said nothing, because she knew that he was right. It would be difficult, time-consuming and downright dangerous to try to get anywhere on foot in
this vast forest full of predators. Her apport skills at least provided a way out, and the river gave them a very rough idea of their location. She studied the direction of the flow. ‘If
I’m right, it looks as though we’re on the Phaerie side of the border,’ she said.
‘You are right,’ Taine replied. ‘We are on the Phaerie side. And it looks as though we were asleep, or unconscious, or whatever it was, for quite a while.’
While they had been talking the sun had gone down, and a shadowy dusk had crept around them as stealthily as the swirls of mist that were rising from the river and curling around their feet.
Aelwen pulled her cloak tightly around her shoulders and shivered – but not just from the evening chill. Something had changed. Something was very wrong. Now that the daylight had gone this
place felt different; an uneasy, uncomfortable atmosphere surrounded her like a miasma, as though she was being watched by hostile eyes. A profound silence had fallen. There was no sound of wind in
the trees, no sleepy chirrups as the birds settled down for the night, no rustle of small creatures in the undergrowth. Even though she could see the river quite clearly, she could no longer hear
it running.
She looked around to see if Taine had noticed the alteration in the atmosphere, but he was still talking, thinking aloud, absorbed in their plans. ‘Maybe we should head back towards the
tower. But we would probably miss the others in the forest. So the cave is probably best. If we—’
Then the nightmare broke loose. Without warning, they were engulfed in darkness – then a horde of terrifying ghostly forms exploded into existence all around them: speeding towards them
from the forest’s edge, rising from the river mist, falling from the murky skies above. The air was pierced by the shrilling of angry shrieks and howls in strange, inhuman voices, and there
seemed to be words in the screeching, though they did not understand the language. An odd shivering in the air, like the heat rising from a courtyard on a summer day, made the apparitions visible
against the surrounding gloom, and in these roiling shadows, flashing out like lightning through storm clouds, was the deadly glitter of fangs and claws, and eyes that burned with a white-hot
rage.
Aelwen and Taine took in this horror in the space of a single heartbeat. They whirled back to back; his sword came whistling out with fearsome speed while she drew hers more clumsily. Though she
had learned the basics long ago, she had little interest in swordplay, and had not drawn a blade in years. It made no difference. The terror struck them first, a blood-chilling miasma that surged
in front of the phantoms like a wave. A breath behind it came the ghosts themselves.
Aelwen swung her sword to spit the first leaping shape: the blade clove through thin air and the
thing
plunged on as before, inexorable and unchanged. Yet the claws and fangs were all
too sharp and solid, and buried themselves deep in Aelwen’s shoulder. She screamed as the pain tore through her, and dropped the useless weapon as other beings from the uncanny throng
attached themselves to her legs and leapt to sink their claws into her arms.
Suddenly there was a dazzling blaze. Taine, the Wizard half-blood, had conjured magelight, and for a heartbeat the attackers halted, shocked and frozen in the glare. In the actinic light they
were haloed with a translucent, bluish glimmer, and the trees and ground behind them could be seen, blurred and distorted, through their bodies. No human apparitions, these. Those that poured out
of the forest to leap on their prey, going for arms, throats and faces, were small, about the size of a fox, but long, lithe and sinuous, and deathly quick. Those that emerged from the ground to
attack legs and feet were
this vast forest full of predators. Her apport skills at least provided a way out, and the river gave them a very rough idea of their location. She studied the direction of the flow. ‘If
I’m right, it looks as though we’re on the Phaerie side of the border,’ she said.
‘You are right,’ Taine replied. ‘We are on the Phaerie side. And it looks as though we were asleep, or unconscious, or whatever it was, for quite a while.’
While they had been talking the sun had gone down, and a shadowy dusk had crept around them as stealthily as the swirls of mist that were rising from the river and curling around their feet.
Aelwen pulled her cloak tightly around her shoulders and shivered – but not just from the evening chill. Something had changed. Something was very wrong. Now that the daylight had gone this
place felt different; an uneasy, uncomfortable atmosphere surrounded her like a miasma, as though she was being watched by hostile eyes. A profound silence had fallen. There was no sound of wind in
the trees, no sleepy chirrups as the birds settled down for the night, no rustle of small creatures in the undergrowth. Even though she could see the river quite clearly, she could no longer hear
it running.
She looked around to see if Taine had noticed the alteration in the atmosphere, but he was still talking, thinking aloud, absorbed in their plans. ‘Maybe we should head back towards the
tower. But we would probably miss the others in the forest. So the cave is probably best. If we—’
Then the nightmare broke loose. Without warning, they were engulfed in darkness – then a horde of terrifying ghostly forms exploded into existence all around them: speeding towards them
from the forest’s edge, rising from the river mist, falling from the murky skies above. The air was pierced by the shrilling of angry shrieks and howls in strange, inhuman voices, and there
seemed to be words in the screeching, though they did not understand the language. An odd shivering in the air, like the heat rising from a courtyard on a summer day, made the apparitions visible
against the surrounding gloom, and in these roiling shadows, flashing out like lightning through storm clouds, was the deadly glitter of fangs and claws, and eyes that burned with a white-hot
rage.
Aelwen and Taine took in this horror in the space of a single heartbeat. They whirled back to back; his sword came whistling out with fearsome speed while she drew hers more clumsily. Though she
had learned the basics long ago, she had little interest in swordplay, and had not drawn a blade in years. It made no difference. The terror struck them first, a blood-chilling miasma that surged
in front of the phantoms like a wave. A breath behind it came the ghosts themselves.
Aelwen swung her sword to spit the first leaping shape: the blade clove through thin air and the
thing
plunged on as before, inexorable and unchanged. Yet the claws and fangs were all
too sharp and solid, and buried themselves deep in Aelwen’s shoulder. She screamed as the pain tore through her, and dropped the useless weapon as other beings from the uncanny throng
attached themselves to her legs and leapt to sink their claws into her arms.
Suddenly there was a dazzling blaze. Taine, the Wizard half-blood, had conjured magelight, and for a heartbeat the attackers halted, shocked and frozen in the glare. In the actinic light they
were haloed with a translucent, bluish glimmer, and the trees and ground behind them could be seen, blurred and distorted, through their bodies. No human apparitions, these. Those that poured out
of the forest to leap on their prey, going for arms, throats and faces, were small, about the size of a fox, but long, lithe and sinuous, and deathly quick. Those that emerged from the ground to
attack legs and feet were
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