her final hunt.
A hunter who leaves her comrades to die is no worthy warrior
.
From that moment forward, all of her thoughts were focused on her prey. Distance was irrelevant. Xu’sasar was one with the wind, and she leaped into the air with no concern for height; her passion for her prey
pulled
her forward. Reaching within, Xu’sasar summoned the darkness that was the birthright of the drow, the cold night that consumed light and life. Shadows wreathed her fist, and she struck at the heart of the glowing sphere.
This was no creature of flesh and blood. Xu’sasar felt the barest resistance as her hand passed through her prey, as if she had struck a ball of water. Flesh or not, she could feel a pulse of agony radiate from the spirit as the darkness passed through the light. Xu’sasar twisted in the air and fell, spinning to face the wisps as she braced for her landing.
Three arrows sang through the air, reducing the weakened wisp to a shower of burning dust. Surely this archer thought he was doing her a favor, but Xu’sasar was not expecting the blow. She had yet to learn the tactics used by these three, and one of her own kin would not have stolen Xu’sasar’s prey in this way. For an instant she lost her focus, and that was all the wisps needed. There was a flash of light, swift as the lightning itself, and a wisp crashed into Xu’sasar, passing through her chest.
Agony lashed through every muscle. The pain redoubled as the second wisp passed through her. She could feel the raw fury of the spirit, and this anger seared her thoughts even as its blazing light scorched her flesh. The torture might have forced a scream from the throat of a soft outlander, but Xu’sasar was a war-wraith of the Qaltiar, a hunter hardened by ritual. She had undergone countless trials, and the elders had burned the spirit-wards into her skin with the sacred venom of Vulkoor himself. Xu’sasar called on the memories embedded in these pale tattoos, and the strength of her triumphs dulled the pain of her current wounds. Her vision cleared, and she turned to face her foes.
The spirits split, one darting toward the humans while the other circled Xu’sasar. It was as swift as lightning, but Xu’sasar had fought giants who could call storms from the sky, and she had dodged lightning in the past.
She let her mind go blank, until her foe was the world. The wisp flashed before her, but it seemed to crawl through the air; the slightest motion was all it took to move out of its path, and she slashed her palm through the gleaming globe as it passed by. For an instant she wished that she had her knives, the long daggers that had belonged to her mother and to her grandmother before her, but it was no surprise that one should be forced to face the trials of the final lands with only hand and foot. Here she needed to prove the strength of her spirit and her knowledge of Vulkoor’s teachings. It was strange that the outlanders were allowed to keep their tools, but they were soft and weak, and it was hardly surprising that they were not pressed as hard as the children of the night.
The metal hunter still sought to aid Xu’sasar. An arrow passed through the heart of the wisp, but this second attack was insufficient to shatter the orb. She caught a flash of light in her peripheral vision as the humans brought down their prey. The last wisp had no desire to share the fate of its fellows, and it sped away across the field. Xu’sasar sprinted after the wisp, letting the panther’s speed flow through her limbs. She heard a warning in the back of her mind
—they are deceivers
—but the thrill of the hunt was upon her, and her prey would not escape her now. With every step she closed the distance between them. The wisp darted behind a tor and she raced after it, spinning around the corner.
The scorpion was waiting for her.
The Jalaq Qaltiar revered many spirits, but the greatest among them was the scorpion, known as
vulkoor
in the tongue of her
A hunter who leaves her comrades to die is no worthy warrior
.
From that moment forward, all of her thoughts were focused on her prey. Distance was irrelevant. Xu’sasar was one with the wind, and she leaped into the air with no concern for height; her passion for her prey
pulled
her forward. Reaching within, Xu’sasar summoned the darkness that was the birthright of the drow, the cold night that consumed light and life. Shadows wreathed her fist, and she struck at the heart of the glowing sphere.
This was no creature of flesh and blood. Xu’sasar felt the barest resistance as her hand passed through her prey, as if she had struck a ball of water. Flesh or not, she could feel a pulse of agony radiate from the spirit as the darkness passed through the light. Xu’sasar twisted in the air and fell, spinning to face the wisps as she braced for her landing.
Three arrows sang through the air, reducing the weakened wisp to a shower of burning dust. Surely this archer thought he was doing her a favor, but Xu’sasar was not expecting the blow. She had yet to learn the tactics used by these three, and one of her own kin would not have stolen Xu’sasar’s prey in this way. For an instant she lost her focus, and that was all the wisps needed. There was a flash of light, swift as the lightning itself, and a wisp crashed into Xu’sasar, passing through her chest.
Agony lashed through every muscle. The pain redoubled as the second wisp passed through her. She could feel the raw fury of the spirit, and this anger seared her thoughts even as its blazing light scorched her flesh. The torture might have forced a scream from the throat of a soft outlander, but Xu’sasar was a war-wraith of the Qaltiar, a hunter hardened by ritual. She had undergone countless trials, and the elders had burned the spirit-wards into her skin with the sacred venom of Vulkoor himself. Xu’sasar called on the memories embedded in these pale tattoos, and the strength of her triumphs dulled the pain of her current wounds. Her vision cleared, and she turned to face her foes.
The spirits split, one darting toward the humans while the other circled Xu’sasar. It was as swift as lightning, but Xu’sasar had fought giants who could call storms from the sky, and she had dodged lightning in the past.
She let her mind go blank, until her foe was the world. The wisp flashed before her, but it seemed to crawl through the air; the slightest motion was all it took to move out of its path, and she slashed her palm through the gleaming globe as it passed by. For an instant she wished that she had her knives, the long daggers that had belonged to her mother and to her grandmother before her, but it was no surprise that one should be forced to face the trials of the final lands with only hand and foot. Here she needed to prove the strength of her spirit and her knowledge of Vulkoor’s teachings. It was strange that the outlanders were allowed to keep their tools, but they were soft and weak, and it was hardly surprising that they were not pressed as hard as the children of the night.
The metal hunter still sought to aid Xu’sasar. An arrow passed through the heart of the wisp, but this second attack was insufficient to shatter the orb. She caught a flash of light in her peripheral vision as the humans brought down their prey. The last wisp had no desire to share the fate of its fellows, and it sped away across the field. Xu’sasar sprinted after the wisp, letting the panther’s speed flow through her limbs. She heard a warning in the back of her mind
—they are deceivers
—but the thrill of the hunt was upon her, and her prey would not escape her now. With every step she closed the distance between them. The wisp darted behind a tor and she raced after it, spinning around the corner.
The scorpion was waiting for her.
The Jalaq Qaltiar revered many spirits, but the greatest among them was the scorpion, known as
vulkoor
in the tongue of her
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