Two he could handle easily, three with some effort. But five…
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. The Wraith had shifted. Finished at the Well, it regarded Colin, silent as a statue, only the Shadows that cloaked it moving in the warmth of the sunlight.
Colin jerked his attention back toward the forest as two of the three moved forward to join the two closest to him. He swore, hands gripping the staff tighter as the fifth shifted forward as well, his gaze flicking back and forth between the Wraith and the Shadows.
And realization struck.
An ambush. The Wraith had been the lure.
This was why he’d ceased hunting the Shadows before, why he’d finally allowed the Faelehgre to convince him to set the rage that drove him all of those years aside. Because they were intelligent. They learned from their mistakes, had gotten smarter, harder to find, harder to catch.
Now they’d changed tactics as well. They were actively hunting him in return. But why now? He’d stopped stalking them at least twenty years ago.
The uneasiness he’d felt when he had woken that morning returned. Something had changed. Something significant.
Before he could ponder it further, the Wraith turned away and within three steps vanished into the darkness beneath the forest.
As if it were a signal, the five Shadows sprang forward.
Colin caught the first two Shadows in a sweep and flung them aside, pivoting on one foot as the other three closed in. He blocked out their shrieks, tried to block out the memories of the wagon train under attack, then darted away from them. He had no chance of holding them off with the staff alone, not all five of them. His only chance was to reach the white stone of the city, where they couldn’t travel.
Breath already burning in his lungs from the sprint to reach the Wraith, he jumped over a tangle of roots, skidded on the soft soil on the far side, and swore as he caught his balance. He felt his body shift into a younger form, one more suited to an all-out sprint, and he adjusted his grip on the staff as it grew longer and more unwieldy in comparison. He vaulted over a fallen trunk covered in moss, risked a glance behind, and felt fear grip his heart. Three were behind him, closing fast. The two others He cried out as one of them appeared ahead, waiting. He caught a flicker of black motion to his left, the direction they expected him to dodge, but instead he used the staff to vault onto the lip of the Well to the right. He swung the staff hard into the one lying in wait, felt its dark folds get caught, felt its weight as he grunted and dragged it in a wide arc behind him, hoping to toss it into the Well; but the end of the staff struck the bole of a tree, the force of the blow shuddering up the length of wood into Colin’s arms. He bit off another curse and sprinted down the arc of the Well, not pausing to shake the Shadow free. The staff jerked as he ran, the Shadow fighting to disentangle itself, and then suddenly it tore free. Colin let loose a bark of laughter as the white stone of the amphitheater appeared ahead.
Something bitterly cold swept through his leg, numbing it instantly.
He cried out, stumbled. For a terrifying moment, he thought he’d tip into the water of the Well. He didn’t know what would happen if he fell in-whether it would behave like normal water or if he’d simply sink into its bottomless depths-but he didn’t want to find out. Twisting as he fell, he threw his weight to the right.
His shoulder slammed into the stone, and his other arm flailed, catching at the surface of the Well, the splash soaking into his robes. Then he tucked and rolled off the edge, landing hard in the pine-scented dirt. His legs tangled in the staff, but he held on tight, back slamming to a stop in the dirt, his head rebounding off an exposed root. His teeth bit down hard on his tongue, and he tasted blood.
Dazed, he stared up into the too bright sunlight overhead, up through the branches of the huge conifers of the forest. The numbness in his leg became a fiery tingle, as if the blood were returning to it, slowly, only a thousand times worse. A throbbing ache awoke in his bruised shoulder.
And then a Shadow loomed up over him, blocking out the sunlight.
He reacted without thought, shoving the end of his staff upward in a warding motion. Not a sweep, not a move at all, just an attempt to thrust the Shadow away. He felt the Shadow’s frigid presence mere inches from his fingers, the chill he’d felt years before at the wagons biting deep into his hands And Osserin blazed into sight, his white light flaring as bright as Colin had ever seen it. The Shadow hissed and flickered away, Osserin charging after, the Faelehgre’s rage palpable, throbbing in the air. More of the Faelehgre appeared, and with their fiery light they drove the Shadows away.
Colin rested his head against the root and listened to the Shadows shriek as they retreated. The burning tingle in his leg increased, and he grimaced as he tried to move it. When it became unbearable, he halted and stared up into the sunlight. He knew the tingling would fade and his leg would return to normal, but it would take days.
He didn’t have days. If he didn’t leave today, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to leave at all. Ever.
Osserin returned, drifting to a halt above Colin, his light still pulsing with anger, though none of it touched his voice.
The Shadows touched you?
“I’ll be fine.” He sighed and lifted himself up into a seated position, his head spinning. After feeling the lump and trace of blood where he’d hit his head, he began massaging his bruised shoulder. “It was a trap. They used the Wraith to lure me off the white stone of the city into the woods, where the Shadows were waiting for me.”
Osserin had stilled. A trap? Are you certain?
Colin shot the Faelehgre a glare. “Yes. I’m certain.”
Osserin pulsed, the flashes erratic. They’ve never been so… direct before.
“No, they haven’t. I’ve been attacked before, by the Wraiths and the Shadows, but it was always while I was traveling in the forest or when I was hunting them years ago. But typically they were attacks made by one of the Wraiths or a few Shadows. None of those attacks were this coordinated, felt this planned.” Colin began climbing to his feet, using the staff for support, hissing whenever his Shadow-touched leg moved. He tried to keep his weight off it, but he found it nearly impossible, even with the staff. “Something’s changed,” he managed through shortened breaths. “Something’s given them a direction, a purpose. And something is driving them.”
What?
“I don’t know.” He began making his way back to the white stone of the amphitheater, automatically moving closer to the Well as he did so.
They’ve grown restless. Restless with hunger, with their confinement here in the forest, here around Terra’nor. They’re tired of foraging off the life-force here within the forest, within the range of the Well. They crave more.
“When did they start becoming restless?”
After the dwarren arrived and intruded into the Well’s influence. They feasted then, as they had not done for centuries. But the dwarren grew wary and eventually learned the edges of the Shadows’ reach. Yet the Shadows can see them on the plains. They want to feast again.
“But you told me that the dwarren have been here for hundreds of years.”
And the sukrael have been searching for a way to break the Well’s hold on them for those hundred years. But they will fail. The Well’s hold cannot be broken.
Colin climbed up onto the lowest steps of white stone and moved to where his satchel lay with the lantern and flask. He sank down onto the stone wall of the Well. “What if that’s what has changed? What if they’ve found a way?”
Osserin stilled in contemplation. What binds the Shadows here binds the Faelehgre as well. If they had found a way to break its hold, we would know. And they would not still be here, near Terra’nor. They would have already set themselves upon the world.
Colin shuddered at the timbre of Osserin’s voice, at the sorrow and horror it held, but he said nothing.
Osserin moved to hover over the lantern. Colin saw him still. You’re leaving.
“I have to.” Colin jerked the sleeve of his robe back, exposed the black mark on his skin, presented it to Osserin. “Unless you think I should stay,” he said bitterly. “Perhaps I should. To help you with the Shadows, with the Wraiths.”
The Faelehgre edged forward, then glided back.
It’s grown.
