Free The Gates of Night: The Dreaming Dark - Book 3 by Keith Baker Page B

using it as a shield. The moon still shone above, but the disk on the Huntsman’s arm was a perfect mirror of it, golden and glowing.
    The shield seemed to draw all light away from the rider himself; even as he drew closer, all Daine could see was a silhouette, occasionally sparkling with a flash of silver or gold. “Pierce,” he called. “If there’s trouble, I want the horse down first.”
    “Understood.”
    The rider passed the last tor, and now Daine could see that the Huntsman wore a flowing black cloak studded with gleaming stars. A coat of mail covered his chest, dark steel glittering in the light from his shield. A deep hood hid his face.
    Even as Daine braced for an attack, he saw that it wasn’t coming. The rider gave no signal, but horse and hounds slowed their advance. The dogs spread out in a crescent, three to each side, coming to a halt dozens of feet from the sphere. The seventh hound, the largest, strode proudly along beside the dark horseman.
    The Huntsman stopped a half-dozen paces away from Daine, lowering his spear. The rider wore a mask sculpted from stone, depicting the face of a man with a well-trimmed beard. His lip was curled in a sneer, his frozen features suggesting arrogance and cruelty, but a streak of luminescent lichen traced down from one eye, forming a single tear.
    “I have come for the Lady Darkheart,” the Huntsman said. His mouth was hidden behind his stone mask, but his voice was rolling thunder echoing across the plains. “Surrender her, and I shall make this hunt a sporting one.”

D
arkheart?
    Lei’s thoughts were racing. When her uncle Jura was driven from House Cannith, he took the name Darkhart, and called his home Darkhart Woods. Was his wife this Lady Darkheart? If so …
Darkheart must taste the Huntsman’s blood
.
    “Generous of you,” Daine said. “But you’ll find no hunt here. And I don’t know any Lady Dark Heart, unless you mean the drow girl who’s lurking in the shadows and thinking of ways to kill you.”
    The stranger laughed behind his sneering mask. His glowing shield should have illuminated his face, but instead it seemed to draw the light away from him. “You do not know the one who stands beside you? Come, my lady. Your betrothed awaits.”
    He was talking to Lei.
    Betrothed? Does he mean Hadrian?
A year ago, Lei had been promised to Lord Hadrian d’Cannith, a wealthy artificer of Sharn. He’d been killed before Lei had even reached Sharn … they’d been led to believe Tashana was responsible, but now everything seemed to be in doubt. Could there be somemad truth to Xu’sasar’s tales? Could this be the land of the dead?
    Daine’s gaze flickered to Lei, but he wasn’t going to let the enemy distract him. “Who are you, exactly?” he said. “And what makes you think we’ll let you walk off with the lady?”
    The Huntsman laughed again. “My name is not for you, mortal man. I am the ninth brother of night, and I ride beneath the Hunter’s Moon. I come on behalf of the Woodsman, to secure his bride.”
    Lei felt a growing sense of anger—resentment building in the staff and spreading out through her nerves. She took a step forward, ignoring Daine’s sharp gesture. She wanted to attack, to drive the tip of her staff into the soft flesh beneath the stone mask, but she pushed down the alien emotions. “How do you know me?”
    The effect was dramatic. The Huntsman’s horse recoiled, and every hound took a step back, whining. The rider’s stone face concealed his true expression, but his spear twisted to cover her.
    “Truly, it is ghastly what has become of you,” he said, and his deep voice was filled with sorrow. “But the Woodsman will still accept you, I think.”
    Lei didn’t remember closing the distance to the rider. The staff filled with rage, and this fury drowned out all rational thought. One moment Lei was standing by Daine. The next, she was lashing out at the dark rider, throwing all her strength into a swift