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“Stop what?”
“The humming.”
“Why?”
“It’s annoying.”
Natharius scowls, but is forced to do as I say and ceases his humming. After that, the only sounds echoing through the Ghost Woods are the howling wind and our footsteps. Everything else is so unnaturally still.
The sea of trees stretches on, seeming to have no end. How long will it take to reach the other side? One day or several? I’m not anxious only over reaching Gerazad before Arluin, but also over the fear of what other monstrosities lurk here. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I can’t shake away the feeling of being watched. Yet I can’t see anything but trees and mist, and no one else comments on feeling the same strange sensation. I decide it must be my paranoia.
“We should take a break,” Taria says after a long while, when our path opens to a glade. The grass is sparse, and frost coats the fallen leaves.
I raise my head, turning my gaze upward. Beneath the thick canopy of branches and mist, there’s no way to tell what time it currently is. But I suspect we’ve been walking for hours, given the tiredness which has set into my legs, and I’m certain it must be nearly nightfall.
Though I stifle a yawn at the thought of it being nightfall in the world beyond these deadly woods, resting here isn’t a suggestion I find appealing. The hairs on my arms crawl with the sensation of being watched, and I don’t want to close my eyes for even a moment, let alone long enough for sleep to claim me. But I can’t deny we need a break. Especially me.
“Just a short break,” I reply.
Juron sets down his belongings against a nearby tree trunk and scans the glade. “Maybe we should build a campfire to warm us and keep the mist away. I think the chill has already got into my bones.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I ask. “It could act as a beacon to all the creatures lurking here—”
“Wisps, ghouls, and dead necromancers,” Natharius declares. “This isn’t called the Ghost Woods for nothing.”
Wisps don’t sound particularly dangerous, and at least ghouls are a familiar enemy, not that I fancy running into any. It’s the latter which concerns me the most. “Dead necromancers? Orundead?”
He flashes a grin, his teeth glinting in the low light. “Who knows?”
“Wouldn’t undead necromancers be liches?”
“Necromancers can only become liches if they place their soul inside a phylactery,” Natharius replies.
“So, these would be wights?”
“Correct,” Natharius says. “Except any undead we find here will be bound to no master. They’ll have been risen from the dark magic lingering in these woods.”
That explains why Arluin avoided the Ghost Woods. Rogue undead must be problematic for necromancers as well.
I turn to Juron. “On second thought, I think a campfire would be a good idea.” One thing I’ve learned from Heston’s and Arluin’s attacks on Nolderan is undead don’t fare well against fire. Though even with a campfire, I won’t sleep well, not especially after Natharius enlightened me on the horror lurking in these woods.
“I’ll find us some firewood,” Juron replies.
“I’ll come with you,” Caya says. “It’s best we don’t wander off alone in this place.”
“Do you want me to help?” I ask.
Juron shakes his head. “The two of us will manage. It’s best for you to stay here and guard Taria.”
The priestess smiles as she paces across the glade and sits cross-legged on the grass. “I’ll be fine.”
Juron frowns but doesn’t argue with her.
“All right,” I say to Juron, “I’ll stay with Taria.” I’m not sure what use I’ll be in defending the priestess should any undead monstrosities ambush us, but I’d much rather stay near her since her magic can cut through the darkness.
The two warriors start through the trees, rummaging through the foliage. I place down my belongings and heave out a sigh, perching on a nearby rock. Zephyr curls up at my feet, trying to make himself as small as possible. He flinches at every sound which comes from the trees, even when it’s only Caya and Juron.
It doesn’t take long for Taria to fall into meditation. Her midnight skin glows with golden light, and her magic is like a lone candle amid the darkness.
