The Protector and the Peacemaker

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

(Vega)

Vega hissed in anger as he ran his hand over the tear in his Slayer's coat. That accursed giant had managed to break through his defenses once, and even though he hadn't actually been injured Vega would now have to return to the Slayers with a torn coat. It would be easy to fix, but until it was it would be a blatant giveaway that the great Dominic Vega, second-in-command of the Slayers, had let his guard down in battle.

Vega's face turned red with anger. He wanted to lash out and kill the closest thing to him, but his wooden javelins wouldn't do much good against the army of trees surrounding him. A nocturnal bird alighted on a branch above him and began to sing its song, and Vega flung a dart of fire at it with a flick of his wrist. It fell from the tree, the smell of burning feathers filling the air.

Porter would pay for this. Oh yes, he would make that insolent child suffer for this humiliation. Vega's plan had been perfect in idea and in execution. The only thing he hadn't foreseen was Porter somehow acquiring that magical suit of armor. Without that, Granger would have been able to kill the brat with one attack and then come aid him. Where had Porter gotten a suit of armor like that anyway?

Then again, he mused, it could be Granger's fault. He'd volunteered to kill Porter himself. The incompetent old man should have foreseen Porter having that armor and avoided confronting him head on at all. Using lighting against it had been the right choice. If Granger were in any way intelligent, he'd have done that from the beginning. Vega's failure was just as much Granger's fault as it was Porter's.

He knelt down, running his hand across the ground again. He wasn't as skilled a tracker as Granger, even he had to admit that— though not out loud. It was also far more difficult to track something in the dark than it was in broad daylight. The fight earlier had worn Vega out more than he cared to admit, and he would have liked very much to lay down and rest. He couldn't, though. His prey was still out there, and they were so close he could practically taste it. There would be no rest for him until their bodies lay dead at his feet.

He stood back up and kept following the trail. As he walked through the moonlit forest, his thoughts turned once again to Granger. What had Porter said to him while they were fighting? Something about how he'd spared the old man's life, and as such expected Granger to leave him alone. Vega played those words through his head again and again, an idea began to form.

Granger was a fool. That much had been obvious to Vega for a very long time. He was old, weak, and he hesitated to do what was needed. The Slayers would have been better off, he decided, if Granger had been replaced years ago. If Granger really was in Porter's debt, then it could be inferred that Granger had had secret dealings with the boy. Since Porter was an enemy of the Slayers, that would make Granger their enemy by association. A wicked grin rose to Vega's face.

There was only one thing to do with traitors to the Slayers. Mortoph wouldn't even need to know the specifics. All Vega would have to tell him was that Granger had abandoned him, which was true enough, and had gone to aid Porter and the sphinx. As luck would have it, the werewolf Vega had been ordered to hunt down was also with their group. In such an occasion, it would be Vega's solemn duty as second-in-command to destroy all of them.

The javelins in Vega's pack clacked excitedly with every step he took, as if they were just as eager to taste blood as he was to let them. Human blood. Monster blood. Traitor blood.

Granger's blood.

(Porter)

"There it is," Droma announced, pointing towards the hilltop with a grin. The sky was darkened today by clouds, and the air smelled of rain. There would be a storm before the day was over.