Volume Three, Prologue
íte raised a gloved fist and pressed herself tight against the rough bark of a sturdy oak. Behind her, a trio of figures did the same, hiding close behind their own trees apart from one man, who dropped to the floor to hide himself behind low-lying ferns. She suppressed a scowl, and turned her attention to the lone Drau padding through the forest clearing ahead.
They should not be with her—they had no foci, and no means of protecting themselves—but in the days since their rescue, íte had hardly been allowed to take a piss unaccompanied. She had become something of a leader of the ragtag group of survivors that had escaped the Daemon’s enraged hunt through the forest before it had left in a hurry toward Makavi. The others had deferred to her almost by default, and somehow the entire group had become her responsibility.
She scanned the tree line carefully for any other movement. This particular Shadowspawn had drawn too close to their camp to be allowed to survive, but before she took care of it, she needed to be sure she wasn’t inviting more than she alone could handle. As the only person with a foci, she was the only one left who could protect these people.
Exactly how íte had come to accept responsibility for them so quickly hadn’t been immediately clear to her, but on reflection, it was painfully obvious.
They were all she had left.
Certain of the creature’s isolation, íte’s fist flattened into a raised palm, indicating the others should hold their positions. She took a steadying breath, then darted from cover, spear blazing to life in her palm. The Drau, a twisted mockery of a boar, turned to face her in alarm far too late, its winding tusks too slow and unwieldy to reach her before she was driving her spear point into the base of its skull.
It burst beneath her into black mist, the flowing black smoke drifting into her foci and its power joining her own.
Before she could call out her companions, another sound caught her attention. A shrill howl that cut sharply through the still forest, and sent a rush of nauseating fear through her. íte glanced back, and saw the terror plain on the faces of her companions. They all knew that sound—they would forever, deep in their bones. Everyone that had survived the mines of Makavi would.
The Daemon was here, and close enough that they could all be in danger.
She licked her suddenly dry lips, peering through the dense woods in the direction of the howl. Frigid fear had an iron grip on her heart, and it screamed at her to run. To flee as far and as fast as she possibly could.
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Galan, the closest of her companions met her eyes. He was a young lad, a farmer in the World That Was—certainly no warrior or adventurer—and yet he looked at her so clearly ready to do whatever she asked of him, despite his own terror, and everything he’d been through until now. The trauma of the mines had left men twice his age and experience broken, and here he was, utterly resolved to do what needed to be done.
It gave her strength she didn’t possess on her own. Courage to do what she knew had to be done.
She gestured for her companions to join her in the clearing, and they hurried over, huddling around and waiting for their next move.
“Tieve, Caiden: head back to camp and get everyone prepared to move. If that thing is heading toward camp, we need to be long gone. If we’re not back by dusk, lead everyone west, away from Makavi. Leave as little trace as you can. Galan, you’ll come with me so we can find out what that thing is doing and if the camp is in any danger.”
The three nodded, resolute. Galan didn’t know it, but the only reason he was accompanying her was so someone could get word to camp not to wait for her if she was discovered.
She set off through the woods with the young lad in tow trying her hardest to balance their need for silence and haste, her eyes straining for any sign of movement through the trees, ears alert for any further sign of Shadowspawn.
They did not have to wait long. She ground to a halt and dropped to the floor amidst thick undergrowth as the babbling of shades bubbled up from the forest’s depths. She and Galan inched forward on their bellies, ignoring the biting thorns and brambles, until ahead of them, they could make out the first moving shapes past the twisting brush.
A vast column of Shadow creatures flowed forth along an overgrown forest path. Shades, Drau and Bel’gor all heaved along in one seething stream of black, hissing and gurgling quietly. íte watched, breathless, as they passed. She had never seen anything like this before in her life and she, unlike Galan, had lived through a lifetime of conflict with the Shadow before she’d been captured.
The Daemon’s shrieking voice burst out across the forest once more, this time far closer, and íte inched forward even closer, bringing her as close to the edge of the path as she could get without breaking cover. She craned her neck in the direction it had come from, at the head of the advancing horde. There, unmistakable, was the shadowed, spider-like form of the Daemon herself, leading the march.
A march. The thought struck a nerve with her, and íte knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was what this was. An army—the Shadowspawn of Makavi—on the march.
Her first reaction was, to her shame, relief. This force of Shadow creatures was moving north, away from their camp, and her people. Then, moments later, she realised that instead, it was following the road to Pyry, where Casek and his companions were heading to attempt their next rescue.
They had no way of knowing they were about to be caught between the Shadowspawn that ruled the city of Pyry, and the enemies they thought they had escaped behind them. It pained her, but íte forced herself to turn away and begin to retreat back from the horde with Galan. Her camp was not in danger, and there was nothing she could do to help Casek from here.
All she could do, as she crawled through the massed bramble, was hope he would find a way to survive both what was heading his way, and what he was walking towards.