staying with her, at her back. Twigs. Weathered branches. Just a freak of moonlight-not truly bones! Do not look behind you!
She ran until a stitch stabbed her side and she could run no more. Staggering with exhaustion, she slowed to a walk. Nothing ran into her, nothing grabbed her. Over the thunder of her heart she heard those steps still there, keeping time, stepping where she had stepped, following right at her back.
There was nothing there, she told herself firmly, and knew that she lied. It was right behind her, close enough to breathe on her neck, if it breathed. Close enough to touch her, if it could touch.
Everyone in the College had done this, had walked the Defile. They had not been eaten by monsters! It was a trick to frighten her, an illusion.
"Who are you?" she shrilled, not daring to look around again.
There was no reply, no wind. Only her leaping heart, and those wrongly repeating footsteps.
"Tell me who you are!" she cried, louder. "In the name of the Keeper, tell me!"
This time there was an answer, but whether it was a sigh on the night air or only a thought in her head, she could not tell.
I am your guide.
"I don't need a guide! Go away!"
There was no reply, but she sensed that the wraith or whatever it was had not gone away. It still paced right behind her, matching stride for stride. She walked faster. She slowed down. Unseen, it clung like a shadow. She stopped completely, cringing lest something dry and hard should blunder into her. Nothing did. It was standing still as she was, waiting for her to move again.
It was nothing! She should spin around and she would see only the empty path behind her.
"You cannot hurt me!" But others can.
She still could not tell if that was a voice or only a thought in her own head.
"And I don't believe that, either!" Raising her chin, Thafle began to march, swinging her arms vigorously. "Mistress Mearn said she had come this way. Mist came this way. I expect Jain ca-" She stopped.
A shadowy shape stood in the distance, athwart her path. It was so vague that she could hardly make it out, a hint of moonlight and shadow against the rocks, the image of a man. It was illusion, a trick of vision like shapes seen in nighttime embers or in clouds by day. Yet the more she squinted and strained her eyes, the more definite it seemed to be. Sudden anger replaced her fear-tricks and illusions! The Keeper herself had commented on her courage. She would not let such foolery frighten her. Big, soft Mist, yes. Mist might have panicked at hints of shadow, but she was not going to. She was doing this for love, for Leeb.
She took two, or three steps more and the shape was clearer. She stopped again.
"Who is that?" she demanded.
It is a jotunn, one of the white-haired demons.
Her teeth chattered on their own for a moment, refusing to obey her. "Is it alive?" Maybe she did need a guide. It died in the War of the Five Warlocks. The voice-if it was a voice-was utterly devoid of emotion. No amusement, or anger, or sadness. Just answers.
A thousand years dead? "Then it cannot hurt me!" Thaile insisted, as much to herself as to the unseen presence at her back. She lurched forward shakily and continued along the path toward the thing ... the illusion.
If it was a trick of the light, it should fade as she drew nearer. It did not. It grew more solid, although it was still only a silver patch of brightness against shadows, a man in moonlight among the rocks. Against her will, she began to make out detail, a man so huge that her head would barely reach his chest. He wore a shiny helmet, and breeches, and boots. His flowing beard and mustache were the brightest part of him, except for his eyes. His eyes were watching her come. He knew she was there. He was waiting for her, starting to smile.
Moonlight glinted on his helmet, his eyes, his sword. She stopped again, reluctant to draw near.
Now she knew why there was a wraith at her back. There could be no retreat; she must go on.
"What
She ran until a stitch stabbed her side and she could run no more. Staggering with exhaustion, she slowed to a walk. Nothing ran into her, nothing grabbed her. Over the thunder of her heart she heard those steps still there, keeping time, stepping where she had stepped, following right at her back.
There was nothing there, she told herself firmly, and knew that she lied. It was right behind her, close enough to breathe on her neck, if it breathed. Close enough to touch her, if it could touch.
Everyone in the College had done this, had walked the Defile. They had not been eaten by monsters! It was a trick to frighten her, an illusion.
"Who are you?" she shrilled, not daring to look around again.
There was no reply, no wind. Only her leaping heart, and those wrongly repeating footsteps.
"Tell me who you are!" she cried, louder. "In the name of the Keeper, tell me!"
This time there was an answer, but whether it was a sigh on the night air or only a thought in her head, she could not tell.
I am your guide.
"I don't need a guide! Go away!"
There was no reply, but she sensed that the wraith or whatever it was had not gone away. It still paced right behind her, matching stride for stride. She walked faster. She slowed down. Unseen, it clung like a shadow. She stopped completely, cringing lest something dry and hard should blunder into her. Nothing did. It was standing still as she was, waiting for her to move again.
It was nothing! She should spin around and she would see only the empty path behind her.
"You cannot hurt me!" But others can.
She still could not tell if that was a voice or only a thought in her own head.
"And I don't believe that, either!" Raising her chin, Thafle began to march, swinging her arms vigorously. "Mistress Mearn said she had come this way. Mist came this way. I expect Jain ca-" She stopped.
A shadowy shape stood in the distance, athwart her path. It was so vague that she could hardly make it out, a hint of moonlight and shadow against the rocks, the image of a man. It was illusion, a trick of vision like shapes seen in nighttime embers or in clouds by day. Yet the more she squinted and strained her eyes, the more definite it seemed to be. Sudden anger replaced her fear-tricks and illusions! The Keeper herself had commented on her courage. She would not let such foolery frighten her. Big, soft Mist, yes. Mist might have panicked at hints of shadow, but she was not going to. She was doing this for love, for Leeb.
She took two, or three steps more and the shape was clearer. She stopped again.
"Who is that?" she demanded.
It is a jotunn, one of the white-haired demons.
Her teeth chattered on their own for a moment, refusing to obey her. "Is it alive?" Maybe she did need a guide. It died in the War of the Five Warlocks. The voice-if it was a voice-was utterly devoid of emotion. No amusement, or anger, or sadness. Just answers.
A thousand years dead? "Then it cannot hurt me!" Thaile insisted, as much to herself as to the unseen presence at her back. She lurched forward shakily and continued along the path toward the thing ... the illusion.
If it was a trick of the light, it should fade as she drew nearer. It did not. It grew more solid, although it was still only a silver patch of brightness against shadows, a man in moonlight among the rocks. Against her will, she began to make out detail, a man so huge that her head would barely reach his chest. He wore a shiny helmet, and breeches, and boots. His flowing beard and mustache were the brightest part of him, except for his eyes. His eyes were watching her come. He knew she was there. He was waiting for her, starting to smile.
Moonlight glinted on his helmet, his eyes, his sword. She stopped again, reluctant to draw near.
Now she knew why there was a wraith at her back. There could be no retreat; she must go on.
"What
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