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  Celeste leaned against a tree, her eyes closed. It still amazed Mirhana that she lived at all, after that display of witchfire.

  Gillespie frowned. “I’ve failed my master Pr—Landon. He’s dead by now.”

  “Nonsense.” Mirhana tucked her bow over her shoulder. “The Sorceress’s undead took him. At least for a while, he’s safe.”

  “How do you know? Magic?”

  “In a way.” She sheathed her sword. “A friend of mine follows them. If we ride hard, we should reach them by dusk.” Melwyn sent her flickering images of Landon. He was the one from the inn’s window. Her pet told her he smelled wild, but he appeared human enough. His brown hair with blond streaks still damp from his shower as he stared at her. His dark eyes held her and she couldn’t look away. It was almost as though someone had frozen her in place. She wasn’t sure why; she had seen handsome men before, so that wasn’t the reason for her hesitation. He looked lost and alone and sensing that struck a chord within her.

  Only the fact that he'd hit his head when he leaned out the window that allowed her feet to move so she could dash behind a building before he enticed her to his room.

  “I’ll check the stables for horses,” Gillespie said even though he looked exhausted.

  “Shadowdancer will be ready,” Brock called over his shoulder as he approached the stallion.

  As if smelling the stench of decay upon him, the horse rolled his eyes and sprinted to Celeste.

  Perhaps we can bathe later, Mirhana thought. For now, we have no time for dawdling. She didn’t know how long until this Landon would be before the Sorceress, or what she wanted with the human. That she took him told her that he was important somehow … or bait.

  Celeste rubbed Shadowdancer’s nose to keep him steady. Gillespie strode forward with four broodmares.

  “Those will never keep up with Shadowdancer.” Celeste mounted her horse.

  “I brought an extra for when we find Landon.”

  We are going into battle. Despite the hundreds of undead dispatched here, perhaps double their number had come into this village and killed everyone except Gillespie and Landon. Aye, the human had beheaded over a dozen of them at the inn, but Mirhana knew there must have been many more who had left with this Landon.

  “I’ll run.”

  “Nay,” Brock clapped a hand down the horse’s reins closest to her, and held it out to her, “you need your strength for tonight. Ride.”

  With a glare, she faced her brother. “Then I’ll whisper a spell of endurance over them.”

  Her hands pressed against the sides of the mare’s face. Waves wiggled just over the top of the horse’s ears, like cobblestones on a hot day. When she finished, she did the same for the other horses. At her approach, Shadowdancer sidestepped her.

  “He’ll let you know if he needs any help.” Celeste smiled from the saddle.

  “And if our horses stumble in the dark?” Gillespie asked.

  “The horses will be fine, just move cautiously.” Mirhana strolled over to one of the torches lining the street. “Both of you take a torch to light your way.” Removing one of the torches, she then handed it to Celeste.

  With a grumble, Gillespie followed her lead and snatched up a torch as well.

  The village was quiet for all the sounds of humans had been snuffed out like a sputtering candle.

  • • •

  In the morning light, Mirhana was glad when they neared the forest. Less chance of deadwalkers here. Thick branches supported singing birds and chattering squirrels. Even a rabbit dashed for his hole when they raced by.

  As they trotted, Mirhana felt an uneasiness, as though someone watched them. When she glanced around, only the trees of oak, ash, and hawthorn’s leaves waved back.

  Even at the next village, the itchiness on her back from someone’s stare did not ease. Around noonday, she noticed Gillespie slumped forward in his saddle.

  A slope revealed a stream. Even if her magic worked to keep the horses alive until tonight despite the pace, it would be beneficial to allow the horses and the others a little time to drink and eat.

  “Halt!” Mirhana called out.

  The others stopped; Mirhana reached out and snagged Gillespie’s reins as his horse sauntered by.

  “We need to keep moving.” Brock frowned.

  “A short rest will do us all good.” She did not want to alert the others. She scouted the area while the horses rested, but did not find who or what trailed them.

  • • •

  Gillespie lay with his feet dangling in the stream. The horses drank deeply. They had all eaten trout that Mirhana had caught, except her brother.

  “Don’t get too comfortable.” Mirhana tossed back her black braid. “The undead don’t need food or rest. Each moment we delay means they move farther ahead of us.”

  “We ride horses,” Gillespie pressed his piece of fish inside his folded flatbread, “their tracks show they are on foot.”

  “Aye, but magic gives them swiftness, too.”

  With a groan, Gillespie shook his feet from the water. Bent over, he stomped his boots on, and then mounted.

  They rode for hours without stopping, but allowed the horses to set the pace.

  “Mirhana!” Brock shouted, as his mare’s leg buckled. “Can your magic help her?”

  With a leap off her horse, she rushed over. “Nay. She’s older than the other horses, and can go no more.” Her hands rested on the mare’s chest, until the animal went still. “Ride with Celeste unless you think you can keep up with us on foot?”

  “We still have the extra horse.” Gillespie shrugged, when Brock ignored his comment.

  “For now, I’ll ride with Celeste.”

  The anxiety of someone following them did not leave Mirhana’s mind. She was an excellent tracker, yet this being avoided her detection. No matter, she would be ready when it attacked.

  Sunlight crisscrossed through patterns of branches and leaves to the forest floor as Mirhana took the lead, followed by Brock and Celeste on Shadowdancer, and Gillespie behind.

  Moments later, Mirhana broke the silence with cursing as her mare skidded to a halt. She jumped down and then dug at the dirt.

  Chapter Eight

  “What’s wrong?” Celeste asked.

  Mirhana lifted a thick metal wire. Shards of glass and bone had been twisted between braids of wire.

  “Troblins,” Brock said, and she nodded.

  Their expressions told Mirhana that the rest of them had never heard of Troblins before.

  “Hide,” Mirhana said, “don’t give them a chance to call their warning.” Her bow was in hand and an arrow notched.

  Gillespie unsheathed his sword. When he glanced at her, she shook her head. “Metal blades do not affect them unless they are already wounded. Aim for their throats—that is where one of their hearts beat.”

  “One? How many do they have?” Gillespie asked.

  Brock took out his bow and quiver.

  “Three,” Mirhana and Brock answered at the same time.

  The ground trembled underneath her feet. Then Mirhana’s arrow sliced through the air. Crouching, a yellowed creature roared in silence. His black eyes widened as though in disbelief that no sound came.

  “Brock.” Mirhana grasped another arrow. “Take the others.”

  Beyond the bleeding creature, five others stared back. Each had lower jaws that covered their top teeth. Fangs protruded from their slobbering mouths. Arms dragged the ground behind them. Their torso was barreled, wider than two men, but their height was half that of a man.

  Eyes locked on the Troblin, Brock’s hands swept in vain for the arrow. Gillespie stood still.

  “Don’t stare at them.” Mirhana thrust her elbow against Gillespie’s side.

  He fell over as though dead.

  Brock broke his vision from the creature and snatched his arrow.

  His arrow flew from his bow as though of another mind. Mirhana watched the arrow swim through the air and then
lodge into the Troblin’s throat.

  She dodged a metal sickle. Her sword dripped with smoking yellow blood. The stench was worse than skunk.

  “What about magic?” Celeste asked.

  “I wouldn’t risk it. They are immune to any magic I know.”

  Another arrow shot through the air and into a Troblin.

  “They are wounded now!” she shouted. “If any escape, they’ll bring others. Use your blades.”

  In answer, Gillespie raised his sword and slashed at the creatures, but his swings only met air, as if he could not see them.

  Above them, daggers flew. These were plain and silver, not decorated as Celeste’s athame with a garnet engraved into the handle.

  Like silver birds, the daggers landed into the Troblins’ chests and backs. Then a shadow moved across the forest. Blue steel swiped at the creatures. Within seconds, the Troblins around them lay dead in heaps.

  Mirhana approached the figure cloaked in blue who had helped them.

  “Thanks for your help, stranger.” Mirhana wiped the sweat from her brow.

  The woman, dressed in a blue cloak the color of moonlight upon the sea, nodded and removed the hood; Gillespie, in front of the stranger, gaped.

  “Why could I not fight them? What are the Troblin?” he asked.

  Brock took Celeste’s hand.

  “They are the dream masters of nightmares.” The stranger faced them. Her eyes were ice blue, like a sliver of the sky. Blue jewel chips imbedded into her skin arched over her brows, though Mirhana could not tell how.

  Her skin glowed like brushed bronze. Never had she seen a human with skin that shade of brown before. Even her hair, though pulled back, rustled with the breeze like dark vines.

  “What are you doing here?” Mirhana’s arms crossed. Her muscles flexed, ready to be at the woman’s throat at any moment. What if this was the one following them?

  “Could ask you the same.” She moved like waves as she picked up her silver knives. “What be your reasons for traveling so close to Troblin land?”

  “We search for one of our friends,” Gillespie answered. His smile appeared bigger than his face. “A throng of undead took him.”

  “I may have seen them.” Her fingers brushed each blade through the grass to clean the yellowed blood off.

  “Thanks, but we’ll track them ourselves,” Mirhana said.

  “Through the Troblin land?” Her eyebrow arched, which the movement exaggerated from the blue jewels lined above them. Again, Mirhana wondered how they stayed on her flesh. “You’ll never find your way back.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” Celeste leaned against Brock’s side.

  “I’ll go when darkness comes.” The silver daggers disappeared among the folds of her cloak. “I’ll return with your friend.”

  “He’s here?” Gillespie spun to look at the hills sloping in the distance.

  “And why are you here?” Mirhana asked.

  “They took my niece. You know what they do if they catch a woman. I found her body an hour ago. She took her own life from the look of it. I followed them here to do what she could not. I know where the man you seek is being held, and I can get him out.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Before anyone argued, Mirhana held her hand out to the stranger. “I’m Mirhana, and those creatures have a friend of mine as well.” She spoke of her massive cat.

  This woman, Jeslyn, was either stronger than she thought or lying, for she doubted even she could keep her wits if she witnessed someone she cared about like Breena at the hands of Troblins.

  Yet, this stranger appeared unfazed. Maybe she lived near Troblin lands and was used to their mating rituals of keeping a body barely alive, until the stomach ruptured from the hundreds of offspring who gorged on the insides of their victim.

  “Careful. There, your friends could be enemies.” She slapped her palm down on Mirhana’s forearm in greeting. “Jeslyn.”

  “Who are you? Why do you have those jewe—” Gillespie started to ask. Jeslyn interrupted him.

  “Who I am is no matter. Where I come from the jewels are … decoration.”

  Through the evening, Brock remained near Celeste’s side as she and the others ate and discussed their plans.

  They agreed that Mirhana would go with Jeslyn. Both saw in the dark better than Gillespie, and both had experience with these dream masters. Brock had only book knowledge of them until now, and would stay to protect Celeste and Gillespie.

  Mirhana didn’t trust Jeslyn with this task. She gave partial answers to questions, as if she were hiding something.

  “Mirhana, why did you say not to look directly at the Troblin?” Gillespie asked.

  “If you stare into their eyes, you give them control of you. That’s why you could not fight them.” She handed her water canteen to Celeste. “We should be back before the moon sets. Ride north, if we are not back by then.”

  Mirhana thought she saw a smirk from Jeslyn as though she doubted they would return, but then the newcomer laughed with Gillespie as he mimicked the lumbering creatures.

  “Take care.” Brock grinned. “I don’t want to lose my sister after I’ve just found her.”

  Why did dread bathe her stomach? Was it because everyone around her always died? Or simply that she had never been among another Elvin this long … let alone another of the long-lived races.

  The sun, subdued behind clouds of orange and pink, winked into the horizon for a night of slumber.

  “I’ll send Melwyn ahead of us when all is well.”

  “Who is Melwyn?” Gillespie asked.

  “My pet. He’s red with black stripes.”

  As the two women zigzagged down through the country on foot, Mirhana hoped Jeslyn did not lead them into an ambush.

  Chapter Nine

  Landon fought the spiders that crawled along his body. Somehow, they tunneled into his flesh; the bumps wiggled underneath his skin. He screamed in agony and terror.

  The King Spiders surrounded him. A crown of sapphires and pearls sat upon their heads. Their fangs glistened as though with blood. They laughed while their children scampered through him.

  If only the Kings would turn away, he’d rush to freedom. With multiple eyes, the giant spiders glared down at him, their language garbled. In vain, he demanded to be freed, and even promised them whatever they wanted if they left him in peace. However, they continued in their conversations and ignored their prisoner.

  Earlier in the Vicsburg, Landon had fallen asleep and dreamed about flying, his body weightless as he dove through the sky.

  Then the creatures swarmed into the inn. Men and women who once had been dead and buried roamed the streets. The screams of the villagers as the undead attacked them woke him.

  He scrambled into Gillespie’s chambers. Before they took a step to leave and help those in need, the creatures poured inside, as though their motive was to destroy all in their path. Death was everywhere.

  Until his arm could no longer lift, he fought them inside Gillespie’s chambers. Then he used his other hand to swipe at the creature’s heads with his sword as Gillespie instructed.

  He didn’t falter even when bodies piled across the floor. Then one of the undead, a man who resembled a giant, burst through the wall, and he watched as splinters of wood and plaster caved in upon Gillespie.

  Landon shouted his name, but his friend did not move. The undead hulk snatched Landon up as though he were a babe and took him out of the inn.

  They traveled for miles without stopping. One of the undead carried his sword just out of his reach.

  A woman’s voice rose from the giant. “Do not think to escape. Even though some will search for you, the path will lead to their destruction.”

  As her words faded, the huge yellow spider creatures took him. The undead handed his sword to a King Spider who balanced the weight on a spindly leg as its crown slipped forward over several of its eyes.

  The undead erased their footsteps. They made new tracks leading away f
rom the spiders. Landon’s heart sunk. For if Gillespie were still alive, he would track the undead to where this Sorceress wanted.

  Now Landon was with these vile spiders. His skin shuddered. He would not lose hope. Somehow, he would either escape or die. Regardless, he’d not be a pawn in this Sorceress’s scheme.

  His only regret was for his kingdom and his people. With his death, wars would multiply from within and without.

  Perhaps he’d compromise. Let the Sorceress do as she wished to him. Just leave his people alone. As he watched the undead scurry like locusts into the distance, he renounced his cowardice. This Sorceress held magic over the dead. If she ruled, his people would be no better than the zombies she controlled.

  He swatted at one of the spiders tickling his ear. His hand came back smeared with blood. Briefly, he saw a pair of orange slanted eyes watching him from the forest underbrush. When he looked again, nothing was there.

  Mocking his newfound hope, the sun sank. Darkness. Gillespie could not track him now. His mouth tasted as if he swallowed sand. Near him, the spiders chewed on a deer. Their fangs were coated in blood and entrails.

  The sight by the firelight sickened him, so he turned away and stuffed his fingers in his ears. But he could not keep out the sounds of the dying deer’s groans. The scent of blood and raw meat was thick in his nose. His stomach growled at food so close, but beyond his reach.

  A ripple down his back made his muscles burn. Was the movement from the spiders inside his flesh? Again, the agony came as if someone seared his flesh from the inside.

  His captors continued their meal. He noticed one of the Kings broke the line at the feast and searched a nearby bush. Instantly, the creature fell dead.

  Then another on the opposite side of him collapsed. When he blinked, the spider’s body shimmered into a yellow-skinned creature with the face of a boar.

  Was the Sorceress here then?

  His nails clawed at the dirt, desperate for a weapon. With the rest of the spiders busy with their meal, he inched closer to one of the dead creatures. A blade protruded out of its back.