We’d almost reached the petrified tree trunks when a rhythmic shuffle washed through the still air. We halted. A heartbeat later, the figure appeared from within the trees.
Merelda had always told me stories of spirits. I never believed them, though I questioned that now, because the thing rushing toward us couldn’t be human. It was made of skin and bones, face sunken, skin nearly translucent. Rags hung from its waist, swishing as it lurched in a lopsided run.
“Go back,” Harthon demanded, pulling a weapon free. The figure was nearly at the edge of the field.
“No,” Aric objected fiercely, blade in his hand. “We take it down and keep going.”
“If there’s one, there’s more.”
Aric held his ground with a stern shake of his head. “We need to see if anything is alive here. We need to head into the ci—”
A garbled choke cut him off.
I stared in shock at the bloodied arrow tip protruding from the center of his chest.
I blinked to clear the image, because it couldn’t be real.
Aric couldn’t have an arrow cutting through his leather armor.
This…this…no. This isn’t happening.
In horrified disbelief, his chin tilted down as blood began spurting from the wound. “Fuck.”
That was the last time the air stood still.
He tipped as Harthon threw a dagger, taking down the figure—theman—that had distracted us. I watched him hit the ground, and then Stefano launched himself at me, knocking me down. An arrow whistled where my head just was.
“Run!” Harthon roared.
Stefano dragged me up as Harthon shoved Aric over his shoulder, and then we were in a wild sprint, running for our lives from the group of wraith-looking humans that emerged from the tree trunks with bows in their hands.
There weren’t many of them, but we had no shields against their arrows. There was nothing to hide behind. We were completely exposed.
Stefano jerked me in a zig-zag pattern, Harthon tracking just behind us as Aric’s weight slowed him down. Joris stumbled beside us as an arrow grazed his leg. Our attackers weren’t good marksmen on moving targets, but if they flung enough arrows, aim didn’t matter.
Ahead, the brambles taunted us, mocking us for ever leaving their circle of protection. These people had been waiting. They couldn’t uncover the path’s entrance themselves, so they’d been waiting for something to come out of it.
Just make it. You can make it.
The whistle of an arrow came with a thud. When I realized it wasn’t from me, I swung to the side and saw the sharp tip jutting out from Harthon’s side. His steps hitched, but he kept barreling on. I told myself it was okay.
It had to be okay.Hehad to be okay.
I was the first to crash into the brambles, Stefano following me through the narrow path we’d cut. Harthon careened through and deposited Aric on his back.
We were temporarily shielded from their arrows, but we weren’t safe. We had thirty seconds, at most, before they were here.
“Light it up,” Harthon demanded, nodding to the two torches hanging on to dying flames. Stefano and Joris quickly took them to the brambles. By some blessing, they caught instantly, the scent of burning wood filling the air.
I kneeled beside Harthon, who was preparing to snap away the tip of the arrow in Aric’s chest.
“Don’t bother,” Aric gasped, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. “We both…know…I’m dead.”
He was.
He’d been shot directly in the middle of his chest. Even if a healer was right here, there’d be nothing anyone could do. It was a perfect kill shot.
Harthon’s hands squeezed the wood in frustrated denial before breaking away with a curse.
