I nodded, saving my breath.

“Then it should miss your brother’s farm.”

“There’s a chance that it might just miss the village too,” I told her.

We would pass half a mile to the east of the hill. Beyond it lay Topley. Although the vartek would pass close by, it seemed likely that it would just miss the village. What was the creature planning? I wondered.

As we passed Hangman’s Hill, leaving Jack’s farm behind, the vartek paused for a moment, and I thought it was about to surface.

Then it set off again at an angle. My worst fears were realized. It must have sensed the presence of people.

It was now heading straight for the center of the village.

20

The Fanatical Gleam

YEARS earlier, when I’d visited the market with my dad, the early-rising farmers had done their business first: cattle, sheep, horses, and hens were penned and displayed before being bought and sold; farm implements were on display; bales of hay were neatly stacked. Only later, toward noon, did the streets become thronged with mothers and children browsing among the stands.

It was now nine o’clock, still early. The air was chilly, but the sun was high enough in the sky to bathe the village in light and radiate a pleasant warmth. As a result, there were more people on the streets than usual, and the stallholders, anticipating good business, had already set out their wares. Never had I seen it so busy this early.

As we raced down the main street, heading toward the village green, still following the line taken by the vartek, heads turned to watch us. Many stalls were set up in the streets that radiated like spokes from the large village green; others stood on the periphery. People turned to gaze at us in astonishment. Fear flickered on their faces at the sight of the witch assassin, and there were a few shouts of fear and anger. Ignoring the reactions of the shoppers, we ran on down the cobbled street.

Suddenly I knew where the vartek would emerge: right at the heart of the green, where the cattle were penned. I didn’t know what senses it used to find its prey—perhaps it located its victims by scent, even when deep underground. Maybe it could see through rock or sense warm blood from a great distance. Whatever the reason, the closely penned cattle had attracted it in preference to the people.

Perhaps so much flesh and blood collected together was irresistible, compelling it to attack. After all, wouldn’t that be the design of its Kobalos creators? They would require it to strike at the heart of an enemy army, erupting from the ground to take the soldiers by surprise, spreading panic through the ranks.

My gift was working perfectly now, and I sensed the vartek pass beneath the market stalls and move toward the cattle pens. I imagined its jaws working feverishly, its acidic saliva working on the earth and rock it ingested.