There was a squawk from up on the cabin’s roof and the sound of a bird launching itself into the night. Adolan pulled himself back inside and turned back to her. Any compassion in his eyes was gone, replaced by a harsh urgency. “There’s trouble,” he said, reaching for a spear, longer and heavier than her own, that stood by the door. “Something unnatural has entered the valley. You’ll have to stay-”
They’re here. Tetkashtai’s voice was sharp-and frantic. Dandra, they’re here! We need to run!
I know. Dandra looked at Adolan as another bellow rumbled in the darkness. “I’m sorry,” she said.
She reached out to Tetkashtai through the connection that bound them together, drawing the presence close. As if she had turned a key in a lock, she felt power stir within her. With Tetkashtai’s yellow-green light surrounding her, she drew on that power, shaping it with a disciplined will. The droning, disembodied chorus of whitefire swelled in her ears. Adolan’s eyes went wide as the sound throbbed against his ears as well. With a flick of thought, Dandra gave the whitefire form.
Pale flames flared around Adolan. They lasted only an instant, but in that instant his mouth opened in a scream that never came out. He slumped to the cabin floor, stunned by the sudden, shocking heat, little flames licking at his clothes. Dandra focused her will and the whitefire chorus changed in pitch as another whisper of power snuffed the flickering flames.
Snatching up her spear, she fled into the night, running once again.
CHAPTER 3
“No! Singe howled. He shoved off from the ground and lunged back to his feet, sprinting after the fleeing shifter. The fiery sphere of his spell was in the way. Ignoring the startled cries of Toller and the folk of Bull Hollow alike, he dove through it without hesitation. The fire tickled his skin, but no more-the ring on his left hand shielded him, devouring any flame that touched his body. Momentarily light blind, he peered into the darkness ahead. Geth was a shadowy figure disappearing into a wall of trees.
The strange bellow sounded again, but Singe barely registered it, just as he barely registered the calls from the people left behind on the common. “You’re not getting away again, Geth!” he hissed-and plunged into the trees.
The bare earth of a path glimmered briefly in the moonlight, then the silver illumination was cut off by the thick branches overhead. For long moments, Singe’s only guide was the thrashing of Geth’s progress through the bush. Jaw clenched, Singe followed as best as he could, rapier held low and one arm up in front of his face to ward off lashing branches.
Then he realized that the only thrashing in the woods was coming from him. He froze instantly, breath catching in his throat, as a thin silence spread out among the dark trees. He held up his rapier and murmured a cantrip over it. Clear, steady light spread out from the blade-but penetrated less than half a dozen paces in any direction around him. Leaves and trunks, branches and bushes, all cast shadows that made seeing any further impossible. Singe turned slowly, trying to spot the trail that he had made as he crashed through the undergrowth.
The shifting shadows made that impossible, too.
“Twelve bloody moons!” he breathed. He was alone and lost in a dark forest-with an angry shifter somewhere close by. Glowing rapier held high, he moved slowly forward.
With every few paces, the deep, mysterious bellow rolled through the night again and again. Singe gritted his teeth against it, then hesitated for a moment. Without a point of reference, he could end up walking in circles.
“Twelve bloody moons!” he cursed again. He turned and began moving in the direction of the bellow’s source.
Geth emerged onto a trail while Singe was still crashing around among the trees. With any luck, the Aundairian would take precious moments-or even longer-to find his way clear. Nine years ago, Singe had been a skilled swordsman and he was still clearly every bit the wizard Geth remembered him to be, but unless a great deal had changed in nine years, he was no woodsman.
The shifter looked down at his thick, hairy hands. They were shaking. Geth clenched them into fists and darted along the trail. The roaring bellow continued to echo as he ran. He tried to put it out of his mind. He was lucky that it had distracted Singe and given him the chance he needed to break away, but of all the times …
Duty and fear tore at him. Geth bit his lip. “Grandmother Wolf, forgive what I do.”
Three trails came together, part of the web of paths that laced the forest around Bull Hollow. His feet slid as he changed direction and charged down one of the other trails. Moments later, the trees opened up into the clearing around the cabin.
The door of the cabin stood open, spilling light into the yard.
Geth slid to a stop. Even if Adolan had left in a hurry, he would have closed the door. Breek was nowhere to be seen. Geth approached the cabin cautiously. “Ado?” he called. “Ado?” He flattened himself against the outer wall and darted his head through the cabin’s door.
The stink of scorched leather and singed hair stung his nostrils even before he caught the soft groan as Adolan stirred on the floor inside the door. Geth sucked in a sharp breath and bounded to his side. It took no more than a glance to see that the kalashtar woman was gone. He grabbed Adolan’s hand and hauled him to his feet.
“What did she do to you?” he growled.
“A burst of fire,” said Adolan. He rubbed a hand across his forehead and winced at his own touch. The skin of his face was reddened, but no worse. “The heat was so intense it took my breath away, but it doesn’t seem like it did much real damage.”
Another bellow rolled on the air. Adolan gasped and pulled away. “Ring of Siberys! The Bull Hole! How could I …” He darted around the cabin, snatching up a satchel stitched with strange symbols, his spear, and a jerkin of stiff, heavy hide.
Geth stood still, watching him with a heavy heart. After a moment, the druid realized that he wasn’t moving and paused. “Geth, what’s wrong?” His face tightened. “Where’s Breek? I sent him to fetch you.”
“Then he’s still looking for me,” Geth said. His gut twisted. “Ado, House Deneith has found me. One of the Frostbrand-one of Robrand’s lieutenants. Singe. He was in Sandar’s.” Geth drew a shuddering breath. “I have to leave.”
Silence fell heavily as Adolan stared. “Now?” asked the druid, his voice thin and disbelieving.
Yet another bellow punctuated the question. Geth spread his hands helplessly. “I told you Deneith might come looking for me.”
“I know what you told me.” Adolan ground his teeth together. He leaned his spear against the nearest wall and wrenched the hide jerkin over his head. When his face emerged, his eyes were angry. “But I can’t believe that you’d leave now or ever. Are you just going to keep running? Bull Hollow needs you!”
“Bull Hollow isn’t going to want me around when they find out the truth.”
Adolan glared at him. “So you’ll abandon your friends in the face of danger?” He paused for half a heartbeat and added, “Like you did at Narath.”
The druid’s word stung like salt rubbed into a wound. A growl tore itself out of Geth’s throat. “It’s not the same!” he snapped.
“Isn’t it?” Adolan asked. He settled the satchel over his shoulders and picked up his spear again. He looked up and his eyes softened. “Geth, fight! Forget the Frostbrand. Forget Singe. He’s in as much danger tonight as any of us. Tomorrow I’ll either stand with you in front of the Hollow or we’ll leave together.”
He held out his hand.
Geth stared at it as the bellow rolled over Bull Hollow once more-then he bared his teeth and slapped his hand down to grasp the druid’s forearm. Adolan’s hand closed tight on his forearm in return.