Even Talha had disappointed. He didn’t look like he had been interested in the hunt at all. More than often, he let Ejder make decisions about the directions, and corrected him only when their route strayed too much from Salik’s. A few times Slater saw him teach Ejder how to read the path, so Slater knew Talha could see where Salik had gone. Yet, he never used the knowledge. Slater couldn’t understand why.
At some point, Slater started thinking that maybe, once again, he was looking in the wrong place and instead of a master he should be looking for an enemy. A strong, smart, cruel, yet dominant enemy. Someone who had been born to entertain Slater, oppose him, maybe even break him. Imagining such an enemy, Slater shivered with anticipation. He wouldn’t mind if someone like this broke him.
Daydreaming, he startled, as an arrow cut the air and plunged into the dead pine tree, shards of rotten bark spattering from the impact point. The flight of the arrow was black.
So Master could be fast, after all… He is only fifteen minutes behind. Slater wasn’t sure if that made him happy or disappointed. He didn’t hear Talha approach, which surprised him, but he hoped to have more time to play with Salik before anyone managed to find him. His vision focused on the foliage, reading small, tale-telling oscillations.
Salik yelped, bending to the ground, he rushed north, where the bushes were thicker and the ground muddier.
Sinking into the shadows, Slater watched Master slither through wind-fallen trees. Jumping over a stump, Talha ducked below a net of fallen trees. His hand caught twigs, bending them away and releasing them as he passed. Horseless, with a bow in one hand and a quiver behind his back, Talha sent another arrow after the fugitive. With a swish, it once again hit a tree.
Huh? Master missed again. Master is sloppy.
Talha picked up the tempo, as his movements became less precise. Sending one arrow after another, he collected them on his way, as he chased after Salik forcing him to speed up. The first thought about Master being a lousy archer crumbled to dust when a pattern formed. Every arrow hit a mere inch away from Salik, impelling him to run in a certain direction. The longer Slater watched, the more it resembled a game, a hare chase.
Cascades of sweat rushed down Salik’s red face, he slurred something under his shallow breath. Meanwhile, Talha’s white shirt remained dry, nearly perfect. Entranced in smooth movements of Talha’s body, Slater couldn’t stop ogling his trapezius muscles bulge with every pull of the bowstring.
Holding his bow above his head, Talha froze, and Slater’s heart halted. He didn’t dare to blink, scared to miss something.
“I wanted to give you more time and the grieving families the opportunity to earn on your death, but it looks like the devil is on your side, for now. You have one hour, Salik,” Talha said in such a cold, emotionless voice that Slater’s skin crawled. He wanted Master to talk like this to him. In bed. To feel the cage of his impelling hands on his throat. To enjoy Master’s cock in his ass. The warmth of arousal flushed through his body.
Talha blew the air out of his lungs and released the arrow. Twirling in the air, the tip caught the running man’s earlobe.
“One hour, Salik. Then I’m coming for you.”
A BRANCH THROBBED beneath him in beat with his heart, increasing his nervousness. A wide trunk of a forked tree guarded his back, Slater fidgeted. He had been sprinting to get ahead of Salik for the last thirty minutes, and now his sweat attracted all kinds of insects. According to his predictions, Salik should have passed him seven minutes ago, yet, he couldn’t even hear him.
He was about to jump down when the sound of breaking wood spiked his senses. Every muscle tense, Slater froze, listening.
Heavy panting, curses that were barely above the whisperer, and the stench. A sour, greasy stench of fear and unwashed body.
His hand, moving behind his back, found a sheath tucked under his backpack. The corrugated grip perfect in his hand, Slater drew his combat knife out. He didn’t use it often, giving preference to his karambits, yet it was a good, reliable weapon. Custom made and perfectly balanced it was adjusted to his palm.
Flipping the blade around his fingers, Slater waited for Salik to approach before he sent the knife down. The blade sliced through the ground, sticking halt-deep and an inch away from the tip of Salik’s boot. The man flinched and jumped aside. The black beads of his eyes shooting a feral glance up as his upper lip curled, revealing the black gape where his teeth should have been.
“Y-you?”
The sounds of his pitched voice made Slater cringe inwardly. Bringing his index finger to his lips, he hushed, “Shhhh.”
Salik dropped his focus to the weapon, and Slater hopped to another branch, then to the next one, before escaping into the shadows of the forest.
HIS SUGARY FINGERS FROZE halfway to his mouth, holding a piece of mint rahat locum. He watched Salik’s scrawny frame rise from the mud behind Talha; a knife squeezed in his fist blade up was a perfect continuation of his hand. The stench, coming from his body, faded and even the swarm of midges that used to give away his location now lost their interest in him.
In disappointment, Slater almost dropped his sugary treat as Talha stood oblivious to the world. Engrossed in reading tracks, he didn’t notice the barefoot Salik creeping toward him.
Too bad, Master, it was fun. I guess this is how our contract ends… Indifference drained his heart from the weird agitation he had been feeling since Talha’s eyes linked with his in the night. Losing his interest in Talha altogether, Slater spat the now unfit, sweet taste of locum. Slater chose wrongly. Master didn’t fit. Too young, too careless. Who should Slater approach next?
He was about to hop off the branch, when the bloodthirsty blade cut the air, spraying mud over Talha’s white shirt. In the last second, Talha ducked under Salik’s hand and elbowed the man in his stomach. The now useless bow slipped from his shoulder and hung on his forearm. Talha cast it aside.
The dirt splashing under Salik’s foot, he stabbed forward, aiming at Talha’s stomach. Forced to retreat, Talha shook off the quiver and tossed it close to the bow.
“Drop your knife, and for the sake of old friendship I’ll kill you fast and painless. Fight me, and I’ll feed your liver to ants,” Talha’s voice, so soft and calm, demanded attention. “You can recite the Shahada[27] if you want, I’ll wait. But this is as far as you go.”
“Huh?” Unable to suppress a giggle, Slater licked sugar dust off his fingers, his interest spiking again. Talha looked confident, maybe too confident. Once again, Slater thought that he loved arrogance in people. Unlike Salik’s, Master’s was delicious. It had that potent, oily scent to it—the scent of the battlefield, overheated metal, and desert.
According to Slater, only a noob would lose against an unarmed opponent, but Master, obviously, had another opinion. Slater wanted to see him in combat to study his skills. In a situation like this, to stand a chance, Master should not only be more skillful but also had to be faster. Salik’s stance and the way he held the knife didn’t come from any martial art but screamed of jail time. The blade migrated from one hand to another, constantly disappearing in the shadows of his wrists.
Slater caught himself thinking that attacking Salik barehanded was an extremely stupid idea. Slater wouldn’t risk it, and there was no way Master was faster or more skillful than Slater. Maybe only more stupid.