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I don’t wait to see what he does next, the second he turns to look at the sky, I take off towards the trees—obviously not very quickly, given the wound in my leg. But, I’m sure he won’t follow me. He can’t afford to. It’s soon to be daylight and he probably has just enough time to return to his castle before he ends up a pile of dust.
Of course, it goes against the grain for me to leave him alive, but I’m at a pretty massive disadvantage at the moment. My revenge will have to wait for a more opportune time.
Until we meet again, I think to myself.And when we do,I’ll have a stake with your name on it.
Chapter Seven
I run for as long as my body will permit it, which, given my current level of exhaustion, isn’t that far.
Collapsing back against a tree I check behind me. I can’t think of any way Derith could have followed me but, much as it pains me to admit it, he isn’t stupid. No, he appears to be a dashing prince from a haunted fairy tale, but I know better than most that appearances can be deceiving. And vampires are some of the worst offenders.
I’m not sure how far I’ve gone. Or where I was when I started. So, I have no idea where I am now but I have to keep going. I can’t put enough distance between myself and Baravia Castle fast enough.
I’ll go until I find a town where I can rest and see to my wound. There, I’ll gather provisions, I’ll find a stake (or three) and then I’ll return. And when I do, the fire of a thousand suns will be burning in my heart—fueled by the knowledge that I’m about to take revenge for the deaths of my family. The thoughts are already so sweet, I can taste revenge on the tip of my proverbial tongue.
Now that I’ve stopped, I start to notice the pain in my knee. Blasted water ghouls! They really are the foulest creatures the sea has to offer.
Bloody thing would’ve killed me if it weren’t for…
Well, if it weren’t for Derith, but that doesn’t mean he’s some sort of hero. He’s not. He’s still a murderer, and he’s still going to die for his actions.
Regardless, now I must face the fact that I’m injured and alone in the middle of a forest.
Suffice it to say I could be doing better.
But there’s no point in fretting about what can’t be fixed. There’s only one option, and it’s forward.
So, I walk on for what feels like hours.
Glancing up through the trees after a long while, I find weak light streaming through the branches. It’s already growing dim again—another day come and going. I don’t fret. I’m confident I’m headed in the right direction. There’s bound to be some town further inland. If not, I’ll have to hunt something for my supper. At the very least, I need water. Luckily, I’ve picked up on the distant sound of a river and I follow that rushing sound, moving as quickly as I can, which, I’ll admit, is still a painfully slow pace.
The sound of the river grows louder, but before I see it, I feel something latching around my wrists. Immediately looking down, I stare in shock at my now joined wrists, yet they aren’t bound with anything I can see. It’s as if an invisible rope holds them taut and when I pull against it, I can’t.
As I continue to study the unseen binds, pain bleeds through my wrists. The feeling is akin to thorns sinking into my flesh and as I watch, that’s exactly what I see—thorns that only show themselves when I struggle against the invisible ropes.
This isn’t within the skill set of any creature I know and that information scares the hell out of me because it means I don’t know what I’m now dealing with. The ropes tug me forward and I’m yanked nearly off my feet and then jostled like a ragdoll through the tangle of bushes and upturned roots. My knee hurts like all hell as I chase the pulling rope, trying to get some give, but it’s pulling me faster than I can possibly move, especially with my injured knee. The second I give the least bit of resistance, the thorny feeling returns and I’m yanked further afield.
All of a sudden, I trip over a root and fall into a puddle of mud, now covered in the stuff from head to toe. In addition to being saturated with wet dirt, I’m also riddled with bruises and scrapes, some of which are already bleeding.
“Oh, good,” a crooning voice announces from above. “You’ve finally arrived.”
I lift my head up and out of the mud, craning it up to look at a woman. From the looks of her, she’s a beggar, as she’s dressed in dirty rags. She must be north of fifty because thick valleys line the entirety of her face, intersected by large liver spots.
“Do come in,” the old woman says. Then, she disappears into a little hut of mud and sticks that sits behind her. The shack is well camouflaged by the trees and the mouth of a cave that occupies the space directly next to the door. You could miss it entirely if you weren’t looking for it. She leaves the door open behind her.
I try to get up, but there’s no strength left in my arms, much less in my legs.
“I…” I start and pull against the ropes, only to feel them pulling against me in one final giant lurch. I suddenly feel myself being yanked over the twisted root threshold of the woman’s hut. I land in a tumble of my own arms and legs, discombobulated and dizzy as hell.
Looking up, I find the woman sitting at a round table that stands on only one leg placed right in the center of the wooden circle. There’s another chair beside her—a frail thing that’s missing quite a few of its spindles.
We meet each other’s eyes. Hers are buggy and bright blue, highlighted by stringy gray hair that looks as if it was once black. It runs along down either side of her face.
“Oh, I do apologize for those,” she says and motions to my wrists. The woman waves her hand in my general direction, and the invisible ropes go slack and then slither off me like snakes.
“It is a rather brutish spell, but my traditional summoning sorcery has lost its luster through lack of practice. It’s a muscle. If you don’t use it—”
“Who are you?” I interrupt, my voice strained with ache.
