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

roared with rage. He spun, catching Daine with a wild, backhanded stroke of his shield; the man was far stronger than his slender frame suggested, and the blow sent Daine flying.
    “Your weapons cannot hurt me!” The Huntsman brandished his spear, and his voice seemed to roll down from the sky itself. “I am a lord of the night! I—”
    “Talk too much,” Lei said. Daine had bought her time, and she’d risen to her feet and recovered the darkwood staff. As the outraged knight howled his fury, she drove her staff into his back. Once again, wood parted metal and flesh with the ease of the sharpest spear. The harrowing cry of the darkwood staff mingled with the Huntsman’s howl of pain. The hunter fell to his knees, reaching down to grasp the wooden head protruding from his chest. Though his voice was a whisper, Lei could hear him perfectly.
    “My lady,” he rasped. “It seems you deserved your fate.”
    Then he was gone.
    Horse, rider, hounds … the entire pack vanished. Even the traces of blood were quickly fading. Only one thing remained: a stone face staring up from the ground where the Huntsman had stood, a single glowing tear traced down its cheek. At first Lei thought it was the hunter’s mask, but when she prodded it with her footshe found it was firmly embedded in the soil.
    The staff had fallen silent, but Lei could feel its emotions. There was a certain satisfaction, a sense of victory. But this was overshadowed by deep pain and lingering anger.
    “Hello?” Lei whispered. She felt a vague flicker of emotion, the faintest acknowledgment … but no words in response. Could it actually speak? She turned the staff so she could look directly into the eyes of the carved face. Before she could say anything, a hand closed on her arm and spun her around.
    “You want to tell me what that was about?” Daine had a gash across his scalp, and blood was streaked across his forehead. “By now, I thought I could rely on you to follow orders.” While he was angry, concern was the stronger emotion.
    “I … can’t explain it.”
    “Try.
Betrothed?
Hadrian’s dead.”
    “So are we,” Xu’sasar pointed out. The drow woman was helping Pierce recover the arrows scattered across the battlefield. Most were intact, and given the circumstances they couldn’t afford to waste a single one.
    Lei shook her head. “I still don’t believe that.”
    “But he knew you.”
    “I don’t think he did,” Lei said. “I think he knew this.” She pushed the staff between them.
    “Go on.”
    “Remember my Uncle Jura? Jura … Darkhart?”
    Daine nodded slowly. “You said his wife died.”
    “And that she was a dryad,” Lei said, turning the face on the staff toward Daine. “I think some part of her still lingers within.”
    “So it’s a
haunted
staff?”
    Lei shrugged. “Dryads are bound to trees. If this isfrom the heart of her tree … I don’t know. But perhaps we should save this discussion for another time.”
    “And why’s that?”
    “She doesn’t want to talk about it.” Since the Huntsman had fallen, the presence within the staff seemed much stronger—and throughout the conversation, Lei could feel the spirit’s discomfort growing.
    Daine shot a glance at Pierce. “Am I the only one without an imaginary friend?”
    “Perhaps you should ask Jode.”
    “Good point.” Daine sighed. “So now what?”
    “Surely we have another battle to fight,” Xu’sasar said, sticking her head into the conversation. “I do not think that we truly defeated the Huntsman, and we must still earn our passage. More blood must be spilled.”
    I’ve had quite enough for one day, Lei thought. The gore from the hounds had largely evaporated, but the memory of warm blood flowing across her skin was all too fresh. “No,” she said. “The vision I had said the answers lie in twilight. Beyond the Gates of Night.”
    To Lei’s exasperation, Daine glanced over at Xu’sasar.
    “She doesn’t know anything about this