Into the Shadow by Christina Dodd Page A

come after her.
    Magnus crawled forward along the rock at the edge of the cliff, his gaze fixed on the regiment below. He settled next to the man to whom he’d sworn his allegiance.
    Warlord rested on his belly, watching the movement of troops through the valley. He liked to keep an eye on them as they marched around, officiously and ineptly patroling the long, narrow river valleys and murderous peaks where the mercenaries held reign.
    Magnus wasn’t afraid of him. Not anymore. No reason to be. The scratch along his cheek had healed, stitched by a skilled physician in Kathmandu. He seldom woke anymore from the nightmare of a big cat’s weight on his chest and its hot breath on his face. He almost never thought of that night when he’d first realized the old, scary legends his poor mother had whispered in his ear were true, and monsters roamed the earth. Because, in the end, he knew he was already damned by his sins, and he’d rather die by Warlord’s hand—or paw—than live like most men did, chained to a desk or a dock, and ground down by poverty.
    Yet for all his loyalty to Warlord, he still kept a few careful inches’ distance from his master. In a low voice he said, ‘‘The army’s bloody casual about that payroll shipment.’’
    ‘‘Why shouldn’t they be?’’ Warlord smiled his expression of composed amusement. ‘‘They’ve transported two shipments through the mountains with no trouble at all. It’s obvious the government crackdown has worked, and the rogue mercenaries are under control.’’
    ‘‘Of course.’’ Magnus slapped his forehead in mocking dismay. ‘‘I should have known.’’
    Warlord was coolly confident. ‘‘When I came here fifteen years ago, I was a seventeen-year-old driven from his home by fear and guilt, sure of his damnation. Today we’re going to liberate the entire payroll for the Khalistan government officials.’’
    ‘‘Ye’ve come up in the world.’’
    ‘‘Yes. But have you seen the soldier who’s using the binoculars? The one with the bolts in his ears?’’
    Magnus had. The guy was tall, burly, with a face that looked as if it had stopped a freight train. He wore earrings—earrings that looked not so much like jewelry, but like machinery. ‘‘Aye. I wonder who he’s looking for.’’
    ‘‘He’s looking for us.’’
    ‘‘So he’s one of the new mercenaries?’’
    ‘‘Good assumption.’’ In a long, slow breath, Warlord pulled the air into his lungs. ‘‘I don’t like the smell of him. He’s . . . sour.’’
    ‘‘Ye’ve got the nose for trouble.’’ And now Magnus knew why. ‘‘Shall we take care of him?’’
    Warlord watched the big man. ‘‘No. That odor . . . it’s barely a hint on the air. But it reminds me of something; I can’t remember what . . . a danger to us.’’ His black eyes grew unfocused. He seemed to be looking inward. ‘‘Something’s coming . . . but it’s not here yet . . ."
    ‘‘Yer instincts are talking to ye, then?’’
    ‘‘Yes.’’ The word was barely a whisper on Warlord’s lips.
    ‘‘It’s good to see ye have yer concentration back,’’ Magnus said.
    Slowly Warlord turned his head and stared.
    ‘‘You do have your concentration back, don’t you?’’ Magnus asked anxiously. ‘‘Now that you have the woman in your tent?’’
    Warlord’s voice was level. ‘‘Have the profits dropped?’’
    ‘‘No.’’
    ‘‘Have the trades been untended?’’
    ‘‘No.’’
    ‘‘Then what’s your complaint?’’
    ‘‘Ye’re still a wee bit distracted, and in our business that’s asking for trouble.’’ Magnus knew that with one swipe of a claw Warlord could cut out his heart. But he had a duty to the men, and to Warlord himself, and the words needed to be spoken. ‘‘Now that ye know she’s safe, ye can put yer heart where it belongs—in the making of the money.’’
    ‘‘Your savings are safe in Switzerland. And don’t worry—my heart is just where it