Without pause Eira slipped from the house, closing the door behind her. She would have wagered all her possessions that every hut in the village was now home to one of Bosque’s shadow creatures. And she was sure the wraiths had been there when she and Cian had first come to Dorusduain.
But what was the lesson? Did Bosque mean to show Eira his benevolence? Death had lurked above the sisters but had been held in check. Or was the lesson’s intention something else? Perhaps he wanted Eira to see the devastation he could unleash at will. Fifteen houses in the village. Sixty-some souls snatched from the village without warning.
A horn blast sounded from the forest. Lukasz burst from a doorway.
“With me!” he called to Eira as he ran. In an instant she was at his heels. They plunged into a forest as silent as that on the village’s western border. Eira listened as she ran, twigs crunching under her feet. She expected to hear shouts and noise of battle. But nothing had followed the single horn blast.
They came upon Kael, Cian, and the five knights accompanying him standing amid the tall trees, wearing confused expressions. But they weren’t fighting. Some of the knights didn’t even have their weapons raised.
Eira whirled at crashing sounds barreling through the forest toward them, but she lowered her sword when Sorcha appeared with her team.
Sorcha glared at Kael. “You’re supposed to blow the horn when you’re in trouble, not when you get bored.”
“I wasn’t bored; I was lonely.” Kael grinned at her. “Look at all the friends I have now.”
“Kael.” Lukasz didn’t join in the quiet chuckling of the other warriors.
Kael smiled slyly at the commander. “You said to sound the horn if we found any clue as to what’s happened. We may have found one.”
“It’s true,” Cian said. “Two creatures ran into the forest ahead of us. And they don’t belong here.”
“Did you recognize them?” Lukasz asked. “Creatures we’ve fought before?”
Kael coughed, glancing at Alistair, who stood beside him, scowling.
“They were hobgoblins,” Alistair growled.
“Are you certain?” Lukasz asked. “Hobgoblins aren’t enough to frighten away a village.”
“They were hobgoblins,” Cian told the commander. “Why they’re here I couldn’t say.”
“Hobgoblins point to warlocks,” Sorcha offered. “Perhaps after they’d gotten rid of the villagers, they sent the hobgoblins in to steal.”
“I didn’t notice evidence of stealing,” Lukasz said.
Sorcha shrugged. “It’s my best guess.”
“I sent Alan and Philip ahead to track the hobgoblins,” Kael told Lukasz. “Unless you’ve found something else, I’d suggest we follow them.”
“Sorcha?” Lukasz turned to her.
“Nothing in the fields but abandoned plows,” she said. “I agree with Kael—we should track the goblins.”
Lukasz nodded. “Fan out, but not too far. Make sure you keep a line of sight to Kael; he’ll lead the way.”
The Guard spread into a loose line and threaded through the forest behind Kael. Eira sensed the mood of the knights was both perplexed and sour. The continued, unnatural silence of the forest only heightened the tensions running through their company. Though each knight had been trained to move through the wilderness as quietly as a cat, the absolute stillness in this strange place made every rustle of fallen pine needles and gentle footfall deafening. Whatever lay ahead would surely hear them coming.
They’d encountered hobgoblins often enough. But these creatures were more nuisance than threat, dangerous only in large numbers and only if they caught you alone. When Eira snuck glances at her companions, she saw their furrowed brows as they tried to work out how hunting goblins could be connected to the missing villagers.
The Guard didn’t know the secret that thrummed in Eira’s veins. That village wasn’t empty; it was full of wraiths. And now goblins were sneaking through the forest.
Dorusduain is a lesson . . . and an unfinished one at that.
Eira’s skin prickled. Her lesson hadn’t ended. She was beginning to fear what Bosque wanted to teach her.
A short, sudden scream rose from the forest a short distance ahead of them. Kael gave a sharp whistle and the line of Guards broke into a run. A second shriek pierced the air and then ended abruptly.
“Alan! Philip!” Kael shouted. “Signal us!”
No answer came.
“Stop!” Cian cried. “Stop now!”
The line broke as some warriors responded to her call and others plunged on, hunting for their missing peers.
“Halt!” Lukasz’s deep voice pulled the still-running soldiers back to their commander.
Cian was turning in a slow circle, looking up into the trees. Both hands gripped her sword hilt.
“Be ready!” Lukasz called. The knights formed a tight ring around the commander and Cian, backs to Lukasz and weapons pointed out toward the forest.
“What is it, Cian?” Lukasz asked.
“The trees have changed,” she whispered. “Look at the trees.”
Eira followed her sister’s gaze, at first seeing only the dense clusters of pines tall and broad enough to blot out the sky. Looking more carefully, Eira noticed that some of the trees differed from the russet bark of the evergreens. Dead tree trunks, leeched of color, were smattered among the healthy pines. Spindly white branches at awkward angles sprawled through the air, grasping at nothing. The dark, vine-like foliage that hung limply from a few of the branches looked sickly as well—though Eira had a hard time believing that any tree so clearly devoid of life could sustain leaves of any kind.
“Disease?” Kael asked. “Is there a blight in this forest? It could have been spreading toward the village and the folk worried it would kill their crops.”
“Those aren’t trees,” Cian said.
“Stay here,” Lukasz ordered as he pushed his way out of the ring. Ignoring his command, Eira went after him as he walked to the nearest dead tree.
Lukasz stopped alongside the dead trunk and Eira heard him make a choking sound. Reaching the tree, Eira saw that the trunk wasn’t solid. And Cian had been right. It wasn’t a dead tree.
Bleached bones had been built into the shape of a tree trunk. Eira looked up. The branches were bones too. Bones of all shapes and sizes. Something glopped onto her shoulder. What Eira brushed away was thick and slimy. When she looked at her wet, sticky fingers, they were crimson. Blood. Blood had fallen from the bone tree.