A distant shout rent the air. She startled at the sound and turned. The horses stirred uneasily. The captain barked out an order.
Three men split from the patrol and moved quickly in the direction of the sound. Emrys signaled for the rest to move on. She didn’t have control of her horse. She didn’t even know if it had a name. A soldier had been assigned to her, the young private who’d found Copper. He tugged on her reins, and her horse lurched forward. The witch hunter must have been warned not to talk to her, because he refused to answer any of her questions. He never even looked her way, like she might bewitch him with a look.
Following the path that she and Toby had once taken, they continued along the riverbank. Familiar landmarks appeared strange and dark. There was the cliff Toby said reminded him of the profile of a king with a crown. It leered at her as they approached. Once they rounded the curve ahead, they should be able to see the fort jutting above the tree line. The stark blackrock. The crumbling tower. She’d never wanted to see this place again.
A single rider returned from the woods, racing toward them. He pulled up panting. “Dain has the witch cornered. There’s a cave two miles east. There are multiple familiars blocking the way. I counted at least two, but I heard more.”
The captain turned to shout out an order. His gaze locked on her and he hesitated a moment.
“We’re going after the witch. Garin, follow behind with Mistress Yahl. Keep your distance unless you’re needed. Tie her to a tree if it comes to that.”
“You can’t do that,” she started to argue, but he’d already turned, yelling for his men to follow. She would be dead if they staked her out here in the middle of the rot like a sacrificial goat.
She turned to Garin. “You can’t leave me chained up. I don’t even have a knife to defend myself. Give me the reins at least.”
Garin glared at his brothers in arms, watching them race off to fight the witch. The idiot looked jealous.
He tugged at her reins. “Come on. Let’s find somewhere to watch.”
She could only hold on to the pommel, wondering if her chances of survival would be better if she jumped off and ran back the way they’d come.
The wind picked up, and storm clouds gathered overhead, dark and roiling. The vultures dipped and jerked in the uncertain currents. Lightning split the sky and the ground shuddered.
Her horse reared, jerking back onto its hind legs. She cried out but managed to hold on. Garin pulled on the reins, yelling at her. He didn’t see the familiar rushing toward them from the woods. With one swipe of a clawed hand, it tore into his horse’s shoulder. Garin drew his sword to face the thing and dropped her reins as he turned.
She lunged over the horse’s neck to try and grab them, but it was no use. She couldn’t reach the reins and her horse took off at a full gallop away from the witch and the fort and the river, running in a blind panic. It was all she could do to hold onto its mane.
And she did at first, hold on as the horse carried her away from the witch faster than she could have hoped. She hoped Garin survived, but there was nothing she could have done to help him. She tried to shift her weight as the horse cut first in one direction and then another trying to avoid the trees. The wind of their passage made her eyes tear up, blinding her almost completely.
Hold on.
Hold on.
Hold on.
And then the horse leapt. She didn’t see the obstacle, she just felt the wild weightlessness as the horse hurled itself into the air. She landed badly on the saddle. One hand tore free of its grip on the horse’s mane.
She lurched sickeningly to the side. She clutched and scrambled and pulled herself upright only to be hit by something. A branch or a tree or a monster.
She had one second to wonder as she was thrown off the horse. This time when she landed, there was only darkness and a whisper following her down...
Daughter of the wood, you’ve come home.
33
There was someone with her in the dark. She could hear them breathing, steady and soft. Cool hands on her brow, sliding into her hair, curving around her skull with a healer’s professional exploration. Fingertips danced lightly down the vertebrae in her neck, swept across her collarbone. There was pressure on her jaw and her head was gently turned.
Pain exploded in the back of her head, and she whimpered. The questing fingertips prodded harder.
“There it is.” The voice was male, pitched so low it was scarcely louder than a breath. “Sorry. Sorry.”
She forced her eyes open and raw panic jolted through her. She couldn’t see anything at all. The blackness was so complete it swallowed the world.
That blow to the head.
She was blind.
Reaching out, she caught a hand, an arm, held on for dear life.
