Marked for Death

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“Boss!”

Kandler snapped awake and grabbed the hand on his shoulder. Head still half in his dreams, he looked up. Bright wolf-yellow eyes set wide across a dark face stared back at him over a large, flat nose. Thick black fur clung to the figure’s forearms and lower legs, and a coarse mane fell across his shoulders. Long sideburns nearly covered his pointed ears, and sharp teeth bared at Kandler’s sudden movement.

“Damn it, Burch!” Kandler said. “Don’t do that.”

“We got a body on the east ridge,” Burch said. He pulled his hand from Kandler’s grasp and stepped back into a crouch.

Late as it was-or was it early? Kandler wondered-Burch was fully dressed. He wore a short tunic of rough, steely links over a wool shirt and leggings the color of long-dead coals. A long knife rode his hip, and a crossbow lay slung across his back, next to a full quiver. His feet were bare, exposing the dark, clawlike nails on his toes, which matched those on his thin fingers.

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