Turn Briana’s red hair blonde and take away her spots and she could be another twin of Patricia’s. How could that be? He rubbed his chin and thought of all Briana had told him.
Could she have told the truth? But at that point, Horland didn’t care if she was telling the truth or not. Even in his perplexed state, he knew she had vanished before his eyes.
Whether she went to the future or to another place, all he knew was that she had left him, and his heart ached at the thought of never seeing her again, never holding her, never kissing her.
He already missed talking to her. She confounded him, enthralled him, dazzled him. He recognized then that he had enjoyed every moment he had spent with her.
Horland grunted at the revelation.
He had to find her, to tell her that despite everything, despite her strange way with words, despite her laughing at him, he wanted to have her by his side for all time.
Could the royal family verify her words? He wondered if he should return to the castle and demand they tell him the truth. Mayhap they knew of a way to get Briana back to where she belonged. No. He had to find the child and going back would take too long. Horland rubbed his growing whiskers. He couldn’t guarantee his sanity by the time he got there; he was worried about his state of mind right then. Surely only a madman would believe Briana’s story might be true.
Garlain was his only hope at that point.
Finally, he stood up, retrieved his pack, and hoisted it over his shoulder, and continued to the castle ruins. Garlain was the person he needed to speak to. He spotted a great tree trunk hanging precariously from a high branch ahead. Checked the path under him and jumped over a low, tightly strung rope.
The traps were getting more dangerous the closer he got to the ruins. If he had tripped that trap, the trunk would have smashed into his body front on and he would have been killed. Why would Garlain want to kill people?
Carefully watching where he stepped, Horland made his way along the wide path, scanning all directions including high above. The trees were no longer trunk to trunk; instead, only a few trees lined the road and the shrubs had thinned to one every now and then. He gazed up at the white fluffy clouds passing overhead. The sun streamed down onto him between the clouds.
But even with the bright sun trying to cheer his mood and warming his body, he could only ponder on whether he would ever see Briana again.
A breeze picked up and tumbled leaves across the ground and unveiled the edges of a net before him. He stopped and chuckled, thanking the goddess of weather. If not for the wind, he would have stepped right into another net. He moved to the other side of the path. Garlain had gotten clumsy—he should have buried the net far deeper and with more than a few handfuls of leaves.
He rubbed his chin and grunted. He couldn’t conceive of the possibility that what Briana told him was true, but if it was, if Patricia had died, perhaps Garlain had gone mad with grief.
He rounded a bend, where red, yellow, and white rosebushes, long left to their own devices, scrambled over and through a broken stone. He smiled and leaving the last greattree behind, he looked to the east. Four black horses grazed on the green grass in a large meadow.
He recognized Morla’s horses. She refused to have any but black, saying they suited her personality. However, that brought up another question. Why was she there?
He peered at the stone wall and picked a white rose. Turning it in his hand, he once again thought of Briana and how the rose would look even more beautiful in her hair. He sighed and dropped the flower.
The wall surrounded the eastern side of the castle, keeping the wind out of the courtyard.
The main entrance was to the south and he took a step in that direction but halted abruptly. He shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to request entrance—he needed to see what was happening in the castle.
Checking for any more traps, he pushed his way through the thorny bushes and stepped onto the tiled courtyard.
A table and two chairs sat in a newly swept corner. Behind that, the two double wooden doors stood wide open. He leapt into the shadows of the roses and what was left of the wall and skirted around to the main building as quietly as he could.
The hallway and roof were intact, thereby making it dark in comparison to the sunlit courtyard, but not so dark that Horland couldn’t see that it was empty.
A darker shadow moved in the gloom at about his hip height. He squinted, trying to focus, but couldn’t see anything. Three great walls of fluff erupted from the hall and he fell back against the bushes. Thorns dug into his flesh, but his attention was squarely on the one gray and two black wolves snarling at him.
He scrambled to retrieve his sword from its sheath behind his back. More thorns speared his hands. He gritted his teeth against the pain and withdrew the sword, pointing it at thewolves. They snarled, drawing top lips up and away from long fangs. Their ears flattened back against their heads.
He looked to his right and left, but could see no way out, not without them attacking him the moment he moved. He swallowed. He could possibly slay one, mayhap two, but the other would tear him to pieces before he could win the battle.
A howl echoed out from inside the castle. The wolves’ ears sprung up, listening. Another howl. All three wolves gave Horland one last snarl and, heads held high, trotted off back into the hall.
Horland let out a great raspy breath and stared into the blackness. Had the wolves taken the castle as their lair? If so, what had happened to Garlain and Princess Morla?
The sword he still held aloft shook, and his whole arm trembled. He lowered the sword but still his arm shuddered and immediately he realized his whole body was shaking. Many wagon wheels crunched on the stony dirt behind the wall of roses. He was close to dying that day, but for some reason, the gods saved him.
Morla! Her screeching had Horland regaining his wits. He spun on his heels and hurried toward the sound.
No sooner had he emerged from the thorny bushes, then a band of cutthroats surrounded him. Horland turned full circle. More than a dozen bandits laughed at their quarry.
