I’m not sure why Byron felt the need to bark that order to me. Especially since I was already racing toward the girl, my head bent, and my sword held low in an attempt to avoid any stray sparks that might fly toward me. He isn’t my boss, and Idon’tneed to be told what to do. I’m perfectly capable of deciding my next course on my own.
I skid to a stop, jolting a bit when a hooded man takes a bolt of lightning through his chest. I swallow hard and with great difficulty, turn my focus on the girl, even if it means that I will have to trust Byron to guard my back from any cultists who he hasn’t yet struck down.
Upon closer inspection, I realize that the girl in question is a fae, her pointed ears are visible over the curls of her tousled hair that is now half cascading from the bun she’d had it in. She is wearing a pale pink gown that is made of a light gauzy material that probably wasn’t the best idea to travel in because now it looks like a dragon chewed it up and spit it back out.
I hold up my hand, grimacing a little when I see that my fingers are trembling and try my best to look reassuring. “Don’t worry, we’re going to get you out of here.”
“What?” she yells and as she does so I realize that there is a rushing of wind near her that I couldn’t hear in the rest of the cavern. I press my lips together before I decide that actions speak better than words anyway. I whip my sword up and make quick work at cutting through the binds holding her in place. She stumbles forward as the ropes holding her ankles to the stake release her. I jump to my feet, grabbing her hand, and yanking her into motion behind me.
I hear her gasp and feel wind whip at my hair behind me, but don’t stop as I race toward Byron. I shove her toward him, he braces himself and manages to catch her.
The shock and frustration fades from her face as she takes in Byron, blinking rapidly as she starts to smile. Byron smiles right back, looking perfectly like the role of the suave savior. I roll my eyes and glance over my shoulder as I hear shouts. Hooded figures that Byron either missed, failed to kill, or came from a back cavern start to race forward.
“Close your eyes!” I bark.
Without waiting to see if Byron or our damsel comply, I throw my hands up, squeezing my own eyes shut. There is a flash of light so bright that I can make it out even through my eyelids. I blink them open, struggling past the spots, turning on my heel. I grab Byron’s hand and yank him into motion behind me, hoping that he still has a hold of the damsel.
My power, for all the good that it did us, will only temporarily blind them. That’s all light can do, really. We need to run before they get their bearings.
I race through the cavern, summoning a slight glow so that I don’t entirely lose my way. Ahead I can make out Marvin’s dark form by the mouth of the cavern.
“Run!” I shout, as I start to make out more shouts behind us.
Marvin stiffens and whips his head toward us. “Run!” I shout again since that boy is going to need as much of a head start as he can get.
He turns and takes off, not waiting for any further explanation, and we break out of the cavern, crashing into the forest and away from the cultists and their cave.
Chapter Six
Ihavenoideawhere I’m going or where I’m heading. Somewhere along the way I lost Byron’s sword, but hopefully we also lost the cultists back there as well. Byron and our damsel thunder ahead barely in sight. I have to keep slowing down to grab Marvin’s hand and yank him along another several steps. I’m not sure how much longer I have before he completely collapses but given the purple coloring of his face I am going to bet that it won’t be much longer.
As we go, the full gravity of the situation we were in begins to settle in. We attacked cultists, in their own lair. What if one of them had been a dark knight? What if they all had been? The Maker forsook the dark knights of the Fallen Order long before he left the rest of us, abandoning them even in death and now their bodies and souls are trapped forever in this mortal plain to slowly decay. We could have made immortal enemies today.
But surely, they don’t know who we are, nor has there been any sign of pursuit. These woods are thick, we would hear them trying to come after us.
I whip my head around, my mouth halfway open, ready to tell Byron that perhaps we have run like the netherhounds are on our tails long enough and we should take stock of our situation and figure out where we are, but my words die on my lips when I realize that Byron and our damsel is no longer there.
"Why that slimy son of a..." I begin, but just then I step forward and the ground shifts underneath me. I feel my eyes widen as I look down to realize that the foliage is not actually hard ground anymore. Instead, it appears that I’m standing on a mess of interlocking vines. Just as soon as I draw this conclusion, the vines shift apart and I pitch forward with a little squeak. I thrust my hands back, desperately grabbing at Marvin, but my fingers only just graze his shirtsleeve before I tumble forward into a mess of writhing vines below.
“Snakes! Snakes!” the damsel shrieks a minute too late to warn me of the impending danger.
Byron lifts his hand, his face scrunching with distaste as a vine coils around it. He has already sunk down to his chest in the vines. He glances at me as I wobble, struggling to keep my balance as the vines shift andhissat me, trying to make enough of a gap for me to fall through.
“Careful,” he says dryly. “It seems as if this portion of the forest is sentient, and quite possibly bloodthirsty.”
I wrinkle my nose as I reach up, coiling my fingers into hair thin roots in the dirt beside me in a desperate attempt to keep above the vines that are currently trying to swallow me. The same way they are slowly sinking Byron lower and lower.
I’ve read that portions of some forests have developed a taste for blood and the trees and plants have created traps for small animals to fall prey to, but I never actually imagined a feral part of the forest could be this close to Woodsbury.
But then, I also never imagined that there was a cave full of cultists just down the forest road.
“Thanks for the warning,” I retort sharply.
The corner of Byron’s mouth turns up in a smile that is really not appropriate given the situation. “Don’t mention it.”
“Help me!” the damsel screams in a voice that is so shrill it almost makes Gertrude’s tone seem less grating. Almost.
Byron and I both turn to see the damsel neck deep in the vines. Only her face and a single hand are above the writhing green mass and even those are sinking far quicker than I would like. After all, we did go through a lot of trouble to save her just to lose her to sentient vines.
