A Dream of Storms, In the Shadow of the Black Sun: Book One

by William Kenney

  His eyes popped open when he heard the scream. He had heard D’Pharin screaming.

  Where is he? What’s wrong? I can’t find him. My sword. I’m coming, brother. Nothing will harm you as long as I am alive.

  He slashed at the underbrush, searching. His eyes shot out across the river. Nothing. No sign of D’Pharin or Gorin.

  Where are they? Who did this? Why-

  He awoke with a start. Reality began to seep into him as his eyes adjusted to the golden morning light. He heard D’Pharin screaming. In the river.

  Bathing. Just bathing.

  “Holy Wind, it’s cold!” he shouted, thrashing about, attempting to clean himself as quickly as possible and get back to shore.

  Hagan took his white-knuckled grip from his sword hilt and rubbed both eyes. The horses were already saddled and packed. They stood in the shade of the trees and stamped the earth nervously.

  Ominous dreams. Feelings of helplessness.

  Gorin sat at the fire and stirred something in the cast iron cookpot.

  “Sleep well?” he asked Hagan with a knowing look.

  “Not exactly.”

  “I’ve made a pot of Mossmelt porridge. Join me.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Hagan said, throwing his blanket to the side.

  Gorin spooned out a bowlful and tossed in a handful of blackberries. He handed it to Hagan and called out to D’Pharin. As the younger brother was drying himself on the riverbank, he leaned close to Hagan.

  “We are being followed.” he said softly.

  “Are you sure? I-“

  Gorin cut him off.

  “Hmmm ... I am sure. Whoever it is, is a very skilled tracker and not easy to spot. Someone is out there on our trail. I didn’t want to scare the boy.”

  D’Pharin dropped down beside him and scooped out a helping of Mossmelt.

  “This smells great, Gorin. It’s actually made from moss?” he asked between mouthfuls.

  “Hmmm. It is. But, only certain mosses produce this wonderful taste.” Gorin answered as he scanned the trees in front of him.

  Hagan’s eyes moved about in anticipation. He half-expected an attack at any moment. Gorin’s news had put him on edge.

  The Troll placed a hand on his forearm to reassure him that all was secure. This seemed to relax Hagan somewhat.

  “Finish your breakfast, young man.” Gorin said to D’Pharin, rising to his feet. He hid his concern from the younger Marindel, appearing to clean his cooking utensils. He walked to the riverbank and bent to the water. His eyes however surveyed the far side, searching.

  Something is out there. I do not like being followed.

  With a huff, he returned to the campfire and began to pack what remained.

  “How far do you think we’ll travel today?” D’Pharin questioned his brother.

  “Depends, I guess. If I remember correctly, the lay of the land should be even for the next few days. We might make it as far as Runa.”

  “Really? I’ve heard of that place. There might be Elves there, right? ” D’Pharin said with surprise. He was still filled with excitement about his first real trip.

  “Sure, I suppose. It’s only a small fishing village, brother. There may be nothing to see. Just fishermen.”

  Gorin grunted, throwing his heavy leather sack over his left shoulder.

  “We shall travel nowhere if we stay and discuss it all morning.”

  “Hmmmm.”

  He turned and trudged off between two large oaks, fading into their shadow.

  “Let’s ride.” said Hagan.

  They set off once again into the wilds, the rolling green meadows spotted with large clumps of oak trees and brush. On this day the air was somewhat cooler than days before and the light wind that occasionally reached them had a bite to it. D’Pharin pulled his cloak tight about his neck and sat up a little in his saddle. The land ahead of them looked the same as the land behind. He really saw no difference here than in days past.

  That day, they rode at a quicker pace with Gorin growing more restless and constantly hanging back on their trail to check for the unseen follower. Even D’Pharin could sense something in the air. Something was going to happen and soon. They barely spoke to one another for hours, each surveying the land about them with unblinking eyes.

  D’Pharin knew that if his brother was on edge, so too should he be.

  They had finally relaxed somewhat and began to talk in a hushed tone when Gorin froze in his tracks. Both brothers turned to watch him, drawing their horses to a stop on a low hill.

  Gorin remained motionless, his dark form silhouetted against the deep blue of the sky.     

  Suddenly he turned and headed toward them in a full sprint, eyes wide. Hagan ripped his sword from its sheath and glanced at D’Pharin to do the same. Hearts racing, they awaited their friend.

  Gorin reached them within seconds and grabbing the reins of their horses, he dragged them toward a nearby thick wood. They reached the shadowed copse without sign of what had frightened the Troll, but he pulled only harder.

  Soon, over their own noise, sounds of pursuit became clear. Leaves rustling, branches snapping and the low thud of footfalls. Whatever was coming was few in number. Gorin was scared, though and that’s what shook them to the bone.

  Gorin led the horses over a low rise and down a steep slope. He pulled them up short here and ducked in under the low hanging roots. Evidently, this is where he chose to make his stand. Below in a deep green gorge ran a twisting stream perhaps twenty paces across. To D’Pharin this did not seem the best place to hole up. He couldn’t even see over this damned hill. The pursuer was growing closer with no concern for stealth. The noise grew and in seconds they knew the attacker would be upon them. They braced themselves, weapons in hand.

  Then, a small cloaked figure came leaping and crashing directly over their heads.

  “Grimandin!” came its feminine scream. “It’s on my tail!”

  Whoever it was landed mere paces from the stream and was soon scrambling for her life to wade across. She appeared wounded, holding her left arm close to her side. She wore the colors of the forest, dark greens and browns and wore a short bow and quiver across her shoulder.

  Gorin’s eyes grew huge as he recognized the woman. He knew that whatever it was that chased her was formidable indeed. He clenched a great stone fist and crouched, eyes set firmly.

  Almost immediately a ghostly, nearly shapeless thing lurched over the rise and landed an impossible distance away and in front of them. It nearly caught up with the woman in one leap. It seemed to wear about it a shroud of darkness and fear seeped into them at its presence. The urge to run began to build.

  Vaguely man-shaped, it crouched in the stream and gathered its legs beneath it. Dark and hissing vapor rose from the passing waters where it touched its skin, encircling its pale form. As it rose, its tattered greyish wings pulled close against it and its emaciated shape was evident beneath. Hagan and D’Pharin let out low gasps as the creature stood to its full height, nearly as tall as Gorin.

  Its tiny yellow eyes darted about, searching for its prey and all but ignoring the others that were present. It wanted the woman. Gorin had to move now.

  “Rathnok!” the Troll shouted and leaped from his hiding place, both fists curled into enormous things of destruction. He moved incredibly fast for his size.

  Those nervous yellow eyes instantly locked on him and its blackish teeth were bared. Its skin had a leprous quality; the features seemingly ready to melt from the bone. High cheekbones and sunken eye sockets lent it an overall skeletal appearance. Venomous ooze dripped from its mouth and it smiled, both arms shooting straight out towards its attacker.

  An ebon liquid flame twisted from its fingertips and abruptly shot in the Troll’s direction, seeking out his eyes and heart. The air crackled with electricity and the trees around them swayed as if a storm approached.

  Hagan witnessed Gorin’s form suddenly outlined in fire and the Tro
ll’s body went rigid. So loud were his cries that the brothers covered their ears in pain.

  “Gorin!” D’Pharin screamed over the cacophony.

  Blood ran from the Troll’s ears and spittle sprayed from his wide-open mouth. He held both hands across his chest and curled into himself as a babe would.

  The creature, now nearly hidden in steam, did not relent. Flashes of light punctuated the lashing of flame that issued from its skeletal fingertips. It began to scream. A very high-pitched cry of otherworldly origin. It seemed to tap another source of power with its voice and the earth began to shake.

  “Dammit. Dammit to Hell!” Hagan yelled and jumped from their hiding place. With both hands on his sword handle, he drew back over his right shoulder and swung hard as he reached the creature. The blade bit deep, his foe taken by surprise. He pulled the blade free, dripping with thick fluid and spun a complete circle, chopping at the creature’s other side.

  The creature howled in anguish and its power faltered, allowing Gorin to fall heavily to the ground.

  “Hagan, no! Fall back, fall back!” he screamed holding his ribs. Blood dripped from his chin and his eyes blinked slowly.

  Several arrows came from the forest as the woman joined in the melee. They seemed to have little effect on the thing. It stood silently and brought its gaze to meet Hagan. He was frozen with fear and his sword felt like dead weight in his hand. A vast hatred for all things living swum in those eyes. Only destruction did it see.

   Swing, dammit. Can’t move. This is it ...

  “Run!” he yelled. “Get out of here!”

  The trees erupted as if a cyclone were slicing through them all at once. Limbs and leaves spiraled about them and lashed against their faces. Smaller saplings were completely uprooted and took to the air. All about them was filled with dust and debris. Hagan could barely make out the figure before him.

  Other fingers of flame began to seek out the running woman. Twisting its sinuous length amongst the tree limbs quickly striking near her feet. She fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. The woman let out a scream that sent Gorin running to find her. Then, she was up again.

  “Windenn! Where are you?” he yelled into the wind, the dust filling his eyes until they caked with mud.

  A long and bony hand gripped Hagan by the throat and lifted him from the ground. Hagan smelled the thing before he could see it. Soon they were face to face.

  Hagan pulled back instinctively from the foul breath wafting from its open mouth. Maggots had nested in the thing’s right cheek. His body twitched involuntarily at the torturous sorcery that assailed him.

  All around him was in chaos; he could hear his friends running frantically trying to escape.

  I can’t let this happen. It can’t end like this. If I die, they die. No.

  Try as he might, he could not force his arms to move. Whatever sorcery this creature controlled, it was strong indeed. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he wondered why the creature hesitated. Kill me then, you bastard. A fitting end to Lord Hagan. I give up. No more fighting.

  The creature’s eyes widened and its grip lost its hold. It grunted and tossed Hagan aside like a doll. It pulled its tattered wings from the waters and hunched its shoulders as if in fear.

  What is going on?

  The force of the wind died somewhat and Hagan could hear his friends somewhere off to the east. Still running.

  Then, it seemed as if a light began to move into the forest from the north. A glow that pushed back the darkness of the cyclone. The dark wind died and soon grew calm, replaced by an increasing light breeze. The creature shook its head back and forth in seeming disbelief and slowly backed into the trees, a gagging sound issuing from its throat. Branches moved of their own accord and barred its way.

  The trees are alive?

  One final scream came from the huddled creature as it raised its face skyward. With that, it ceased to be. Nothing remained but flecks of dying flesh floating in the current.

  Steam rose from the running stream, slowly making its way above the treetops.

  Hagan heard singing. Just out of earshot and understanding, but singing nonetheless. A sense of good came over him and he sat up, leaning on his elbows. The trees to his left began to give off a faint glow as if someone walked through them bearing a bright lantern. The branches parted and there he stood.

  An aged man long of beard and robe. He bore a great twisting staff of wood but didn’t seem to need it. Leaves forever the shade of autumn danced about his limbs, spiraling in never-ending patterns, tightly encircling him. The ivory hair of his beard and head only lightly played about his face despite the quickness of the enveloping wind. In his eyes were the ancient ways. The ways of the Morning. They had no doubt that he had been there at the birth of their world, among the first peoples of Kirkaldin.

  He spoke in a high lilting voice that seemed to harmonize with itself.

  “Foul child of blackness within my wood? Despair, vile thing! Despair and return to your master’s heel!” he seemed to address the sky above him.

  “Leave these good folk to their worries. Fly, fly away, little gnat ... ”

  He stood strong and sure and when he reached Hagan he smiled down at him and bade him stand. Hagan gripped his outstretched hand and rose. The man's eyes held him. Ancient blue eyes swimming with wisdom and intelligence. Of this world, but not. He stood transfixed for many moments until he heard his friends calling. He turned to see D’Pharin running from the stream, sword still clutched in his hand and bleeding from the temple. As he approached, he noticed the old one and slowed to a stop. He dropped to his knees instinctively and let his sword fall, such was the power of his being.

  Gorin came moments later carrying the wounded woman. His harsh and ragged breathing rasped loudly as he approached. He almost dragged his great legs behind him. He had a blank stare and seemed oblivious to everything around him. Gently dropping her to the grass next to D’Pharin, he leaned against the nearest tree, eyes in deep shadow. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. He didn’t seem to acknowledge the presence of the old man who danced with leaves.

  “Ah, children. I have heard your call.” he began and small fragments of his voice seemed to repeat themselves in the forest beyond.

  “From a great distance and for many years I have traveled to greet you here. Fear not, for none will harm you in my presence.”

  And the fear that had crept into their hearts was replaced with a growing sense of security.

  He walked a few paces, staff dragging the ground. He stooped to the roots of a large oak now blackened by the creature’s sorcery. He held the twisted foot of the tree as one would a small child, lightly caressing the soot-covered bark. At his feet, the grass suddenly lightened in color and waved to and fro as an ocean in a storm. The circle of power extended away from him until it reached the base of the stricken tree and seemed to soak into the roots.

  The effect was immediate. The black, crisp bark began to fade away and beneath was the rich brown of healthy tree skin. The branches above shivered with renewed vitality and it seemed to those present that they could hear the forest sigh.

  “Ah, these are shadowed times, children. The darklings creep across the surface of our world, befouling and bedeviling all in sight. Now, I can feel each frenzied footstep of the unseen armies. The land breathes ill at their invasion.”

  He turned to look at them once more, trails of tears visible on each cheek.

  “A time of great change approaches, I fear. A time for trial. A time to test all good things. We will be tested, children ... ”

  His unearthly gaze met each of them in turn, holding them fast until he chose to release them. Something passed to each of them. An understanding. A sense of the true peril that they each would face. Mostly an urgent sense of need.

  “Do not fear, young Marindel.” He said to D’Pharin as his eyes shot up. “Though unseasoned, when the time arrives, change will come through you. Know this and face your
future.”

  He turned to Gorin who could barely lift his head.

  “Great stone Titan, You will prove yourself as well. Your people will sing the songs of your deeds. Be as stone inside as you are without.”

  “Forest child,” he said, turning to Windenn. ”I have watched you among the trees for many years. Your heart is true. Do not stray from the path though it seems so foreign to you.”

  He slowly spun to speak to Hagan.

  “And Hero of the Black Sun ... ah, yes. Much is in your hands and He is ever watchful. Your doubts are unfounded, child. Do not fear loss, Hagan. There is purpose in everything.”

  “Do not linger here, young ones. The vile thing is still with us. He will not show himself while I am here, but he is not gone to be sure. The dark servants have grown very strong in recent times. My power will hold him fast in this grove until you are gone, but do not tarry.”

  As he spoke, the light breeze that surrounded him softly touched them, comforting them. In those eyes they beheld truth. Trust. They seemed to stare at his face for the longest time when in actuality only seconds passed. Some of them cried and later could not explain.

  He left them all standing in silence. The beautiful wind and spinning leaves followed him from the stream's edge and into the shadowed trees. One moment he was there and the next, simply gone.

             

  “Wearer of the Wind.” Windenn whispered, breaking the spell of silence that had held them. She spoke in what seemed a strange dialect to the Westerners, a rather informal, loose tongue, somewhat rougher than the women they were used to.

  “What?” Hagan asked, shaking his head and clearing his mind. “They don’t exist.”

  “Then what was that?” she asked, quickly aggravated by Hagan’s doubt.

  “Well, it wasn’t a Wearer of the Wind. That’s a legend, not real. No one’s ever seen one.”

  She scowled.

  “Have ye ever seen a Pith-child? No, but they must exist, eh? They aren’t born full-grown, I’d bet.” she said, a condescending tone slipping into her voice.

  Hagan stared at her for a moment, not sure how to handle her.

  Shorter than he by a head, she made up for it with her fiery attitude. A shoulder length bush of auburn hair topped her head. She seemed to keep a disheveled look to herself purposefully. The bright green of her eyes was striking as she stared defiantly back at him.

  “Hmmm ... Hagan.” Gorin groaned, now sitting with his back to a tree trunk. “It was a Wearer.”

  Hagan just stared with open mouth at the seated Troll.

  “When ... I was still very young, I was lost in the Spires, the stone forest below Rathnok. I was foolish and hmmm ... went exploring on my own.”

  “I was told of the Whispermist by the Elders, but I ignored the warnings. One of the Wearers saved me in the nick of time. Another few moments and I would not be sitting here with you.”

  “Hmmm … unless my eyes deceive me, the Wearer that has just visited us is the same that protected me all those years ago.”

  His voice trailed off to a low moan as he let his head fall back against the tree behind him. For a moment, he seemed to be sleeping,, then he softly spoke again.

  “Hagan, D’Pharin ... Meet Windenn, Woodwarden and treasured friend. By the way, girl, what are you doing here?”

  “Ah, Gorin. For what seems like months I have been followed. I tried every trick that I know to elude that thing, but I could not shake him off of my tail. I was near the end of all hope when I thought I sensed your trail. That was roughly three days ago.”

  She paused in thought, rubbing her left elbow.

  “I thought I would never catch you. Do you know what that thing was?”

  “Hmmm ... yes, unfortunately. I think Hagan knows as well ... ” Gorin replied.

  Hagan frowned at the ground.

  “I had hoped it would take longer for Mournenhile to rebuild them. Yes, I know. It was one of the Inquitis.”

  “One of the what?” asked D’Pharin.

  “That can’t be.” hissed Windenn. “Why was it after me? Aren’t they usually concerned with higher matters?”

  “They know something, Windenn.” the Troll answered, his voice cracking with exhaustion. “They know what the future holds or so it is said.”

  “I’m no one, ye know. There’s no reason for them to hurt me.”

  “There’s always a reason. You can consider yourself no one now, but Wind knows who you will be years from now.”

  The Troll tried to regain his feet, but ended up seated once more.

  “Uh ... The Inquitis know. They always do.”

  “You’re scaring me, Grimandin.” Windenn replied.

  “I don’t mean to ... Perhaps it is better this way. You will be on your toes and won’t let your guard down. By the way, girl, are you hurt?”

  “Just twisted an ankle running here. That’s all.” she answered.

  “No time to waste ... ” he began, as he finally managed to pull himself upright.” Let us do as the Wearer instructed and leave this place. We need to be as far as possible by sundown."

  They all stared at the steaming brook for a moment and quickly gathered their things. Gorin had the horses rounded up and ready to ride in minutes. Windenn reluctantly agreed to ride on Maelstrom’s back behind Hagan. She wished to travel on foot alongside Gorin but due to her ankle and the need for haste, she would ride.

  She carried only a bow, short knife and a pack slung on her back. She hesitated in clinging to Hagan’s waist for balance but after he lightly dug his heels into Maelstrom’s flanks, she wrapped her arms around him.

  Hagan showed a grin. He had spurred the horse on intentionally.

  Gorin frowned up at him.

  “Hmmm … Let’s move, my friends.”

  D’Pharin pulled up the rear and watched Windenn’s back as she fidgeted. It was exciting to see another stranger from a foreign land.

  And the Wearer!

  He was still too amazed to absorb all that had happened.

  The Inquitis.

  Never had he known such fear. Later, the others would explain the potent magic that had caused the fear. For now, he felt somewhat cowardly. He had nearly soiled himself when the thing had attacked.

  Nevertheless, this life was far more interesting than the old one. He wondered if he would ever go home.

  Maybe he would die out here.

  Stop thinking like that, he thought.

  There wasn’t much in Lauden to go back to, that was for certain.

                         

  Hours later, they traveled along a high ridge allowing them a nice view of the countryside for miles around. The lay of the land remained the same as in days before, gentle rolling hills spotted with thick groves of trees. An occasional flock of birds passed overhead, their shrill calls echoing across the seemingly empty land. Once, they had found signs of other travelers, an extinguished campfire, probably weeks old and the remains of rabbits and squirrels. It seemed the hunting had been good.

  From this vantage point, they made out dark, towering silhouettes miles in the distance on the northern horizon. Although some leagues away, it was easily recognizable as an ancient city or stronghold.

  Gorin’s eyes seemed to avoid that place. Finally, D’Pharin couldn’t hold his tongue.

  “What is that place?”

  The Troll grumbled, shrugged his shoulders and trudged on.

  D’Pharin looked at Hagan and Windenn. Hagan was reluctant to answer and hesitated as he sifted his thoughts.

  “It is the ruin of Tree Towers, lad.” Windenn explained.

  Gorin’s head turned back slightly at the name but he only quickened his pace and adjusted his pack. Something about the place made him uncomfortable, D’Pharin thought.

  “Three hundred years ago, in the year 903-as time is kept by Man-there was a great battle fought there. At the time, Tree Towers was the most bea
utiful of all Elven cities. The trees there were enormous, ten times the size of the largest of Greymander Forest.”

  “Their homes were carved into the great trunks of these trees. And high above, within the cool shade of the leaves, walkways and wooden staircases were constructed to join every tree to its brother. It is said that no one ever set foot on the plush blanket of grass that made up the floor of the forest. No one needed to. On the threshold of Tree Towers, there was the most breathtaking garden with intricately carven trellises and spiraling paths to take you among the rarest of Kirkaldin’s flowers. Here stood statues of the lords of the city dating back to the Morning of the World.”

  She went on, obviously enjoying the tale.

  “No such place will ever exist again, they say, and I don’t doubt it.”

  Gorin had halted and cleared his throat. The others had stopped to stare at the ruins many leagues away. No one moved and Windenn began again.

  “Things had been chaotic just before the war and the side of good, although comprised of great people, could not agree on their next course of action. The Elves had struck what they considered a devastating blow against Mournenhile across the Edge. A vast army had swarmed one of his most important strongholds and all but leveled it. The cities of Man had disagreed with the Wood Elves, concluding that such an act would only bring down Mournenhile’s wrath in full force.”

  “They were right ... ”

  “S’Darin Hyght had come to the Middle Lands in an attempt to unite the peoples. He was the most powerful of sorcerers at the time and very wise. If anyone could rally them, S’Darin could. Word came from the east that an unimaginable army was on the march. Heading for Tree Towers, it laid waste to all in its path. An army of dark Men and deformed giants. And worst of all ... the Pith, riding their great scaled beasts and armed to the hilt.”

  “Mournenhile knew that rather than abandon Tree Towers and see it destroyed, S’Darin would stand and face the coming horde. The battle went on for a month to the day and on that final morning S’Darin stood alone at the foot of the largest tree. He was determined to make this the last day of the siege. The most powerful of the Runepith, their black sorcerers, approached S’Darin and after a moment of silence, attacked.”

  “The fiery climax shook the entire countryside and countless leaves fell to the ground that day. Countless Men, Elves and Trolls died in that time. Few escaped, Gorin being one.”

  “Wind ... ” said D’Pharin. He wanted to say more, but he left it at that. Windenn gave Gorin a caring look and continued.

  “In the end, both S’Darin and the Pith Lord were destroyed and without S’Darin the side of good soon collapsed. Tree Towers was razed and all its inhabitants killed. Several of the Pith warriors, by Mournenhile’s command, consumed S’Darin’s blood as it left his body and soon after, returned to the east to their master. It is said that Mournenhile slaughtered them and used the blood to create creatures like we saw back there. The Inquitis.”

  “And Mournenhile is on the move again.” Hagan added. “That’s what we have to look forward to.”

  “I’d like to see that place ... to pay my respects.” D’Pharin murmured.

  At that, Gorin turned.

  “Hmmm ... unfortunately our path will not take us close enough ... ” he grumbled.

  Windenn glanced at D’Pharin from Maelstrom’s back and shrugged her shoulders.

  “It looks like some of the trees still stand.” he said, shielding his eyes from the sun.

  Windenn shook her head.

  “I wouldn’t consider them trees anymore. The sorcery of the Pith sucked the very essence from them. Only fossils stand now.”

  They moved on, riding the ridge downward for another hour and eventually reached level ground once more. The trees were fewer here, only scattered clumps rose up here and there. An occasional boulder the size of a small cottage jutted up out of the bedrock looking from a distance like enormous beasts of burden. The horses trotted easily across the land hardly needing to lessen their pace.     

  As dusk approached, they still rode in a mostly wide-open area. They had little choice but to camp near a cluster of boulders although Windenn argued about concealment. Luckily, the boulders formed a rough circle, enough to somewhat hide them from searching eyes. They tethered the horses within the circle and set about readying their makeshift beds.

  It was obvious that Gorin was beyond exhaustion, his heavy-lidded eyes stared ever downward as he stood, his back against one of the huge boulders. He seemed on the brink of collapse.

  “Grimandin. Rest now, ye stubborn fool.” Windenn said as she removed her pack and placed it gently next to her bedding.

  “I’ll take first watch. There is no harm in you having a good night’s sleep.”

  Gorin raised one hand as if to argue, then dropped it again to his side. In this way, he agreed.

  Windenn helped him down to the ground and patted his shoulder.

  “Sleep now, friend ... don’t fret tonight, alright?”

  Gorin groaned and was instantly asleep.

  “How in the Wind did you get him down like that?” Hagan asked as he folded his dark cloak. The nights had been fairly comfortable of late, not cool enough to warrant a second layer of clothing.

  “He knows me well. Often with him, I am the voice of reason. He trusts me. Perhaps more than anyone.” she answered. Grabbing her bow and quiver, she glanced skyward, sizing up the nearest boulder.

  “I’m hoppin’ up for a better view. You two should get some rest as well. There’s no telling what’ll be waiting for us tomorrow.”

  With bow thrown over her shoulder, she bounded effortlessly up the stone’s side and was soon perched at its crown. They could barely make out her form against the dark sky. Then, the shine of her eyes met them and she called down.

  “I said, get some sleep. I’ll wake you before dawn.”

  Hagan raised an eyebrow at his brother and shrugged.

  “Well, let’s get to bed.”

  D’Pharin followed his brother’s lead and soon they were both breathing easily under their blankets. He was sure Hagan was asleep but he couldn’t get the stories of Tree Towers out of his mind. He struggled for what seemed like hours with it and couldn’t let it go.

  He silently wiggled out of his blanket, snatched up his sword and glanced up to the Woodwarden’s perch.

  Can she see me? I don’t see how ...

  He stayed low and quietly made his way from the camp. He wouldn’t risk untying his horse, so the trip would have to be made on foot.

             

  It can’t be that far.

  Chapter Three