A Midwinter Fantasy - Leanna Renee Hieber [63]
There were things Mace could do, even without killing. He heaved himself out of the pit, pulling his forelegs free and rearing back, blasting both men with his hate aura as he did. The two reeled in shock. Halfway through rearing, Mace turned and threw himself forward, taking two steps and changing shape to human.
As the loathing hit them, overwhelming and unstoppable, one of the men ducked and ran, screaming. The one who’d been grabbing his crotch and planning to rape Sally simply gaped, his mouth hanging open. Mace slapped his hand over the man’s face and pushed, sending the bandit flying backward into the trees. The other bandit vanished over the far edge of the ridge, though Mace could track his pattern. He could unfortunately hear him just as clearly when the man screamed for help.
It likely wouldn’t have mattered whether he screamed or not. Mace had announced himself far too well already. Many battle sylphs could refine their hate aura to be felt only by a specific individual—someone standing right beside their target wouldn’t feel any of it—and there were even battlers who could project an entirely different emotion to that second individual. Mace was more than old enough to have developed that kind of skill, but he’d never bothered. If he was irritated, he wanted everyone to know. Instead, he’d spent his years of enslavement perfecting the art of projecting his hate as far and to as many people as possible. Now was no different, and Mace’s hate had been an even better alarm for the brigand camp than their sentry’s screams.
He felt their familiar horror as the bandits were hit by his aura and their panic started to rise. He also felt hope and relief—Jayden, he realized. The boy thought he was being rescued after all.
For once the boy was right. Mace went to Sally and offered her a hand, helping her to her feet as he kept the aura strong; likely the bandits would run away out of terror and he wouldn’t have to deal with them. He tried at the same time not to project it to Sally, but he wasn’t entirely successful, and the smile she gave him was wan.
“Come on,” he told her. “This shouldn’t take long.”
Mace led her toward the camp, confident that the bandits would retreat ahead of them. Sally followed, hand tight against his own, both afraid and determined. Ruffles was a distant flicker in the back of his mind, still running as she’d been trained.
On the other side of the ridge, a path led down into the narrow valley where the bandits had made camp, well worn by foot traffic. This was more of a gorge than a valley, surrounded on three sides by rock walls. The river flowed over the ridge from the east, making a narrow waterfall before pouring down the length of the gorge and out. The camp was well hidden, with the nearby walls scalable enough that the bandits could flee in any direction if needed. There also appeared to be caves into which they could retreat, some of which likely exited on the other side of the ridge.
Right now, a lot of the bandits were splashing across the shallow river to climb the ridges or vanish into the caves, though not all did. Some hid where they were. Mace saw a half dozen rough buildings on the wide bank of the river, all weathered enough that he suspected the bandits had taken this place over from someone else instead of building it themselves. There were old racks for drying hides out in the open, evidence that trappers might originally have owned the camp.
Horses screamed where they were tied to a long line strung between two of the buildings, ignoring the efforts of two men who tried to calm them before they could break their leads. Goats and even a few cows were panicking in a fenced-off corral. The center of the camp was dirt that would turn into mud whenever it rained. Right now it was frozen, the mud ridged and rough. Everywhere there were crates of items, all clearly stolen.
Mace walked right into the center of it all,