the trail.”
Ghaelya raised an eyebrow and nodded in understanding, but was unsatisfied by the answer. “How do we know they won’t follow?”
“We don’t know,” Uthalion answered, turning to face them with his arms crossed. “If they show up again, you can tell them I made a mistake and share a joke at my expense. Until then, I don’t see them making that jump, and the trail is broken.”
“You could have broken my leg,” Ghaelya responded hotly.
“Better than breaking mine,” the human replied as Brindani stood to get between the two. “Besides, people I don’t know break legs every day. Why should I make an exception and care about yours?”
“Uth,” Brindani said, holding up his hands and gesturing to the genasi. “This is Ghaelya. We didn’t come here for a fight, but the last few days we’ve just been… a little on edge. Thank you for helping us.”
“You’re welcome,” Uthalion replied, eyeing the genasi for a moment before facing the half-elf. “Why are you out here Brin? It’s been three years since I told you not to come back.”
Brindani sighed and lowered his hands, having dreaded the moment since entering the deep woods.
“Yes, that you did,” he answered, trying to think of how to continue, how to put into words the insanity he’d been dealing with for the last tendaynot to mention the last three years. A cold sweat had broken out on his forehead, and he quickly brushed it away as a familiar headache returned with a dull throb behind his eyes. Taking a deep breath he forced his trembling hands to his sides, balling them into fists. “Ino, we, came here looking for you. We need your help. There is”
Howls rang from the forest, increasing in frequency as the dreamers closed the wide circle of their hunt. Uthalion turned back to the edge of the forestmote, and Ghaelya ceased cleaning the blood from her sword to listen. Following the eerie howls was the soft chanting of a powerful voice, its song drifting from sweet and ethereal to the harsh scream of metal scraping on glass. Old pain stabbed at Brindani’s stomach, and his headache grew stronger, but he fought to conceal his discomfort.
“Quick,” Uthalion said, facing him with a look of urgency. “Long story short.”
“We need a guide,” Brindani replied, studying Uthalion’s eyes and ignoring the dim screams trying to escape the recesses of his mind. “A guide… to Tohrepur.”
Uthalion blinked, a flash of something like confusion crossing his stern features, though otherwise he appeared unmoved by the statement.
“Oh,” he said at length, lowering his head as if in thought, then uncrossing his arms and walking to the southern edge of the forestmote.
“No,” Uthalion continued. “Not ever. Let’s keep moving.”
“Uth, wait…” Brindani began. He stopped as Ghaelya stood and flashed him a look of anger.
“Leave it,” she said as Uthalion took hold of a low branch and climbed up to reach a second limb bridging a deep gap between the forestmote and the other side of the valley. “We don’t need him. We’ll rest, reassess, and be on our way.”
‘ She followed after the human, climbing in silence up the edge of the cliff towards the forest above. Brindani wanted to agree with her, but he had traveled the length of Akanul once before, though much of the journey had been a blur. He shook his head at the recollection. Even saying the name of the place had taken effort. At one point in his life, months before, he’d almost forgotten that Tohrepur and the little town of Caidris had existed. But, as he was growing tired of discovering, he could not escape them forever.
He fumbled at his pack as they pressed on into the southern Spur, unable to find the bottle of spirits he’d stowed away or the wine he’d purchased in Airspur. His lips were dry, his throat ached, and the pain in his stomach was escalating with each step.
The forest changed as they pressed deeper into the plaguechanged landscape, its leaves turning from a dappled, ethereal green to intermittent waves of dark, glowing orange. Twisting roots came to life as yellow winged beetles crawled out from their lairs to buzz in clouds around the tree trunks, their wings and the light both bright as flames. The brightness of the display hurt Brindani’s eyes, and he squinted, nodding to Ghaelya when she turned with a look of concern on her face. He waved her on, concealing his near blind search through the pack.
The bottle of spirits was empty and the wineskin held only a mouthful that Brindani gratefully swallowed. He left other useless sundries in his wake as he rummaged and quietly cursedno drink meant he had no choice. His frustration grew, until his hand closed around a soft bundle wrapped in rough cloth at the bottom of the pack. He breathed a sigh of relief. The bittersweet aroma of silkroot reached his nose, and instantly his headache seemed a little less. The gripping pain in his stomach subsided.
Brindani paused, gasping quietly as he clenched the bundle and strained to listen, hearing the faintest whisper of singing from somewhere in the night. There were no words or any melody he could describe, but just the feel of the sound made him want to possess it for his own. It was gone in a breath, leaving him dazed on the winding path and clutching the silkroot in his fist.
Uthalion never turned from the path, and Ghaelya seemed lost in her own thoughts. Brindani forced himself to remain patient, a twinge of shame resting like a brick in his gut until he could be alone with his demons. He could make it. No one would have to know. His hand trembled as he released the silkroot bundle back into his pack, patting it securely several times to remind himself that it was still there.
Uthalion kept his eyes forward and his feet moving, focusing on their path and winding it just enough to hopefully throw off any further pursuit. Several times he studied a well-hidden, shadowed trench or an old tree within easy climbing range of the upper canopy, but he passed them by, shaking his head. As much as he might like to, he would not abandon his visitors to the not-so-tender mercies of the Spur. He would see them to safety and look forward to their departure. He had no wish to relive the pastas he’d told Brindani well enough the last time the half-elf had come calling. He desired even less to cross the length of the wilder Akana to go and visit that past.
He’d had enough of old times and unwanted nightmares for one night.
Though he stifled the sharp edge of paranoia that pressed against in the back of his mind, he kept a ready hand on his sword as he navigated the maze of the Spur. He eyed the trees, searching for Vaasurri among the leaves, though he suspected the killoren was still busy drawing the howling beasts away from the grove. Within sight of the glow of his abandoned campfire, he breathed deeply and narrowed his eyes. He kept the genasi in his peripheral vision, eyeing her movements closely. She seemed surefooted, though she had the heavy step of a city dweller. The half-elf seemed as stealthy and as unassuming as ever, but though Brindani hadn’t specifically said they’d been chased, Uthalion knew there was plenty of easier game in the forest than a well-armed genasi and her half-elf escort.
“Trouble,” he muttered. “Nothing good can come of this.”
The smell of half-eaten stew, still warming on the fire, filled the grove. Though he’d eaten less than his share earlier, he found he was no longer hungry, already dreading any further mention of Tohrepur.
CHAPTER THREE
6 Mirtul, the Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR) The Spur Forest, South of Airspur, Akanul
thalion stalked the Men ef An grave, mnkiif for any sign of a disturhaaca with hie tracker’ eyes. Finding naught tat hi. Twi fiaatprtats and these of Vaasurri, he cahaed a kit, tat la* nearness of his guests kept his serves on edge. He wasn’t fond of keeping company and had ao intention of entertaining the presence of Brindani or Ghaelya longer than necessary. The genasi stood with her arms crossed, studying the grove coolly, but the half-elf shifted nervously from foot to foot, his gaze darting from shadow to shadow.
“There’s stew if you’re hungry and a safe place to rest by the fire,” Uthalion said at length, turning to retreat to the hidden cavern where he kept his oft-ignored bedroll. He added over his shoulder, “I suspect by morning you’ll be anxious to be on your way.”
“We should talk,” Brindani said, and Uthalion stopped, gritting his teeth.
“We already did,” he replied coldly. “I’m not going back.”
“Lives are at stake,” the half-elf pressed.
