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By Root 1503 0

a mortal offense. He managed to nod stiffly himself and hoped it looked forgiving, then turned back to the view. On both sides of him tourists were gathering at the rail now, straining to see down into the depths below. He wondered how many of them understood the significance of the killing they had just witnessed. Like legions of demonlings killed in the past this creature was now dead and gone, but unlike its predecessors, it would never be replaced. The minds of men no longer had the power to give life to such creatures. Which meant that someday, when enough demons and wraiths and hate-constructs had been dispatched, there would come a time when men and women could walk about safely in the night, as they did on other planets.

It was an awesome thought, and an oddly unnerving one. He wondered if he would recognize that world as his own.

Tarrant would.

He shut his eyes, trying not to feel that loss. The tourists at the rail had kept their distance from him, thank God, perhaps sensing the darkness of his mood. He could hear them chattering on all sides of him, but the sound had no meaning to him. In this one spot, in this one single moment in time, he was alone with his memories. Just him and the Forest.

“Hard to believe that he’s gone, isn’t it?”

Startled, he turned back to see the young man watching him. “What?”

“The Hunter.” The youth resheathed his pistol in a worked leather holster that hung from his belt. Both pieces looked expensive. “I assume that’s who you’re thinking about.”

He shook his head, unable to believe the man’s audacity. “You assume a hell of a lot.”

“You don’t act like one of the tourists. You’ve been here too long to be an ambassador to the Iezu, self-declared or otherwise, and you don’t talk to the news service people.” He nodded toward the fire beneath them. “Why else would a man be here, if not to contemplate the Hunter’s demise?”

Arrogant, he thought, as well as spoiled. He judged the man to be twenty-two, if that, and from the look of him he had never done anything more strenuous than clean and oil Daddy’s firearms collection. Smooth olive skin, without pockmark or blemish, was molded into features that were delicate, unseasoned. Untested. Thick black hair, nearly waist-length, was caught up in a braid at the back of his neck so perfect that there must surely be some expensive pomade keeping it all in place. A body shorter than Damien’s own—but not by much—served as a lean and elegant frame for an outfit of expensive finery. Pants of glove-soft black leather. Knee high riding boots. A doeskin vest embroidered in layers of gold—probably the real thing—and a shirt of fine crimson silk that more than one exotic caterpillar had given its life for. All of that was topped off by dark eyes, thick-lashed, that languidly gazed upon the world as if they owned it—

Not twenty-two, he reassessed suddenly. Something in the youth’s gaze made him shiver inside, but he was careful not to let it show. Not that young by a long shot.

“They say you were there,” the youth said quietly.

“So what? You want my autograph?” He turned back to face the fire, wishing the man would go away. “I have better things to do with my time.” And I don’t need new mysteries.

“They say you saw him burn.”

That did it. He needed this scene like he needed another trip to Hell. “They say a lot—” he began angrily.

And then he stopped. Because it was wrong, the whole conversation was wrong. Who the hell was this guy? No one up here knew what Damien had done; he had kept it a secret precisely because he didn’t want to go through this kind of interrogation. He hadn’t even given out his proper name, lest someone figure out where that name had been recently and what it had done. The result was that no one here knew who he was, or what he had done. No one.

“Who the vulk are you?”

A faint glimmer of a smile ghosted across the youth’s face. “One who has an interest in legends.” He nodded toward the fire. “Come to see the heart of all legends burn.”

“Yeah, well, the view’s free.” He turned back toward it himself, and wondered just what