Page 117 of Dream Reaper

Finnr caught her other arm, and together they slogged back down the hallway as fire, wood, and stone collided behind them. In their haste, their feet tangled together, and they all went down in a heap of arms and legs.

Ava crawled out of the mess, blinking furiously and staring behind them. The hallway had collapsed and created a barrier between them and the shadow. Blue fire smoldered and sparked, the smoke pungent in her nostrils.

Brynja tugged her to her feet, and Ava turned to face the others.

Finnr stood alone in the corridor, a bedraggled and dirty figure in the wreckage of the passage.

Talos, their one hope for survival, had abandoned them.

CHAPTER 28

JERRID

Dragon, in such a hurry to get back to the camp, mistimed his landing and sent them crashing into one of the tents.

Canvas and wood collapsed around them, a tent pole banging him on the side of the head as Haryk slid sideways on his back, desperately trying to hang on to the saddle. If he hadn’t been wearing Echo’s harness, he would have been hurled clean off.

Prince Haryk unhooked his harness and slid to the ground while Dragon shook himself and sought his human form.

Where was Ava?

Wearing his dragon-scale trousers, Jerrid crawled from the mangled tent and stared around the camp. The bonfire flickered feebly, its orange flames weak and tired. Tent flaps hung lifelessly in the still air. The cooking pots looked empty and abandoned, and the entire camp had a feeling of breathlessness.

“The camp looks deserted,” Jerrid whispered to Prince Haryk, who now stood beside him, straightening his tunic.

Dread pooled in his stomach as he spun to search for any signs of life. But it appeared everyone had vanished, leaving only the telltale signs of the camp behind as proof they had even existed.

He was too late.

Jerrid stumbled around the bonfire toward the forest, wondering how deeply into the Shadewood the shadow had dragged the women and their elvish children. Were any of them still alive?

Haryk called out to him, his voice uneasy, faltering. “Wait. I don’t think that’s the right way.”

Jerrid froze and looked over his shoulder at the prince. “What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t feel right.” The prince turned in a slow circle, his nose lifted as if he were testing the air.

But no, that wasn’t what he was doing. He cocked his head and turned…as if straining to hear.

He was listening.

Jerrid padded back to his side, breathless and hopeful. What had he heard that Jerrid hadn’t? He reached out with his ears, wishing he could ask Dragon to enhance his hearing and use his draconic senses, the ones Jerrid usually scorned and avoided. He had finally come to the point where he acknowledged they had their usefulness.

He closed his eyes and breathed out slowly, then held his breath while his ears strained, searching the silence.

The wind stirred in the trees, crackling through dry leaves and creaking the branches. Something rattled, as if branches clunked against one another or a wooden shutter banged against stone. No voices filled the night air, no laughter, no sign that lives even existed in these woods.

Then a faint thwump echoed in his ears, as a heavy object slammed into the ground a distance away. Soft but definite.

“There,” the prince whispered. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes.” Jerrid turned toward the ruined keep and let his gaze wander from the overgrown foundation all the way up to the highest decrepit turret. “I think it came from the ruins.”

“What ruins?”

Jerrid winced, having forgotten the prince couldn’t see. “Oh, um, the camp is sitting at the base of an old castle. There is a keep with a couple of towers. It’s all falling down and looks really old. Long abandoned.”

“I wonder if this could be the old outpost of Verja. My mother told me stories about the old days when I was little. I remember she mentioned an ancestor who used to live here in the northern country. My father lived even further north, along the border of frost giant territory.”