Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
When at last they turned their horses back toward the road, six captives tethered with rope followed behind them.
The villagers stood frozen long after the drums began again, echoing faintly as the riders vanished into the mist.
From her hiding place among the ferns, Elara watched the village fall still. The last echoes of the drums faded into the mist, leaving only the broken sound of weeping.
Through the tangle of branches, she saw them, dark figures moving, the Hunters driving a line of captives ahead of them. Six women walked, their wrists bound, their steps heavy in the churned earth. Among them—
“Maelis,” she breathed.
The old healer’s shawl trailed behind her, the gray fringe caught in the wind. She stumbled once, caught herself, and kept walking. One of the Hunters turned his horse sharply, barking an order Elara could not hear.
Elara pressed her hand against her mouth to stifle a cry. Helpless, she watched until the last of them disappeared down the road and the fog closed over their path.
Silence returned, deep and cold.
She sank back against the oak, shaking, tears spilling freely until they left her feeling hollow. For a long while she could do nothing but stare at the path where Maelis had gone, her mind refusing to accept what her eyes had seen.
Then she felt it, light fluttering near her cheek like the wings of a bird flitting close. She experienced the sensation often when in the woods. It came with a sense of calm, and she was glad to feel it now. Though it did not make her feel any better.
Elara shook her head. Guilt rose up and took hold of her. She should have stayed. The Hunters would have taken her and not Maelis.
The branches overhead swayed from the autumn breeze, rustling the leaves and making it sound like a gentle whisper. She listened; the trees whispered to her many times, advising her, warning her, guiding her. She could hear their tender voices in her head.
Warn the other villages in Leighfeld.
Elara wiped at her wet cheeks and forced her racing heart to slow and her breathing to steady. The forest echoed Maelis’s words. She would warn what villages she could, but then what?
Survive.
She gasped at the commanding voice in her head.
Thornleigh, go there.
Elara stayed crouched a while longer, listening to the woods settle quietly around her. Slowly she pushed to her feet, brushing damp earth from her cloak. She drew a deep breath, willing her hands to stop shaking.
She would do as Maelis said and the forest commanded. She would go warn Thornleigh, but she would not abandon Maelis. She would find a way to help her.
She turned toward the old northern trail but thought better than to take it. The open trail held potential danger, endless people traveling it from mercenaries, to seekers, to wanderers. She had to travel through the forest, the place she knew, the place that offered help and protection. And she hadn’t a moment to waste.
She hurried into the thick woods seeking direction from the trees, the foliage, and the animals. She had learned since she was young that they were steeped in knowledge and to gain their wisdom one had to watch and listen.
Elara kept a steady pace, determined to reach Thornleigh by midday. The turning leaves rustled softly, not yet ready to fall, and the branches swayed lightly. No danger was close.
It wasn’t long before Birkfell was a distance behind her and she tried to focus on her task ahead and not on the suffering of those who had been captured and loved ones left behind.
The squawk of a raven and the chitter of squirrels frantically racing around a nearby tree trunk alerted her to possible danger. She halted her steps and glanced around to see what had upset the calm of the forest.
Seeing nothing, she took cautious steps forward, not sure what was amiss. She barely took two steps when a few paces ahead a man stepped from behind a tree.
For a moment neither spoke, then he stepped toward her.
Chapter Three
The Northern Woods
Leighfeld
* * *
Elara took an instinctive step back. Her hand brushed the rough bark of an oak beside her as her heart quickened at the sight of the man in front of her.
He stopped at once, hands open at his sides, as if to show he meant no harm.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, his voice firm as he tossed his hood back.
She studied him carefully, her gaze sweeping over him the way she might assess an unknown plant—slowly, searching for what was hidden beneath the surface.
His cloak was dark, spattered with mud and frayed at the hem, the fabric too fine for a common wanderer, too worn for a soldier. One side was thrown back off one shoulder, and she was able to see he wore a mix of brown cloth and leather, frayed in spots. Dark leather boots, scuffed and worn, rose to his knees. Even in the dim light she could see he was no villager. He was tall, a head and more above her, broad-shouldered, his frame lean, but taut with muscles, travel-worn, and watching her with such intense gray eyes that she swore he could see deep inside her.