped his sword and pulled out a knife as I swarmed toward him. He stabbed at me, and I blocked the blow at his wrist, but his knee smashed into my side, knocking the wind out of me and sending a wave of pain searing into me from my stomach wound. I fell back, and he rolled toward me, his dagger stabbing downward. I blocked the blow, and suddenly his body shifted as Vikarik grabbed his foot and dragged him off me. He flipped to his back, kicking the cairnik and knocking it flying, then grabbed my wrist as my dagger descended toward his forehead.

His eyes widened as he saw the blade hanging over his head. “An Imperial dagger!” he gasped. “Traitor!” He twisted and rolled out from beneath me, but I flung the knife at him instinctively. He brought his shield up to block it, but the blade punched through his buckler and sank into his face. He dropped to the ground, screaming, yanking the dagger free and clutching his face as blood streamed from between his armored hands. I ran forward, scooping up the fallen knife, and jammed it into his chest.

His screams cut off in a gurgling choke as magical energy poured from the dagger into him, searing his heart and lungs. I twisted the knife, tearing the wound wider, and jerked it out. He stared at me for a moment before collapsing, his armor crashing as he hit the ground and his final breath wheezing between his bloodstained lips.