“Gor,” he called, hoping his brother hadn’t gone far enough to not hear him. “We’ve got company.”
To his relief, Gordon emerged swiftly enough, his bow in hand. He’d barely joined them before his gaze settled on his daughter. “Lass, what are you—?” he growled. “You should nae be out here without an escort.” He stormed over to kneel before Sorcha. “You’ve nae a weapon on you, have you? Isnae that what I always tell you?”
“Aye,” she mumbled, refusing to look her father in the face. If she balled her hands any tighter, they were going to disappear altogether. At least she didn’t seem to be holding anything.
Sighing, Gordon got to his feet. “I’m taking this lot back home. You two can carry on to the end, if you like.” Clasping his daughter’s wrist, he ordered the boys to follow with a jerk of his head and marched off in the direction of the castle.
“The finish line isnae far.” Hamish took a few steps, halting beside the tree Sorcha had touched. Just beyond it was a small clearing marked by a row of broad-leaf ferns. All carefully cultivated. “See?”
“For the moment,” Darshan murmured. He lowered his glasses, gently hooking one of the earpieces into the neck of his overcoat. “Shall we discover how well I can make it back to the castle without these?”
A gnawing hollowness took Hamish’s stomach. Few of the competitors were going to make it through even without the impediment Darshan had to deal with. If only he could compete in his lover’s place, but the rules against them competing for their own hand were explicit. “All right then, lead the way.”
Squaring his shoulders, Darshan struck out for Mullhind with Hamish plodding silently behind him. At least he was off to a good start by facing the right direction. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as difficult as Hamish had dreaded.
Please Goddess, guide his feet. Surely, it couldn’t be that much to ask for. Just for tomorrow. He needed Darshan to get through the second trial unmarked. He could ensure victory from there.
Darshan crouched next to a sturdy tree trunk. Reach the ferns unmarked. That was his goal. He had made it only a short way into the designated piece of forest before diverting to one side whilst the rest of the competitors raced on.
All this had seemed far easier yesterday, when he had succeeded in navigating to his tent by the castle tunnel. But then, he hadn’t the added difficulty of people throwing objects at him or the uncertainty of when.
Without his glasses, the forest was an unending swath of green. He could make out impressions readily enough, although he couldn’t be sure if the darker blobs he saw in the distance belonged to other trees or were just shadows.
At least he could be confident they weren’t people. Not unless they had gained a statue-like talent for stillness. They were out there, though. He could feel it. A wisp on the wind.
Invaders.
Darshan shuddered. The whisper of—he couldn’t quite call it words, but the impression of them—drilled into his mind. The ethereal notes grew stronger the deeper he pressed into the forest. Similar had happened yesterday when they had practised archery, but it had been more akin to a faint howl of pain. If he had time, he would’ve pondered on the cause.
In the distance came the occasional cry of his competitors as they were hit. Not dangerous—at least that was what Gordon had claimed—but judging by the screams reverberating through the trees, getting hit was an unpleasant experience nevertheless. And an instant disqualifier.
He strained his hearing, seeking any hint that he might be in danger. The far off rustle of a body stalking through the bushes caught his ear. Nothing closer.
This wasn’t a contest of speed. As long as he reached those ferns at the other end by midday, time was a commodity he had enough to play with. Perhaps, if he waited long enough, the guards hidden in the foliage would run out of ammunition, leaving him with just the task of making it to the other side.
At least the headaches had yet to start. They would eventually, especially if he continued to strain his eyes like this. Such was always the cost of abandoning his glasses.
Another whisper of disturbed leaves, this time at his back. Was there another, more cautious, competitor lingering at the rear?
The muffled snap of a twig pressed into the earth heralded their closeness. There was definitely a presence behind him. Were they looking to waylay a few people on their way through?
“We ken who you are,” a small voice declared.
Darshan hunched his shoulders. Only the faint familiarity behind the voice kept him from instant retaliation. Where had he heard it? “And just who would that be?” he asked, hoping the scarf muffled his voice beyond recognition. He spread his fingers, calling on his magic in readiness for an attack if need be. Perhaps he could knock out the tattler and be through the forest before anyone found them.
“The Udynean Ambassador,” another voice replied, this one less familiar.
Well, that is rather unfortunate. Did that mean they were friendly? Darshan couldn’t let anyone hostile to his task slip away after revealing such knowledge. Why track him down in the middle of the trial to announce their finds?
An acrid scent drifted on the breeze, carrying a clear message. Danger. The prickle of thorns scuttled up his spine, stabbing into the base of his skull. An image invaded his mind. Three figures hunched in the bushes, their bodies bending fragile branches and bruising leaves.
Darshan shook his head, trying to shake the image, but the howling dug deeper into his brain.
“We’re here to—”
The image shifted. One of the figures had moved closer. Danger. The pressure in his head increased with the cry. Darshan whirled about, ready to unleash a blast of air that
