Chapter 68

They lay like phantoms behind the trees at the Fifth Mine entrance. Five shapes, pressed flat to the bark, watched the track without blinking. Two carried crossbows, three bore heavy weapons.

“Roy, we’ve been here half an hour. You sure Kelvin will come out?” Regan scrubbed the ice from his beard, irritation showing. The other three Dwarves pricked up their ears.

Roy cupped his hands and breathed warm air into them to stave off the cold. “Be patient, brothers. I have solid intelligence.” His voice trembled with a thin thread of fear. “We’ve time, so go over the plan again.”

“Kill the Scoia’tael,” Dool said, low. “Take Kelvin alive,” Bernie clenched a fist, eagerness carved into his face. “Uh...” Deef stalled, scratching his nape, at a loss for words.

“Safety first. If it’s too rough, we run.” Roy’s knuckles blanched around the bolt shaft. “Regan, assign tasks as you see fit. If Leshen revives mid-fight, remember, burn it.”

The Witcher had said there were only four Scoia’tael near Mount Carbon. The enemy’s numbers were small, they had the advantage of surprise. Yet nothing is certain.

“Don’t worry, we got it!” Regan’s face flushed with red courage. “Shit yeah! Been dying to smash that connected fucker—blow their fucking nuts to hell!”

They froze at once. A figure moved into sight. White beard, war-hammer on his back, lantern in hand, he left the mine gate.

“Here he comes!” They tensed.

Under the moon the white-haired Dwarf walked the rutted road for ten minutes, then turned off and slipped into the trees. Roy and the four Dwarves eased after him.

A full moon hung cold and clean. The snow showed prints that sank and faded into the wood. In that chill, silent fir forest they crept. Every few paces Roy carved the Viper School mark into a nearby trunk.

Half an hour later they crouched outside a hollow cave mouth.

Kelvin put his finger to his lips and whistled a sharp, thin note. A minute later two torch-bearers stepped from the cave.

The torchlight outlined them: pointed ears and a lean, lithe bearing. They moved like shadows honed to motion.

On the left stood a male elf draped in dark green canvas, wearing light leather beneath, worn deerskin boots at his feet. A short bow and quiver rode his back, a sword hung at his hip.