The lord was smiling, shaking his head at their folly when, turning a corner, he suddenly heard a throaty growl.
Manion looked back up the street. The sidewalk was brightly lit by the magical lights. He saw nothing and continued on his way, peering back over his shoulder from time to time.
Lord Manion heard the growl again, closer, and now a soft padding of footsteps. Instead of turning around and stopping to see what it was, the lord increased his pace. His boots sounded loudly on the pavement until he reached the park. He breathed easier. The soft ground muffled his steps, the tall trees hid his form. He couldn’t hear his pursuer anymore.
And then it was there again, following him, undeterred by darkness. The growl sounded closer and more menacing.
The lord began to sweat, drawing his breath in shallow, short gasps. Ducking behind a tree, pressing his back into the hard bark, he pulled a dagger from a sheath — a long jeweled blade, curved near the narrow tip — and held it, point-down, in his hand. He waited, as still as the night, for as many heartbeats as he dared, listening intently, extending his sense of sight and hearing as far as they would go.
He heard nothing, saw nothing. Lord Manion breathed a small sigh of relief.
An arm slammed his head back against the tree. A
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hand grabbed his dagger and threw it into a nearby hedge, disabling and disarming the man in one, efficient action. “How did you get here?” the attacker whispered. He was dressed in black, a shadow against shadows.
Manion stared into the eyes of his assailant—eyes that were red in the lambent light of the moons. The lord spit with loathing and hatred.
“Answer me!” the man in black hissed, driving his arm farther into the minister’s throat.
The lord lifted a leg and kicked his attacker in the stomach, sending the assailant flying backward. Manion leaped at the man he had just thrown, landing on top of him, grasping for his throat.
The man in black brought his right arm across in a horizontal arc, sweeping his hand against Manion’s chest. Claws ripped opened a great gash of black against the white, silk shirt. The lord screamed in agony. The attacker drove his other hand into the minister’s throat, lifting him off the ground, sending him sprawling.
Manion, shaking his head to clear it, renewed the battle in a frenzy, fighting with his bare hands. The claws slashed again, tearing flesh. The lord fell to his knees. The assailant brought his right leg up in a kick that snapped Manion’s head backward, causing him to land with his arms and legs spread out, completely vulnerable. Bending over the minister, the man in black reached down with an arm, attempting to drag the lord to his feet.
Manion slammed his head into the attacker’s chest. Grabbing the dark-clothed limbs, he rushed forward, dashing the man full-force into a tree.
Air whooshed from the attacker’s lungs, and he fell to his knees and hands, as the minister had done moments before. Manion lifted the man up by the collar and struck him in the face, causing his head to rebound back against the wood. The assailant ducked the next blow sluggishly.
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though just quickly enough. The lord’s fist slammed against the tree, cracking the bark, throwing rough chips into the air. Manion, still holding onto the attacker with his other hand, threw him to the ground and kicked him with such force that the front of his boot ripped off.
The other man collapsed, and the lord stood over him. A look of cruelty and hatred twisted his features. He lifted his leg, preparing to smash his foot down directly on the man’s head. The slight hesitation was all the attacker needed. He grabbed Manion’s leg, wrenching it around, breaking it at the hip. Manion collapsed with a terrifying cry.
The attacker stood. Lifting the Minister of Affairs off the ground by the throat with one arm, he snarled, exposing unusually long and pointed teeth. “What are you doing here?” he asked again.
“You will be destroyed, as will all your kind!” Manion cried hoarsely.