Marc trailed him. “Trystan.”
Trystan didn’t stop until he reached the steep edge of the hilltop. Marc came up beside him and crossed his arms over his chest. Trystan gave him a quick glance. “This isn’t your battle. I can’t ask you to stay.”
“You don’t need to. And it is my battle.”
Trystan looked away, staring across the land. “And what if I make the choice that leads to your death?” Tears pooled along Trystan’s lashes as he looked back to Marc. His throat tightened. He spoke through the strain. “You died in my dream, and it nearly broke me.”
Marc held Trystan’s shimmering, watery gaze.
Trystan turned away again. Agonizing, bloody images battered his mind. Life seemed so simple mere weeks ago. A part of him wanted to blame Emrys for bringing this whole terrible nightmare down upon him, but the other part of him knew that, if anything, Emrys had been the one sacrificing everything to protect him. For centuries. The man was either beyond dedicated to the oath he’d sworn to the Oracle and his parents, or he truly loved Trystan more than he conveyed.
That thought didn’t make Trystan’s choices any easier.
You can’t love me, Trystan.
There is much truth in what appears to be a lie.
Emrys’ words lingered on the edges of his memories, causing far more pain than they should.
A quiet growl drew Trystan’s attention. His eyes met Marc’s for a brief second before darting toward the wolves still near the tree under which they’d rested. Hair raised, the two wolves circled, snarling louder. Trystan’s gut clenched.
“The sword.”
“What?” Trystan snapped.
They sprinted toward the tree.
“Excalibur.” Marc scoured the ground. “Trystan, it’s missing!”
“What do you mean it’s missing?”
“I don’t know! It was right here a few minutes ago, and now it’s gone!”
“Marc, without that sword—”
“Wait,” Marc said. “Look. Footprints.” He pointed to several soft indentations in the grass and dirt. “Someone was here. Someone took it.”
“But who? And how? The wolves were here the entire time. They would have seen someone. Unless… Morgaine.” Trystan admonished himself. He’d gotten so caught up in that dream and the impending war, he’d neglected to safeguard the very weapon that could be the key to stopping the fallen guardian.
“The wolves did growl. They must have sensed something.”
“I should have been more careful.”
“She messed with your head, and I am to blame for this, not you.”
“She baited both of us.”
“First chance I get, I’m going to kill that witch.” Marc followed the trail of footprints. “Whoever the thief, they could not have gone far.” Marc stopped near a crumbling wall at the hill’s edge and peered out into the darkness. He walked back over to Trystan. “Wherever they’ve gone, it will be near impossible to track right now.”
Kneeling down, Trystan brushed his hand over the soft impressions left in the grass. His eyes glazed over. He saw someone take the sword. He recognized him. It was the same creature that had abducted him not too long ago. His vision jumped. It was still dark. He saw an arrow of light strike the creature, paralyzing him. The image faded.
“Grønn Riddari.” Trystan refocused his eyes. His gaze landed on his bow where it lay on the ground. The markings glowed.
“I’m going to kill him too,” Marc growled.
“I think you are about to get your chance.” Trystan picked up the bow and summoned an arrow as he pulled back on the string. He aimed into the darkness and waited. Closing his eyes, he slowly turned about, focusing, thinking only of the target he needed to hit.
“Trystan, there’s no way to see him. It’s too dark.”
