Page 64 of The Blind Hordesman

In my mind, the scents and sounds of males fade, and I extend my senses through the quiet evergreen forest about half a mile away on my left. I sweep it with my hearing and pick up nothing out of the ordinary, namely no Regha male breathing. The imposter likely knows I’m a hunter, and he’d be stupid to try to escape on land. The water would mask his scent, and he’s got a head start on me. By now, he’s miles away. If he escaped inside a contraption, and not by swimming, he could be farther than that. It matters not. I smelled him, and I will hunt him for the duration of my life.

I climb down from the pole and enter the water, then swim away from the dying males, submerging my body in the sea, listening, sensing. There’s nothing out here, and there’re two ways I could go. Left or right, but not deeper into the sea. I don’t know why I feel like he’s following the shore, but I do, and I trust I am right.

Left or right. Decisions, decisions.

I swim left and keep swimming until the battle is a faint noise in the background. A pulse hits my senses and pushes the water against my body, throwing me back at least a mile. I emerge, snarling. I’m back on the fucking shore, and stomping feet tell me there’s an army coming my way. I listen and recognize the breathing patterns of my Warlords. Noslov has come to my aid, and I’m certain of that when I hear the Horde cheer. The Horde cannot hold, but my army will, and they will have to hold without me.

Frightened fish rush past me as I submerge under the surface and swim toward the pulse. Silence makes the gate expand, and the imposter can’t carry it with him anymore, although I have no idea if he’s developed his own gate control, nor do I care. I just want to find him and kill him.

Under the water, I swim and come up for air only when necessary, but I can’t hear anything besides the pulsing of the gate that keeps moving away, which tells me he’s still carrying it. I follow the pulse, and when I get closer to it, I realize he’s abandoned it at the bottom of the sea. I swim over and past it and keep swimming for miles, hearing nothing and smelling even less. Limbs throbbing, tired, I still, my body seeking rest if only for a minute. I spread out my arms and hover in place, only moving my legs a little so I don’t sink.

I’ve lost him.

I fucking lost him.

I slam my fist into the water and swim to the shore, lying on top of the sand for a while, resting, freezing, even though I’m cold-blooded and the armor keeps me warm.

He’s cold too.

He can’t swim forever.

He’s here somewhere within my reach. I have to get up. Keep moving.

Groaning, I rise and walk toward the endless fucking evergreen forest he’s surely gonna be hiding in. This space isn’t an open area where I can simply stroll or swim, and I can’t rattle off sounds that bounce back around my environment and tell me the position of the trees. If he hears me, he’ll know my position.

I take off my boots and mytilbecause those things make too much noise. Nude, I crouch and extend my arms, moving the way a leopard might move through the fields in search of food. I am as hungry for the imposter’s blood as the leopard is for a chunk of flesh. The thrill of the hunt feeds my belly as I weave through the forest, depending entirely on hearing the sound of a branch he might break as he steps over it, the rattling of his ragged breaths as he moves, tired and, hopefully, knowing I will never stop pursuing him.

But the forest is silent.

A bird chirps, then shrieks and bats its wings.

A squirrel claws down the tree.

I move toward those sounds.

Winds sweep the forest, lifting the light leaves and branches off the ground. The whipping of the canopy of trees makes noise, and hunting him becomes harder. Wind whistles, squirrels hide, and I hear stomping on the ground. I crouch-walk toward the sound, fast, faster, paying attention to the sound and to the position within the dense trees. I identify two feet and heavy stomping, moving fast and away. I stop and lift my nose, inhaling the wind that carries the scents away from me. No help there. I follow the stomping feet, my bare feet hitting tree trunks, my shoulder knocking into them, and I remember Kiki and her habit of bumping me with her shoulder.

Something hits the back of my head.

Forehead first, I hit the base of a tree, nearly cracking my skull. Pain explodes as my brain rattles. I smell him just before I sense him swinging something at me. I roll onto my back, put a hand up. Nope. Too late. A log hits my face. My nose breaks instantly, my eyes swell, and my mouth cracks, two front teeth loosening. He swings again, and I jump away. Too late again. He gets the side of my face. I fly into the tree, slam my head against it. The world starts spinning. The sounds and smells get all jumbled up in my head, and I shake it as if that would help.

I can’t smell shit because my nose is broken.

I can’t hear well because of the ringing in my ears.

I extend my arms and crouch, wobbling on my feet. My ears twitch, a reflex, as I feel for his body near mine. He’s near me. I feel it. On my left, and he’s holding his breath. He swings the log.

I roll under it, stand, and freeze again.

He starts circling me. I feel it, can’t hear it, but I know he’s aware of my blindness. He’s effectively eliminated my hearing and sense of smell by targeting my head. Kiki was right. I underestimated him. He would not fight me in an open challenge because we fight with bare hands, but like this, his chances of killing me are better. He’s damaged my senses, and I’m ripe for the picking.

Behind me.

I spin and put my hand up just as the log comes down.

It breaks over my arm, cracking a plate of armor along with it. I scream in pain as the armor digs into my skin. But I broke the fucking log.

“What else you got?” I need him to talk so I can tell his position.

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