slightest attention. Thankfully a good moon showed her the way.
Her feet and legs ached with each step and her skin felt like it was on fire, but she didn't slow to ease the pain or pause to satisfy her thirst. She walked with her head down, mind fixed only on getting out now, before she lost the last reserves of urgency to do so.
Get out into the forest; find the water. Drink. Wash.
Drown?
She couldn't imagine anything so foolish. But faced by the certainty of death at any rate, she might even just drown.
Stay south, Jordan had told her. Stay south and don't be seen. You're following the road, but not really. And don't let anyone find you. You'll eventually go through a ditch. It'll take an hour or so to get there, maybe more if you have to hide out awhile. Look for the spider trees and the marsh. If you reach the desert, you've missed it.
She reached the forest and picked up her pace. The place where wood and desert meet, just like her dreams. She surveyed the trees in search of beady, red eyes.
None showed themselves.
She tripped, her sore, stiff muscles screaming. Stifled a yelp and pressed south in search of a red pool not even Thomas Hunter had known about on the word of a condemned man who claimed she had to drown.
Don't think about that. Not yet. Not yet.
The trees rustled, unseen wings beating against whispering leaves. She glimpsed a shadow of what might have been an oversized bird. Or bat.
First to find the pool.
n hour passed before Darsal had gone far enough to escape all traces, sights, sounds, and smells of Horde in the forest. Except for those that traveled with her, on her flesh, in her hair and nostrils and mind.
She had to fight the urge to scratch off her own skin.
But did it really matter anymore?
She fumbled over a stump and kept going, pressing into the unknown.
Here in the dark the trees were full of mangy fur, beady red eyes, and long, razorlike fangs. Sweat oozed down her neck and spine, mixing with the tingly, invisible sensation of an icy claw raking along the tender skin and slicing her to ribbons.
Darsal could almost feel the Shataikis' breath at her ear and neck, smell the horrid stench like sulfur and ash.
A dark laughter echoed through the forest. Darsal spun around, tried to see her tormentors. Laughter and wings.
"Stay away!" Her fists knotted around her sword, body coiled in a half crouch. "I killed one of your queens," she warned. "You are nothing to me! Nothing!"
Shallow breathing, pulsing hearts.
Madness, girl. You're going mad. Is this real or not? Darsal didn't know anymore. In the dungeon it was dreams. What am I doing?
Rustling wings, a high-pitched squeal. Where were they? How many?
Darsal ran, one arm over her head. Invisible bats breezed past her ear and shrieked. She suspected that it was all in her mind, part of her turning Horde ...
Maybe.
Darsal still slapped at the beasts, which were always out of reach. More bats circled through the leaves, rattling branches and herding her like a wayward cow. She couldn't see them. Couldn't see them, but they were there, in her mind, bent on consuming her alive.
It took her another hour to find Jordan's grove of spider trees, and she'd carelessly rushed over a ledge, slipped down a muddy slope, rolled sideways, and struck shoulder first against a rock among the trees.
Silence.
She groaned, rubbed her eyes. Spider trees dripped down over her face and blotted out the moon. Mud caked her skin, cooling it. She crawled on all fours, then rose up on her knees.
She'd landed in what looked like a marsh or swamp. Fog and cloud cover obscured her vision, but enough moonlight escaped to let her glimpse her surroundings.
Darsal pulled a twig free of her hair and brought one foot under her, pushed up, and stood. Her eyes immediately searched the swampy floor west. Gradually grass and mud and tree mingled with reddish sand and desert wheat.
Her heart thrilled. Close. So close. She sucked a long, ragged breath.
"Look for
Her feet and legs ached with each step and her skin felt like it was on fire, but she didn't slow to ease the pain or pause to satisfy her thirst. She walked with her head down, mind fixed only on getting out now, before she lost the last reserves of urgency to do so.
Get out into the forest; find the water. Drink. Wash.
Drown?
She couldn't imagine anything so foolish. But faced by the certainty of death at any rate, she might even just drown.
Stay south, Jordan had told her. Stay south and don't be seen. You're following the road, but not really. And don't let anyone find you. You'll eventually go through a ditch. It'll take an hour or so to get there, maybe more if you have to hide out awhile. Look for the spider trees and the marsh. If you reach the desert, you've missed it.
She reached the forest and picked up her pace. The place where wood and desert meet, just like her dreams. She surveyed the trees in search of beady, red eyes.
None showed themselves.
She tripped, her sore, stiff muscles screaming. Stifled a yelp and pressed south in search of a red pool not even Thomas Hunter had known about on the word of a condemned man who claimed she had to drown.
Don't think about that. Not yet. Not yet.
The trees rustled, unseen wings beating against whispering leaves. She glimpsed a shadow of what might have been an oversized bird. Or bat.
First to find the pool.
n hour passed before Darsal had gone far enough to escape all traces, sights, sounds, and smells of Horde in the forest. Except for those that traveled with her, on her flesh, in her hair and nostrils and mind.
She had to fight the urge to scratch off her own skin.
But did it really matter anymore?
She fumbled over a stump and kept going, pressing into the unknown.
Here in the dark the trees were full of mangy fur, beady red eyes, and long, razorlike fangs. Sweat oozed down her neck and spine, mixing with the tingly, invisible sensation of an icy claw raking along the tender skin and slicing her to ribbons.
Darsal could almost feel the Shataikis' breath at her ear and neck, smell the horrid stench like sulfur and ash.
A dark laughter echoed through the forest. Darsal spun around, tried to see her tormentors. Laughter and wings.
"Stay away!" Her fists knotted around her sword, body coiled in a half crouch. "I killed one of your queens," she warned. "You are nothing to me! Nothing!"
Shallow breathing, pulsing hearts.
Madness, girl. You're going mad. Is this real or not? Darsal didn't know anymore. In the dungeon it was dreams. What am I doing?
Rustling wings, a high-pitched squeal. Where were they? How many?
Darsal ran, one arm over her head. Invisible bats breezed past her ear and shrieked. She suspected that it was all in her mind, part of her turning Horde ...
Maybe.
Darsal still slapped at the beasts, which were always out of reach. More bats circled through the leaves, rattling branches and herding her like a wayward cow. She couldn't see them. Couldn't see them, but they were there, in her mind, bent on consuming her alive.
It took her another hour to find Jordan's grove of spider trees, and she'd carelessly rushed over a ledge, slipped down a muddy slope, rolled sideways, and struck shoulder first against a rock among the trees.
Silence.
She groaned, rubbed her eyes. Spider trees dripped down over her face and blotted out the moon. Mud caked her skin, cooling it. She crawled on all fours, then rose up on her knees.
She'd landed in what looked like a marsh or swamp. Fog and cloud cover obscured her vision, but enough moonlight escaped to let her glimpse her surroundings.
Darsal pulled a twig free of her hair and brought one foot under her, pushed up, and stood. Her eyes immediately searched the swampy floor west. Gradually grass and mud and tree mingled with reddish sand and desert wheat.
Her heart thrilled. Close. So close. She sucked a long, ragged breath.
"Look for
Similar Books
