The Glaston trees rose ahead, green against stone.
He reached a pool shimmering like glass, tore off his pack, and splashed water across his face and hands.
Fish darted. Turtles basked. Late spring stirred.
A spoon-billed bird nosed at his pack.
“Careful, thief,” Viktor muttered, tearing a cracker in half and tossing it over.
The bird squawked, unimpressed, and drifted off to the shallows.
Viktor ate, amused.
“Don’t let elvish food spoil you,” he called.
Then movement caught his eye—flocks bursting westward in waves, screaming.
His body stilled.
He packed quickly, scanning the trembling canopy.
Finding a low branch within reach, he hauled himself upward, climbing into the trees for vantage. From that height, he saw deer fleeing, one trapped and tearing itself free.
The forest shuddered with warning.
Viktor steadied himself against the branches and drew a breath, letting it harden into vow:
I’ll find her. No matter what waits ahead.
He slipped from the tree and pressed deeper, silent between trunks.
A horse’s panicked cry tore through the forest, drawing him to a muddy rise.
He pulled himself higher, hand to branch, teeth gritted.
At the top, he found the animal thrashing, reins snarled in branches, golden trim glinting in the morning light.
Viktor’s pulse kicked hard.
He slashed it free with practiced speed, sent it fleeing with a slap, then sprinted after the trail of ruin.
He vaulted fallen logs—
then the ground vanished beneath him.
The earth split into a hidden crevasse and he plunged, knife flashing as he drove it into a root to break his fall. His body swung above the black void, breath tearing in his throat.
Cries rose from below.
Hauling himself flat to the dirt, he edged forward and peered into the chasm.
An elf stared up, dagger in hand. “Quiet! It will hear you!”
“Is Storne’s daughter with you?” Viktor demanded.
The elf hesitated.
“How do you—”
