Quain shot Loren a sour look while Belen chuckled.

As we hiked, the forest thinned as the path rose in elevation. My calves burned with the extra effort. At least with the rolling terrain there was a break between uphills.

Although worried about Ryne, Kerrick was confident that no one waited to ambush us among the trees. And no ufas, either. He sensed a pack of them far to the west.

We stopped five miles before reaching the tree line and planned our next move. Loren volunteered to be our scout. Belen was too big, Kerrick too recognizable, Quain too uncomfortable with heights and I was too valuable. We set up a small camp a hundred feet off the main road while Loren prepared for his night mission. He removed his cloak and sword. Wearing all black clothing, he smeared a dark gray goo on his face, neck and hands.

“Flea’s concoction,” he said with a sad smile. “He taught us some cat burglar tricks.” Loren scanned the darkening sky. “Now if only the moon cooperates and stays behind the clouds.”

Half a dozen streaked the expanse, but they didn’t appear thick enough to block the moonlight.

When complete darkness filled the area, Loren waved and said, “See you in a few.” He strode away, then stopped. “Found them.” Loren backed up as two men holding swords approached.

Kerrick and the others were on their feet in an instant, weapons in hand. I grabbed my stiletto.

The trees around us rustled with movement. A quick glance confirmed we were surrounded. And outnumbered. As the circle tightened, Loren grabbed his sword and joined us. Clustered in the middle, we kept our backs to one another.

“Damn, Kerrick,” Quain said. “I thought you said no one was around.”

“No one is,” he growled. “I don’t feel them.”

An odd statement. But there was no time to contemplate it as the ambushers engaged us. One thing was in our favor; Kerrick and his men outmatched them as far as fighting skills. I sent knives into shoulders, thighs, stomachs and upper arms.

Despite the lopsided numbers we had the upper hand. Except these men and women wouldn’t stop when slashed with a sword. They didn’t react when a knife embedded into their skin. Injuries that should have knocked them down failed to affect them at all.

They fought in utter silence. Eventually, the attackers closed in, rendering swords useless. Belen switched to hand-to-hand combat, tossing them around like rag dolls. But they kept advancing. Kept shambling to their feet with a mindless determination.

Two made it past Kerrick and grabbed me, dragging me away. I suppressed my revulsion and panic. Pressing my hand on freezing cold flesh, I summoned my power. Nothing happened. No magic swelled in my chest. Kerrick’s comment echoed in my mind. I don’t feel them.

Horrified, I met the gaze of one of my captors. Death stared back. Shocked to my core, I ceased struggling.

Shouts filled the darkness. Poppa Bear roared. Then silence.

The dead men kept a fast pace as they pulled me along. My mind reeled over the impossible. No magic could bring the dead back to life. Not a life magician or a death magician had that ability. It had been proven.

Yet the impossible held me tight. Grasped me with icy fingers. Filled me with a terror so strong it hurt.

When I could no longer keep up the pace, one of them carried me over his shoulder. Their repulsive touch grew unbearable and my sanity threatened to take a holiday without me. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the living. Thought of Mom and Melina. Fawn and her mother. I couldn’t worry over Kerrick and the others’ fates right now or else I would go insane. Instead, I envisioned Nyrie’s sweet smile and remembered Noelle as she was before the plague robbed her of her childhood.

The night blurred in one long test of endurance. Dawn broke, but my captors kept their fast pace. They hadn’t said a word all night. Nor did they stop for food or water or rest. My throat burned with thirst and my head ached from hanging upside down. Eventually, I passed out.

Ice-cold water slapped my face, filled my nose. I woke, choking and disoriented.

A man peered down at me. “Easy there.”

I struggled to sit up. He held out his hand. When I grasped his fingers, I almost sighed in relief at the touch of a living, warm person. He helped me to my feet, but I leaned against him, drinking in his pulse of life. It filled me like a glass of warm wine, dulling my senses.

He raised his eyebrows. Humor sparked in his deep blue eyes. “Are you going to zap me?”

“Should I?” Confused, I glanced behind him. Two men and one woman—all armed—watched me intently. I was in danger. My muddled thoughts cleared a little.

“No, you shouldn’t. My companions wouldn’t like it and would stop you.”

“But I could threaten to harm you if they don’t back off,” I said.

He smiled sadly. I guessed he was around twenty-five years old. A few inches taller than me, he had short black hair, long dark eyelashes and a killer smile. His good looks had a royal quality, while Kerrick’s was more rugged. This man wouldn’t lack for admirers.

Hooking a thumb at the three hovering nearby, he said, “I wasn’t referring to them, but to them.” His gaze slid past my shoulder.

I turned and jerked as if he had thrown more ice water on me. The dead stood in precise rows, staring at nothing. Terror welled, clearing away my confusion in an instant. I counted six of them.

“Creepy, aren’t they?” His tone remained friendly and conversational. “But efficient and obedient. I thought more would return from the mission, but it doesn’t matter—they’re easily replaced. And they were successful. You’re here.”