When she didn’t respond, his smile twisted. “Will you hide behind those stones all day?”
Eira grimaced. “You speak as if we’re not strangers. As if you weren’t summoned by blood.”
“Blood is natural as water,” the stranger said. “It’s simply more personal. How would I have known it was you waiting for me without such an intimate offering?”
“It was no offering.” Eira shuddered at the suggestion. “I’m only here to learn who or what you are.”
“Very well.” He shrugged. “But your hostility is unwarranted. Here—let me see to your hand.”
When he spoke, the cut in Eira’s palm throbbed. She glanced down only to see fresh blood welling from her sliced flesh.
“A gesture of goodwill,” he said softly. “Come to me.”
Her eyes ran up and down the stranger once more. She was still unable to see any weapons, nor did she sense imminent attack. Danger, yes. Danger hung in the air around her, thicker than the mist. And yet she moved slowly toward him, keeping her dagger ready.
If he attacks, she told herself, I’ll have no trouble slicing his throat. Closeness means equal risk for both of us.
When she was within striking distance, she paused.
“Your hand,” he said, offering his own to her.
With her right hand gripping her dagger tight, Eira extended her left hand toward him. She fought the instinct to jerk back when he touched her, though his skin was warm and he handled her injured palm gently. For a moment he simply looked at the wound, watching as blood pooled in her cupped palm.
His sigh sounded regretful as he dipped his fingers into the blood, tracing the line of her sliced flesh. His touch caused her no pain, but heat spread through her hand, tingling up her arm and into her chest.
When he let go of her hand, Eira gasped. The blood was gone. As was the deep cut. No evidence of the injury remained, not even the hint of a scar.
“Who are you?” Eira breathed, gazing at her unmarked flesh.
“An ally,” he said quietly. “One who would aid you in your cause.”
She frowned, tearing her eyes from her palm to peer at his face. “Do you have a name?”
“In my own lands I go by a name that your tongue cannot utter,” he told her. “Here I am called Bosque Mar.”
“Lord Mar,” Eira said, betting the stranger’s air of self-importance would mean that addressing him with respect was likely to elicit the most information. “I am Eira. A servant of Conatus.”
As she expected, his eyes lighted at the form of address. “I know who you are, Eira. And I would hardly call you a servant. You are a warrior. A leader of men. Destined for greatness.”
Her skin prickled. “How do you know me?”
“I have many eyes in this world,” Bosque told her. “And I’ve learned much. All of which has led me to you.”
“Why?”
“I would prefer to show you,” he said. “Will you ride with me?”
Out of the mist another shape took form. A tall horse approached Bosque on silent hooves. Eira took a step back from the creature. To all outward appearances it looked like a stallion, but she knew it was no true horse. The beast’s sleek black coat was alive, moving as if born of shadow. Its eyes were black as coal, but within their depths burned a sickly green light.
“Where are we going?” Eira asked.
“A place familiar to you,” Bosque said. In a single, smooth motion he was astride the shadow horse.
Eira glanced into the mist. Somewhere behind this gray veil, Geal was tethered. She considered the weight of the dagger in her hand. With one blow she could dispatch this man called Bosque, ridding the world of whatever threat he might pose. But he’d yet to show any intent to harm her. Through some unknown magic he’d healed her wound.
“Very well.” She went to find her mare.
Bosque’s voice trailed after her. “You’ll need to calm your steed. It will likely find both me and my horse . . . unsettling.”
Eira had already anticipated such a reaction from Geal, but the horse had an obedient disposition, and while the mare balked as the tall rider and his dark mount emerged from the mist, she didn’t offer unmanageable resistance. As long as Eira permitted Geal a wide berth from Bosque’s shadow horse, the mare heeded her commands.
Bosque led the way, guiding his horse even deeper into the mist along the ridge of the hilltop.
“You speak of your lands.” Eira spoke carefully. “Where are they?”
“My world lies behind the shadows of yours,” he said. “Separate, yet tied to it.”
“How is such a thing possible?” she asked.
He reined his horse closer to hers, which made Geal snort nervously.
“There are many worlds, many lands,” he told her. “Some call to one another. Such is the case with my world and yours.”
Eira frowned. “Call to one another?”
“When the needs of one world could be met by another, the two are drawn together.” His voice was reverent. “Like attracts like.”
The mist swirled around them, giving birth to haunting shapes that Eira tried hard to ignore.
“My home is sundered by war and death, much like this world is,” Bosque continued. “I am but one of many who long for order over the ruling chaos.” He turned in his saddle to look directly at her. “I am like you. Alone and in need of allies.”
Though her heart stuttered out of its rhythm, Eira feigned scorn. “You’ll understand my doubt of this claim. The man who sent me to you. Your servant. It was his forays into the occult that allowed striga to plague the Black Forest. Those creatures feed on innocents. On children.”
Bosque watched her, giving no indication of surprise.
Eira pulled her eyes from him. “I have sworn to rid this earth of such monsters. You and I are not alike.”
She was surprised when he laughed. “Oh, we are, Eira. You simply misunderstand me and the creatures I command.”
When she didn’t answer him, he said, “The monsters you seek out and kill to protect your people are sent here only by necessity.”
“And what necessity is that?” Eira glared at him.
“You are a warrior and a commander of warriors,” he answered. “As am I. The creatures you hunt are my soldiers.”