Ritual Magic

had found his spot already. Even to lupus eyes it was dark tonight, too dark for Rule to be sure Gray still descended with them. Some kind fate had drawn a skim of clouds over the stars, and the moon was dark.
    Behind him, on the other side of the ridge, he’d left the man he wanted to kill almost as much as he wanted his next breath. Almost was not enough, not with other priorities crowding it out. He’d left Friar there, knowing the man might be lying about being unable to walk. The easy sound of Friar’s breathing suggested he’d knitted up his damaged chest, so it seemed his body magic did indeed work more quickly than lupi healing.
    Friar hadn’t wanted to tell them where the knife was. Rule had told him he might as well, because he was no longer necessary. He’d prefer not to endanger Cynna by involving her, but if Friar wouldn’t cooperate, they’d have to. From this close, Cynna could undoubtedly Find the knife.
    That wasn’t true, of course. Cynna was a powerful Finder, but an artifact that could hide from a hellhound might be able to fool her Gift, even this close. But Rule had been convincing, and Friar had bought it.
    They’d been right. Miriam was at Isen’s house with the knife.
    Rule had decided to bring Friar with them most of the way so Friar could tell them if Miriam left the house with the knife. According to Friar she’d stayed put, so when they reached a certain steep-sided gully on the other side of the ridge they were crossing, Rule had deposited Friar in it. This didn’t violate their deal; he hadn’t been harmed, and the gully was no prison. Even if Friar’s knee was still as damaged as he claimed, he could make his way out. Slowly and painfully, perhaps, but Rule hadn’t sworn to make the bastard’s life easy.
    It made Rule twitchy as hell to have his enemy behind him, but what lay ahead worried him more. Below him lay his father’s house . . . and at least fifteen Nokolai guards. Rule didn’t think that was a complete count, but at least fifteen superbly trained Nokolai awaited them, all of them certainly under compulsion. He had six Leidolf.
    They wouldn’t be enough. Not enough to take Miriam down. Probably not enough to even get close. For all their care and the boon of the breeze, which carried their scent away from the house, they’d surely be spotted soon. He refused to think about how many might die tonight. But they were, he hoped, enough to distract Miriam. Enough, he prayed, to let Lily and Cullen arrive undetected.
    One of the night’s ironies was that the plan Friar had fought so hard for—the one Rule had to admit made the most tactical sense—would never have worked. No sniper could take Miriam out if she stayed near the node. He’d known that from the moment they’d realized she meant to use the node behind Isen’s home . . . the one linked to the mantle, making this land Nokolai.
    Isen’s house was tucked up against a rumpled fold of the mountains that sheltered this valley. It was impossible to come at the house unseen from the front or sides; Benedict had run enough tests of his security for Rule to be certain of that. The only possible approach was from the rear, where there was a lower deck, an upper deck, and this rough, rocky hill dotted with trees and low-growing brush.
    The node was next to the house, beneath the lower deck—and the lower deck was roofed. That roof blocked any line of sight a sniper might have used, so shooting Miriam from a distance had never been an option.
    Shooting others was. Gray and his rifle would still come in handy. He wouldn’t charge with the rest of them, but would wait above them and pick off as many guards as possible.
Avoid head shots,
Rule had told him, knowing Gray might have no choice but to put a bullet in the brain of one of Rule’s people. His other people.
    He checked his watch. He could get a little closer before they stood and charged.
    There was no way to reach the deck silently. The slope wasn’t bad here, but close to the house it varied between steep and perpendicular. They’d have to jump down the last fifteen feet or so—if they made it that far. No great distance, but it couldn’t be done silently, so the plan included stealth only up to a point. Then they’d be obvious as hell.
    And then men he’d lived and played with, men he’d fought beside and loved for the kin they were, would try to kill him. Or so he had to assume. He’d told his men—his Leidolf clansmen—to avoid