If du Puy and St. Fond failed to find sign of the raiders, he and Montrovant would be able to trace them by other means. There were advantages, as well as drawbacks, to the hunger. Hot, rich blood would draw them. Such a group as their informant had spoken of would not be easily hidden. It was a large, well-organized band.

They hit the edge of the tree line and disappeared within quickly, the growing shadows sweeping long and eerie across their path. Jeanne let his gaze shift right and left, scanning the trees and shrubbery for a sign of pa.s.sage. The road itself was well traveled, but the forest was where those they sought would move, parallel to the roads, shifting through the trees and shadows.

By day the road was safe. None would chance a skirmish on a heavily traveled road, unless the booty to be gained was immense. But at night, all was changed. Any who chanced the dark trails of those woods without the benefit of the sun's light, and without heavy guard, invited those who walked among the trees by night. It was an easy life for Jeanne to understand. He had been a man of action, and his very nature, once Embraced, was that of hunter. It was in the blood he stole from those he hunted...the notion that he lived on borrowed life, on borrowed time, and that he would continue to steal and borrow and drain that life and blood until fate managed to wrest it from him.

They moved in deeper, and a few moments later St. Fond melted from the shadows, reining in beside Montrovant and speaking, his voice low.

Montrovant lowered his head, listening, then nodded quickly and spurred his mount down the trail.The others followed quickly behind, not questioning the sudden speed, even when St. Fond dropped back into their ranks and du Puy appeared without warning at Le Duc's side.

There was no reason to question. If the information was good enough for Montrovant, then it would be correct, and even if it were not, it was not their place to question. They rushed down the trail in the dark one's wake, and when he veered from the main road, plunging into the shadowed darkness to one side of the trail, they followed without question.

There was a second trail. It was not as clear as the first, nor as wide, but once beyond the dividing line of trail and trees, it was plainly visible. The horses had no trouble moving along it at a reasonable speed. Montrovant pushed that. He had no fear of being unhorsed, and his concern for his men went only far enough that he hoped they served him well. He thundered down the trail and moments later plunged down yet another track, leading straight in toward the center of the trees.

Their approach was not unnoticed. Jeanne felt, even before he heard, the shifting of bodies, the quick tread of horses. They had been spotted, and those who'd seen them would reach their camp before Montrovant could arrive. It was not exactly a trap, but it was certainly not going to be a surprise, either.

Again, there was no fear for Montrovant. No fear, in truth, for Jeanne either, but Jeanne was not so quick to ignore his companions.

As he sensed the others moving ahead of them he began to bark orders sharply. There was no need for silence, they were expected. What was important was discipline, and speed. They would not be unannounced, but if they pushed their own speed, there would be little time to mount a defense.

Moments later they burst into a clearing. Arrows were flying the moment they cleared the trees, but most were wild shots, without aim or care.

Montrovant took a shot through the shoulder, but it did not even turn him in his saddle. He spurred his mount forward and ran the bowman down without a thought. He was out of the saddle in seconds, leaping to the ground without waiting for his mount to come to a stop, ripping the arrow free, snapping one end and dragging the tip out the other side, tossing both pieces aside with a snarl.

Jeanne followed suit, leaping from his horse to strike another bowman full force, toppling the man to the ground and ripping his throat out with a single swipe of his talons. Le Duc had his blade free of its scabbard as his feet struck the ground, and he had another before him, the steel blade sweeping in an arc with death at its end, removing a head and sending it spiraling through the air in slowmotion.

The battle was short. It appeared that they'd caught the camp only partially manned, and though they had not truly had the element of surprise, it had been close. Those they faced were not prepared for the ferocity of their attack, and they were not disciplined warriors like Montrovant's knights. They were bandits, and they had little loyalty to anything, let alone the risking of their lives in the defense of an empty camp. They turned and fled moments after the battle began, and the chase was on.

"Get one of them," Montrovant bellowed.

The words were unnecessary. Jeanne was already flying down a side trail in pursuit of a lanky, longhaired warrior with a bow in one hand and an arrow in the other. The man had not had the chance to draw his blade, but had chosen instead to flee and take his chances on the trail.

He'd believed, mistakenly, that Montrovant's group sought the treasure in the camp, and that his own life would be of little consequence.

Jeanne ran the man down easily, moving more swiftly without the horse and with the battle rage seeping into his eyes. He held his arm at the ready...shivering with the need, the desire to spill the man's blood.

The hunger was eating at his thoughts, and the battle rage pounded through him, making the blood he'd already stolen feel weak and thin.

A strong hand fell on Jeanne's shoulder and he spun quickly, his blade ready to slice back and up, but the gaze he met stopped him cold.

Montrovant stood there, very still. There was no fear in his sire's eyes.

He waited for the blade to slice, and both knew it would never meet its mark. Jeanne's mind cleared in that instant and he released the tension, stepping aside and tossing his captive to the ground with a quick shrug of his shoulder.

"I would not have killed him," he muttered softly.

Montrovant's eyes were dancing now, and Jeanne nearly laughed.

"No, my friend, you would have destroyed him.

But it is not to be. Not yet. I need to know where the others have gone, and I need to know if this one was present when they encountered the Order."

Jeanne nodded, walking away slowly. His mind was clear, but the hunger was no less intense. He fought it, listening with only a small part of his mind as Montrovant questioned their prisoner.

"I seek a group that came through your forest recently," he said slowly. "They would have been transporting several wagons, and might have appeared to be monks, or pilgrims."

The prisoner's eyes were wide, frightened.

Montrovant regarded him with dark eyes and no visible emotion.

When the man did not immedi- ately respond, the dark one slapped him, hard, with the back of one hand. The bandit went sprawling to the ground, a huge red welt rising on his face.

"You will answer me," Montrovant said softly, "and you will do so swiftly and completely, or you will die. It will not be a pretty death. It will not be a quick death either. It will be long, and slow, each moment spent working toward the truth you will reveal eventually. Save yourself the pain. You may die anyway, but it will be swift and final." The man swallowed once, shook his head, closed his eyes, and then swallowed a second time. "I saw them," he said at last. "Jesus, G.o.d, don't kill me, monsieur. I saw them. They wore brown robes, hooded, and I couldn't make out their faces, but it was I and another who spotted them on the road.

I brought the word back to Claude, and he led the attack. It is the only time since we came to the forest that we have suffered such a defeat. Nothing was gained that night, and three men were lost. We were lucky that all was not lost."

"You fled, then?" Montrovant made the question an insult, twisting his lips into a sneer as he voiced the question. "You are here to answer my questions because you left your companions to die?"

Anger flared in the man's eyes for just a moment, then faded it the face of Montrovant's gaze. "There was nothing I could do. There was nothing anyone could do. Claude called the retreat, and he called it too late, if you ask me. He tried to get to the oth- ers, to help them, but we could not. They were demons. They moved like lightning, and they were stronger than bears. I saw one of them fling a man twenty feet through the air. Not human."

Montrovant laughed then. Without warning he moved after Jeanne, grabbing his progeny under the arms and flinging him upward without warning.

Jeanne cried out, then realized the game and grew still in flight, rising higher, focusing and then plummeting to the ground. He was so far from the point where Montrovant had grabbed him that he was able to grab a low-hanging branch and swing to the ground, smiling at their prisoner as he landed.

"You will talk to me," Montrovant told the man.

"You will talk to me now, and quickly."

The man swallowed a third time, and then nodded.

"I know very little," he said, shuddering. "They were too much for us, and after we fled, they seemed to just disappear. Claude believed they had taken a different road altogether. I don't know for sure. None of us do." The man's eyes dropped to the ground, and he whispered, "We ran like children.

I have no idea what was in those wagons, or where they took them, but I know they headed in, toward the mountains."

Montrovant stared off into the darkness in the direction the man had indicated.

"How long?" he asked. "How long since they pa.s.sed this way?"

"Four days," the man said quickly. "It has been four days. Tonight is the first that Claude has ventured out on the roads since then."

"And he is out tonight?" Montrovant asked. "We did not see him on the road."

"He was to go into the city first," the man said softly. "There are supplies we need. He was to pick those up, then to watch the road for a few hours, then come here."

Montrovant smiled. That would take some time, and there was little danger that the bandit chief would come back before they departed.

With a quick toss, he pushed the man toward Jeanne again. "Be quick," he said softly. The others had joined them, two others prisoners in tow.

"We will be on the road again in a few moments."

To his men, he gave quick instructions. There was no reason to leave the camp intact. He ordered that any gold, silver, or supplies be quickly removed from the camp. There was no way to know what they would face on the road ahead, and to leave any resource untapped was not Montrovant's style.

As the others trickled away, Jeanne grabbed his prisoner by the throat and dragged him into the trees without a word. It was a matter of seconds before he'd laid the man's throat bare, drinking the rich, hot blood hungrily and tossing the nearly drained corpse aside with a shrug of his shoulders.

He knew Montrovant was doing the same in a different set of shadows, and he smiled. It felt like old times. He and Montrovant had shared many roads, but it had been a long time since the two had fed together, and it marked the first time in the close vicinity of the others.

A landmark.

They moved back to the clearing at nearly the same moment, filled and sated, ready to continue the chase.

"We must head for the mountains," Montrovant said softly. "We will find them there."

Jeanne nodded, and the two moved back toward the camp quickly.

Their men had gathered their mounts, which had not strayed far, and packed everything easily carried into their bags. They would be on the road and gone before the bandits knew they had been robbed.

"There is no reason to wait for the rest of these worthless vermin,"

Montrovant said as they turned away from the camp, following one of the bandit trails parallel to the road. "We have the information we need. There is little more that could be added by other witnesses, and any time we waste making our way to the mountains is time that Gustav and the others will have ahead of us."

Jeanne nodded. "If they are headed for the mountains from here, they have only one road. We will find word of them along the way. It is difficult to hide such a large group, even traveling by night."

Montrovant nodded. They gathered their men and thundered off through the forest toward the road beyond. Montrovant wanted to be well be- yond the borders of the city before daybreak. It would be unfortunate if the bandits were able and of a mind to follow them, less fortunate still if they actually caught up. The forest swallowed them whole, returning to silent shadows.

_Abraham was out of the cellar and into the shed at the first kiss of shadow. There was no time to lose. If Montrovant had learned of the bandits, and that the trail of the Order led through the woods beyond the town, he would be there, perhaps there and gone. Abraham would have to pick up the trail beyond and hope he could make good enough time to keep the group in tracking distance.

He also wanted to get free of Gren.o.ble before Lacroix and Noirceuil located him. He knew he was not likely to be the pair's prey, but he was certain this fact would not sway Noirceuil one bit from destroying him. Abraham had seen the hunger in the older one's eyes as he worked. There was a hatred there burning, very old and very strong. The last thing Abraham needed was to fall victim before he even had his goal in sight.

He mounted his horse and turned away from the ruins, sweeping his gaze up and down the road to be certain he was not seen. He sensed others moving about, but that was to be expected. The day was ending.

Workers returned home, and food would be on tables around the city. A good time to rise and be gone.

Eyes watched him from the shadows of an alley, but he paid them no mind. His thoughts were focused ahead, on the trees and the dark memory of Montrovant's laughter, and his eyes. Soon, he told himself, there would be a reckoning, for good or ill.

He did not take the road straight to the woods.

He swung wide, coming in from the far side, where a line of trees jutted from the side, sliding in among the trees easily, senses alert.

Odds were that, traveling alone and by night, the bandits would find him before he traveled too far. He was not worried about an attack, but he did not want to waste too much time, nor did he want to become the next rumor bandied about in the taverns. Lacroix would be on that scent in moments.

He moved quietly, and though he sensed once or twice that there were eyes watching him and heard furtive movements deeper in the trees, sometimes ahead, sometimes behind, he was not molested as he moved in toward the center of the forest and the main road. He slipped from the trees and onto that trail about an hour after sunset, eyes sweeping up and down, watching for signs that others had pa.s.sed.

At first there was nothing, but as he moved in deeper he saw where a group of horses had sped up, and plunged off the main trail, and he followed those tracks, sliding off the secondary trail and into the trees once more. No sense announcing his arrival.

He wanted to get in and out without being seen, if possible.

There were no guards, and that in itself was strange. The trail of the others led boldly up the center of the path, and eventually he came to the edge of the clearing that marked the bandit's camp.

He smelled the fresh blood then, and from the shadows of the trees, he could make out the sprawled bodies and disheveled equipment.Montrovant had been here, and gone. He slipped from the trees, walking his horse through the ruins of the place, the beast shying away from the fresh corpses.

There were not many bodies, not as many as he would have expected from Raul's report of the band. Where were the others? Dead? Fled? He dismounted and leaned closer to examine one of the bodies, and it was then that the gates of Hades opened up to flood the clearing.

They burst from the trees all around him, swords drawn, eyes blazing, screaming in a mixture of rage and frustration. Abraham turned in a crouch, saw that he was too late to flee, and leaped straight into the air, clearing the first horse and its rider easily and grabbing a limb of the tree above. He swung out and forward, slamming his boots into the face of the next rider in line. There were too many. He might kill them all, he might not, but it would certainly be a bloodbath.

Cursing, he rolled back to his feet, ducking under the blade of his next attacker, yanking the man from his saddle and tossing him to the side.

His own mount was bucking crazily, shying away from the attacking horde, but he managed to slip up beside it and scramble into the saddle, gripping the animal's flanks tightly. He didn't need the ride so much as he did the papers and his few possessions.

Slamming his heels into the horse's sides, he launched it forward, leaning low along the neck.

He did not draw a weapon. He slipped past the leader of the bandits, and as he pa.s.sed his hand shot out, catching the hilt of the man's sword and tearing it from his hand. The bandit snarled, but Abraham backhanded him hard, sending the man sprawling to the ground.

He spun for the edge of the clearing, and was leaping through a break in the trees when another cry drifted to him and he turned. He cursed as he saw her. Fleurette was being dragged, kicking and screaming, from the tree line by a huge warrior. His eyes were filled with death, and the girl's fate was obvious.

Without thinking, Abraham spun again, his mount leaping toward the edge of the clearing.

Angry swordsmen converged on him from all sides, but he swept past them, ignoring their charge, eyes fixed on the lone warrior who held Fleurette so tightly by her hair.

The man spotted Abraham, and drew his blade with a cry. Fleurette chose that moment to bring down her boot hard on the man's instep.

He ca- reened to one side, screaming in pain, and she was on him, her dagger sweeping over his neck, sending a red spurt of blood that made Abraham's senses swim with its nearness.

He did not hesitate. He stormed up to her, heard her cry out in fright, leaned and took her by the same grip the warrior had taken, dragging her up to the saddle before him as he tore out of the clearing, and away. It was not the direction he'd intended, and he cursed again, arcing, moving at an angle to the road, then swinging back.He'd seen tracks leading out of the clearing just before the attack, and he knew in which direction Montrovant had gone. The only questions was, could he get out of the forest, particularly with his new, unwanted companion, without being overrun by the bandits?

He doubled back, and miraculously, the pursuit seemed to fall into a confusion. He could hear them bellowing and beating about in the brush, but they were falling steadily further behind as he moved, and he pressed his mount to a dizzying speed, ignoring the whipping branches and scratches from the pa.s.sing trees. Fleurette clung to him, eyes closed in terror, and the rapid beating of her heart against his chest brought him to a further frenzy. He needed to break free of the trees, and he needed to feed.

These were paramount.

If he did not find another, he would take her. He didn't know what had possessed him to save the girl, but whatever it was it was nothing before the hunger. If he hungered, he would feed. If she were the only one there, she would be his meal. He would regret it, but it was a fact of his nature.

They burst from the trees to the south of the road, galloping parallel and skirting behind rocks, trees, whatever cover presented itself, flying off toward the mountains. He watched, letting his senses slip back, feeling for blood, for hearts beating in anger and the thunder of following hooves, but it never came. They were miles down the road when at last he could stand it no more and he reined in.

He'd seen no sign of others along that road, and the hunger was eating at his sanity. He pulled her from his chest, turning her eyes up to meet his gaze.

"Why?" he grated. "Why couldn't you just stay in the city, drink your wine, and be well? Why did you follow me?"

"I...I thought you might need help," she muttered, trying for one long moment to hold his gaze, failing. "The forest is not a good place. I just wanted to see that you made it through. You did save my life."

"And now I may end it," he rasped. "You know what I am. You know I must feed, and yet you came to me."

She gazed at him calmly. "I know your darkness," she said. "I have seen it, felt it when you slammed Raul to the wall." She was shivering uncontrollably.

He growled, dropping suddenly from the saddle and leaving her to scramble for balance and handholds as he staggered away.

"You have no idea," he said, spitting the words back at her. It is not by choice, it is my nature. I will feed. If you are here, and I hunger, your life will become a part of mine, and you will cease to be. I am not strong enough to prevent it."

She watched him warily, but did not back away.

She sat in the saddle, gazing down at him with wide, questioning eyes. "If not me, you will take another?"