Page 45 of Betrothed

This seemed to cheer Zax endlessly. He held her close, and Fawn marveled at the safety she felt in his scarred arms. Who would have thought she could ever feel safe being held by a Skullstalker?

After another reassuring squeeze, Zax stepped into the veil of shadows.

Fawn gasped as the temperature plummeted.

“What?” Zax said, alarmed.

“Nothing! It’s just cold.” Fawn rubbed her arms through her coat. “Keep going. I want to get this over with.”

Zax quickened his pace. The darkness was so thick that Fawn couldn’t see more than a few inches in front of her face. They were still trying to reach her, and these shadows were not slow and sluggish like the ones back in the path. They almost lunged, only stopping when they neared Zax. Like he had an invisible shield, circling her inside with him.

A voice called through the darkness. “Ho, brother! What news do you bring?”

Fawn squinted. A soft blue light took shape in the darkness ahead. Then a shape in front of it.

At first, she thought the Skullstalker was short, as Zax was. Then she noticed that he was stooped, his back hunched like an old man’s. Ragged mortal clothes hung off his strange, sagging frame. He looked ancient, his skull mask chipped not with battle, but with age.

“O-ho,” said the Skullstalker, his cloudy eyes widening as he caught sight of Fawn. “You’d best follow me into the cave, then.”

He turned, waddling into the darkness. Zax followed, and soon the darkness began to retreat. A brightly lit cave awaited ahead, almost untouched by the shadows. It was covered in rows and rows of ingredients Fawn didn’t recognize: herbs and tonics, tonics, shimmering elixirs.

Fawn let out a sigh of relief as Zax stepped into the cave. The only shadows here were the ones curling around the cave ceilings, which were lit with flickering, floating candle lights.

“Little brother,” the Skullstalker greeted as he came to a shuffling stop and turned to face them. “I see you have finally found yourself a mate. An exciting next chapter in your bothersome story. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” said Zax, even as Fawn frowned at the “bothersome” comment. Then she remembered that Zax had said he came up here several times trying to make the old Skullstalker give him a spouse and figured his comment might be warranted.

The Skullstalker hummed, tapping a weathered claw against his wrinkled chin. “This is new. Usually, my brothers come here alone.”

“Why is that?” Fawn asked warily.

“Hmm?” The Skullstalker looked at her with mild surprise. “Because it is dangerous for mortals, of course.”

“Oh,” Zax said. His grip tightened around Fawn, who glared at the shadows circling the cave ceiling.

“It will be fine,” The Skullstalker assured them. “As long as you keep her close. Now tell me, young one, what do you wish of me?”

“A spell,” Fawn said before Zax could answer. “No, two spells! And a request.”

“Oh?” The Skullstalker’s cloudy eyes twinkled. There was a glow behind them, Fawn realized, though it was muted. “What is your request, if not to use my magic?”

“We would—” Fawn hesitated, looking at the ancient Skullstalker’s hunched form and decrepit bones. Even with his claws and fangs, he looked better suited to sitting on a porch chair drinking warm milk than fighting. Still, Fawn persevered.

“We would ask you to fight with us,” she continued.

The Skullstalker laughed. “Look at me, mortal. I do not fight!”

“But,” Fawn said desperately. “Even if you cannot physically, you have such magic!”

“Not for fighting,” the Skullstalker said, his cloudy eyes flashing in a way that almost made him look dangerous. Then it was gone, and he looked so sad that Fawn wondered what he was thinking about. And then his face changed again, his weathered lips stretching in a sunny smile.

“And even if I did fight,” the Skullstalker continued joyfully, “I do not get directly involved in my brothers’ lives. I simply stay here and hand out spells when I am needed.”

“You wouldn’t have to leave!” Fawn tried. “They’re here, on Anderfel.”

This made the Skullstalker pause. His tail curled thoughtfully, and he turned toward a shelf of dangerously stacked jars.

“Hmmm,” he said. “Mortals on my mountain. I rather thought they stayed away!”