Page 7 of Horn of Winter

Either our shooter was a very bad marksman, or he was trying to maim rather than kill me.

I had no idea which was true, and no intention of finding out. Aside from the whole “I like life too much” aspect, there was my promise to Mathi to consider. I started to zigzag, although I wasn’t entirely sure how much it would actually help.

I hit the treed area, but their cover was sparse and didn’t alleviate the overall danger, given I was still below the shooter and most of the trees here were winter bare. For several heartbeats, the barrage fell silent, then air stirred sharply to my left. I went right, ducking behind a lovely old oak. Her gentle song turned to one of pain as three bullets thudded into her trunk.

I dragged up the bottom of my coat and drew the two knives. Dark purplish light flickered down their fullers, an indication someone was spelling close by. Unfortunately, the knives weren’t capable of telling me where, andthatmeant I had better move before that spell had a chance to find me. I thrust to my feet and ran on, weaving through the trees, the ground gently rising as I drew closer to the cemetery’s boundary. Bullets continued to thud into the ground inches from my feet, which only strengthened my suspicion that the shooter was deliberately missing.

I scanned the rise above me but couldn’t see him, despite the sparsity of the trees and the fact I was now close enough to hear the snick of bullets being fired. Which meant the spell the knives had reacted to—were still reacting to—was most likely a shadow shield. They were the next best thing to an invisibility shield, and far cheaper to purchase.

From up ahead came a flurry of noise—wood splintering, cloth tearing—followed by a venomous and yet oddly desperate curse. Then, a heartbeat later, another sharp snick.

No metal speared into the ground near my feet. That last bullet had not been aimed at me.

Several yards farther on, I saw the body.

He lay at the base of the scrubby embankment that separated the cemetery from the road, the bottom half of his leg bent back against his thigh at an unnatural angle. There was a small handgun loosely clutched in his left hand that, given the length of the barrel, obviously had some sort of silencer attached.

He wasn’t moving, wasn't breathing, and after a moment, I saw why.

On the left side of his head, just behind his ear, was a small scorch mark and a slightly rimmed, neat round hole from which blood trickled. He’d been shot—killed—though whether it was by his own hand or another’s, I couldn’t say.

Another shot rang out, the sound muted by distance but coming from the general direction of the very first shot.

Fuck,Mathi.

I spun and ran as fast as I could back through the trees, my grip on the knives so fierce that my knuckles practically glowed. I wasn’t quiet and wasn’t attempting to be.

Then in a voice that was clear but filled with an odd sort of annoyance, he said, “You can ease off, Beth. I’m not hurt.”

I came out of the trees into the top row of several lines of old graves. Mathi was standing close to an old grave marker, and at his feet lay another man. I slowed and, after a quick look around, sheathed the knives and walked toward him.

“What happened? Did you deck him after he shot at you?”

“That last shot wasn’t at me. He killed himself.” The annoyance remained in his voice, though little crossed his expression. “I tried to stop him, but wasn’t fast enough.”

I halted beside him and rubbed my arms. “There’s another man in the trees back there, and he also appears to have killed himself.”

“It’s rather odd behavior for hitmen.”

It was indeed. “Have you looked for an ID?”

Mathi nodded. “Nothing on him.”

“I guess that isn’t surprising if he was a professional.”

“No professional would ever miss as badly as this man did—or indeed, make a stupid move when their target is in clear view, thereby giving that target a chance to escape.”

“Unless, of course, killing wasn’t what they’d intended.” My gaze jumped to the gun lying on the ground. “Would nonprofessionals have access to silencers? They’re both using them.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “There is such a thing as the black market, remember, and it is rather active here in Deva.”

And anyone wanting to purchase a firearm in the UK had to be registered and have an owner’s certificate with the caliber approved by the police. If these twowerehitmen, then a legal purchase was certainly unlikely, but it never hurt to check. “You know, there’s something very odd about this whole situation.”

“In what way? The ghul warned us of danger, and a few minutes later, someone attempted to kill us. The only thing odd about the whole thing is the fact they took their own lives rather than simply disappearing.”

“Were they really attempting to kill us, though?” I glanced at him. “Even if they weren’t professionals, surely not even amateur shooters could miss us so badly. It seems to me they were deliberately doing so.”

“To what possible purpose?” He waved a hand to the dead man at our feet. “If it was simply a warning of some kind, why off themselves?”

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