Shadows and Light

safe from her in her other form.
    She followed him until they came to a meadow deep in the heart of the woods. He bounded forward into the sunlight. She remained at the edge of the woods, in the shadows, pained by the knowledge that he was no longer fast enough to outrun a predator, no longer strong enough to stand and fight and win.
    He looked back at her, waiting.
    He used to bring her to this meadow to play. He’d change into the stag and let her chase him. When she was young, he ran just fast enough to let her almost catch him, just fast enough not to bruise her pride.
    When she got a little older, he ran faster, making her work to keep up with him.
    She remembered the day when she caught up to him, ran side by side with him. She remembered the day when she realized she could outrun him—and still ran beside him.
    And she remembered the day when he stopped suddenly and she ran past him. They’d stared at each other in that sunlit meadow, and she’d felt his silent, final command.
    Taking a slow, deep breath, Ashk stepped into the meadow, changed into a shadow hound.
    The stag bounded away.
    Her gray, black-streaked coat stood out against the sunlit green, but in the shadows of the woods, or in the moonlight, she would blend in, a predator who wouldn’t be seen until her fangs sank into a throat.
    There was nothing in the woods—not stag, not wolf, not wild boar—that could stand against her in this form.
    The shadow hound raced after the stag, snarling and snapping at his heels, running just fast enough to give him the thrill of the chase but not fast enough to bruise his pride.

Chapter Four
    Hearing the bell that rang in the Inquisitors’ study room, Ubel headed for the door that led down to the confession chamber he and the other Inquisitors had helped Master Adolfo create in this country house that had been lent to them by a Sylvalan baron. His stride was swift yet unhurried, the only outward sign of his confidence in the security of his position, which was something the other Inquisitors envied—
    especially since last autumn when the Master Inquisitor returned from this magic-blighted land to the safety of his own country.
    Despite his alacrity in answering the summons, he heard the bell ring again—faintly now, since he’d almost reached the stairs that led to the cellar. The Master must be feeling impatient.
    Ubel smiled. Not an indulgent smile, but a smile of relief. Adolfo had been too lenient these last few months, too... passive. He drank too much, and he no longer exercised his rod to maintain his vigor. The battle he had fought in Sylvalan last summer had left its marks on him—both physically and mentally. But, perhaps, wringing a confession out of this particular captive had restored some of the Master’s potency.
    As Ubel entered the confession chamber, Adolfo turned to face him. The Master Inquisitor, the Witch’s Hammer, was a large man, middle-aged and balding, with a lean scholar’s face and gentle brown eyes that never revealed the man’s razor-sharp mind or burning dedication to the task that had consumed most of his life.
    “Ah, Ubel,” Adolfo said. “My left hand.”
    There was something sharp, almost hateful, under the words.
    Ubel ignored it. It was one thing for a man like Master Adolfo to want assistance in softening a witch to confess her crimes. It was quite another to need assistance. The fight with the Gatherer had left Adolfo with a useless, dead left arm. “What is your will, Master Adolfo?”
    “I’m done with the bitch,” Adolfo replied. “She has nothing more to offer us. Take her back to the Old Place where you captured her and release her.”
    Ubel looked at the young Fae woman, who was staring at him with terror-blind eyes. She was securely strapped to the worktable, so there was nothing she could do to avoid any of the softening necessary to extract a full confession.
    “It’s doubtful there are any Fae remaining in that Old Place to see her,” Ubel said. He’d made sure of that. After he, along with a double handful of Inquisitors and guards, had killed the witches who had lived in that Old Place, his men had waited at the end of the shining road that led to Tir Alainn. When it started to close, the panic-stricken Fae who came down that road to reach the human world were easy targets.
    A few had escaped the arrows, but far more had fallen. The last one to stumble into the human world before the shining road closed was this young Fae female.