Hunted: The Warrior Chronicles #2 by K.F. Breene

the land from the west to the east. Traders and travelers both, wanting to save time and travel quickly, used this route regularly, often employing hired swordsmen, or like Sanders, military men, to protect them against rough folk looking to make an easy few pieces of gold. There were always those who didn’t think they needed protection, though, assuming that with a heavily traveled route someone would come to their aid if a bandit tried to stop them. They turned out to be easy pickings—only the best bandits and thieves worked this road, appearing as traders themselves until they were in a position to seize their treasures quickly and brutally, often stealing horses in the process.
    Sanders had stopped a couple of robberies in progress, but mostly he just saw the aftereffects—men on foot without a bronze penny to their name, walking to the nearest town. Skimping on guards created broke men; he’d seen the proof.
    He leaned forward and braced his elbow on the pommel of the saddle, letting his gaze drift out to the side. Sparse trees dotted dusty, flat land. Mountain ranges lined the horizon away to the right, and rolling hills away to the left, but through the middle there wasn’t much but boredom, occasionally broken by people-watching, scratching and farting.
    “I don’t like the look of that crowd.” Jerrol, a good rider and decent swordsmen, trotted up beside Sanders. He pointed ahead to a small group of riders.
    Sanders squinted into the glare of the afternoon sun. Three slight figures rode with two larger ones. The breadth of their shoulders, even those with thinner frames, suggested men, but you never could tell in this part of the world. He’d seen some big women thundering through.
    “What’s the problem?” Sanders asked, glancing at the younger man.
    “Well, for one, they’re trotting. Their horses look shiny, like they’ve been trotting for a while. This is a long road—a trot in this area is a sprint between two close towns.”
    “Okay, they’re in a hurry. What problem is that of ours?”
    “They’ve got swords, too. Two of them do, anyway. Those are good horses—I’d bet they’re army.”
    Sanders squinted into the sun again, straining his eyes at the waists of the incoming group. He shook his head with his blurry vision—his eyesight wasn’t what it used to be. “Most people along this route have swords, Jerrol. Have you always been this jumpy? We’ve got four times the number of men they have.”
    Jerrol gave Sanders an incredulous look. “I would’ve thought you, of all people, would be leery of men in black uniforms.”
    Cold washed through Sanders. Adrenaline spiking, he squinted into the glare again, focusing on those uniforms. Three of them wore long sleeved, high necked, black tunics. The uniforms of the larger men were of a different style, but also black.
    “What color is the Graygual uniform?” Sanders asked. Heat worked into his body as his temper rose. Memories of the torture sessions at the hands of the Inkna burned into his mind. He could only think one thing: Vengeance!
    “Black, sir. I remember the Captain saying their uniforms were black with a red circle on the front. Two of those approaching have the red circle, with slashes through them.”
    “I’ll take your word for it.” Sanders gritted his teeth, reining in the fire shooting through his limbs, begging for immediate action. “The Graygual own the Inkna, and the whole lot of them are our enemies.”
    “What do we do, sir?”
    The intense rage fueled a manic grin on Sanders’ face. “Kill them all. I will not let one Inkna walk this land if I can help it. And Shanti would thank me for taking out the Graygual. Let’s clean up this road.”
    “But what about their power? We have no defense…”
    Sanders could hear the fear in Jerrol’s voice. If Sanders was in any way sane, he’d have felt that same fear pinging around his body. They’d both seen, firsthand, what that mind power could do. And