All content is by Michelle Gregory. Please do not copy.
The bolt of a crossbow split the air above Hamal’s head. Mustering what strength he had left, he dodged a second one, jumped to avoid a low branch, and tumbled down a steep incline. Leaves and debris flew up on either side of him. His sudden stop at the bottom of the hill forced the air out of his lungs.
Without waiting to catch his breath, he pushed himself up. He had evaded his attacker for three days. He could not give up now. He had to keep moving.
Pain from a recent arrow wound shot through his left leg. He gritted his teeth and limped to a narrow space between two trees. In the sparse moonlight, he inspected the wound. It was bleeding again. He sliced off another strip from his cloak and tied it over the first blood-soaked bandage.
He stretched his aching muscles and took a few long, quiet breaths to clear his mind. The small company he had been traveling with a few days ago had been picked off, one by one. A few had died from knife wounds. Hamal had found some with crossbow bolts buried in them. Others had simply disappeared in the night. Not once did Hamal see who or what had killed them.
And only Hamal had survived.
Who was hunting him?
A dark presence moved somewhere out of Hamal’s vision, probing the night with its mind, looking for him. Hamal reinforced his mental barriers. Whoever it was, whatever it was, moved silently, like a ghost. Hamal could only feel it close by, but he could not tell where it was.
Finally, Hamal felt it move on. He let out the breath he had been holding, and tried again to break past whatever spell was interrupting his ability to communicate with the other Verndari.
Still nothing. His pursuer had to be a powerful magic user. The link between mystics was not easily severed. And the Verndari were the most powerful of all the mystics.
Hamal had not encountered sorcery like this since…Dar’vosh.
He gripped the satchel he carried over his shoulder. If this was Dar’vosh, he was after only one thing, and it was in this satchel. Hamal had to protect it, no matter the cost.
With renewed purpose, Hamal dropped to the ground and crept from his hiding place, following the shadows. Agadir was close, only a few miles away to the southwest. It was just a small fishing village, but from there he could send a message to the other Verndari about the attacks.
About Dar’vosh.
Once again, he tried to reach out to their minds. All he encountered was the dark wall of the spell. He was completely cut off from all of them.
No. Not all. Someone was still connected to him, but just barely. Concentrating on that one person, Hamal sent out a thought: Dar’vosh is alive.
There was no answer, but he knew the message was received.
He crawled to an outcropping. Once there, he stood and pressed his back against the rocks. He craned his neck around to see the space behind him. The dark presence was back, closer this time. Hamal held himself still and deliberately slowed his rapid heartbeat.
A pebble hit the edge of Hamal’s hood, followed by another.
His heart seemed to stop.
“It has been a challenge to find you.”
The source of the cavernous, rumbling voice landed in front of him.
Hamal drew his dagger.
“I don’t know what good you think that will do,” Dar’vosh said.
Hamal thrust the dagger forward. Dar’vosh caught Hamal’s arm and brought his elbow down on it. The bone snapped. Hamal screamed. Dar’vosh slammed him back into the rock and pressed a cold blade to his neck.
“Now where is the Black Heart piece you carry?”
Hamal forced a whisper out through gritted teeth. “Fall to the darkness.”
“I am the darkness.”
The bolt of a crossbow split the air above Hamal’s head. Mustering what strength he had left, he dodged a second one, jumped to avoid a low branch, and tumbled down a steep incline. Leaves and debris flew up on either side of him. His sudden stop at the bottom of the hill forced the air out of his lungs.
Without waiting to catch his breath, he pushed himself up. He had evaded his attacker for three days. He could not give up now. He had to keep moving.
Pain from a recent arrow wound shot through his left leg. He gritted his teeth and limped to a narrow space between two trees. In the sparse moonlight, he inspected the wound. It was bleeding again. He sliced off another strip from his cloak and tied it over the first blood-soaked bandage.
He stretched his aching muscles and took a few long, quiet breaths to clear his mind. The small company he had been traveling with a few days ago had been picked off, one by one. A few had died from knife wounds. Hamal had found some with crossbow bolts buried in them. Others had simply disappeared in the night. Not once did Hamal see who or what had killed them.
And only Hamal had survived.
Who was hunting him?
A dark presence moved somewhere out of Hamal’s vision, probing the night with its mind, looking for him. Hamal reinforced his mental barriers. Whoever it was, whatever it was, moved silently, like a ghost. Hamal could only feel it close by, but he could not tell where it was.
Finally, Hamal felt it move on. He let out the breath he had been holding, and tried again to break past whatever spell was interrupting his ability to communicate with the other Verndari.
Still nothing. His pursuer had to be a powerful magic user. The link between mystics was not easily severed. And the Verndari were the most powerful of all the mystics.
Hamal had not encountered sorcery like this since…Dar’vosh.
He gripped the satchel he carried over his shoulder. If this was Dar’vosh, he was after only one thing, and it was in this satchel. Hamal had to protect it, no matter the cost.
With renewed purpose, Hamal dropped to the ground and crept from his hiding place, following the shadows. Agadir was close, only a few miles away to the southwest. It was just a small fishing village, but from there he could send a message to the other Verndari about the attacks.
About Dar’vosh.
Once again, he tried to reach out to their minds. All he encountered was the dark wall of the spell. He was completely cut off from all of them.
No. Not all. Someone was still connected to him, but just barely. Concentrating on that one person, Hamal sent out a thought: Dar’vosh is alive.
There was no answer, but he knew the message was received.
He crawled to an outcropping. Once there, he stood and pressed his back against the rocks. He craned his neck around to see the space behind him. The dark presence was back, closer this time. Hamal held himself still and deliberately slowed his rapid heartbeat.
A pebble hit the edge of Hamal’s hood, followed by another.
His heart seemed to stop.
“It has been a challenge to find you.”
The source of the cavernous, rumbling voice landed in front of him.
Hamal drew his dagger.
“I don’t know what good you think that will do,” Dar’vosh said.
Hamal thrust the dagger forward. Dar’vosh caught Hamal’s arm and brought his elbow down on it. The bone snapped. Hamal screamed. Dar’vosh slammed him back into the rock and pressed a cold blade to his neck.
“Now where is the Black Heart piece you carry?”
Hamal forced a whisper out through gritted teeth. “Fall to the darkness.”
“I am the darkness.”