* * *
Three hours later, Bronwyn slowed his horse near a clear trail cut through the forest. A governing force hadn’t made it. It was created by those who continued to use it as a connection between this road, the Lower Branch, and the Upper Branch. From travellers along the way, he had learnt Keiron had most likely taken this trail.
“It’s a long shot, sir.” Rorie’s voice broke the silence. “Because travellers past this point didn’t see him, doesn’t mean he didn’t go further and take another trail.”
“I know, but we have to consider it.”
Private Garret Maltby dismounted and led his horse to the ditch. The other two followed.
Many hoof prints led in and out of the trail. The recent dry weather made the prints shallow or non-existent. About three dozen feet along, a piece of paper caught Bronwyn’s attention. He rushed to it.
“They did come this way!” Bronwyn couldn’t believe his eyes. Isla left a clear trail. He now had page four—one page closer to her.
They mounted and began on The Trunk Trail, according to the map he had recovered from the dead dwarf after the green dragon attack. An hour later, he noticed Rorie staring into the forest ahead. When he looked to see what had caught his interest, he thought he saw movement. He raised his hand to slow down.
“Did you see that, sir?” Rorie pointed to the spot along the trees.
“I saw something shift the bushes.”
“Probably an animal,” said Garret.
Bronwyn stopped. A breeze blew by his ear, and he cocked his head to listen.
“I hear a noise.” Rorie slid from the saddle. “It sounds like singing.”
Bronwyn dismounted and approached the trees. The breeze did carry a melody. He listened closer but couldn’t make out the words. The voice became distinct when he entered the forest. He recognised the song as one of Isla’s favourites.
“It’s a child’s voice,” whispered Rorie. He stared at him. “Is it Isla?”
“Why would she be in the forest, singing? If she saw us coming, she’d have run to us.”
But it seemed like Isla’s voice, or at least it sounded similar. The deeper they went into the woods, the stronger the voice became. “Let’s leave the horses here.” Bronwyn motioned to secure the reins. “Rorie, go that way. Garret, circle around there. I’ll go up the middle.”
The guards spread out. Bronwyn waited a moment for them to take up position then crept forward. As the voice grew louder, the more it sounded like Isla. She often sang the song whilst traipsing through the forest with him. To hear her sing it now made his heart leap. Then he remembered Keiron and the others had to be near. He drew his sword and continued.
About fifty feet along, he halted. He detected a peculiarity in the compelling voice. Isla had sung the song twice and each time, she sang the chorus correctly. Usually she changed one word; instead of saying she, she said he. A man had originally sung the song and when he sang about his mate, she changed it to refer to hers.
Analysing the singing further, he noticed a stress out of place. Isla had a funny way of saying wondering; it sounded more like wandering. This voice didn’t have that distinction. Did the minor inconsistencies add up to an important clue, or was he putting too much thought into it?
Bronwyn came to the edge of a small clearing. He spied between tree branches and couldn’t believe his eyes. The singing Isla sat on a log near a small fire. His first instinct urged him to run to her, but instead, he searched for Keiron and the others. It had to be a trap. Ducking beneath a bush, he wiggled into a position to survey the scene. Isla sat still. Only her mouth moved. He studied her. She appeared clean. How could she stay spotless after all these days on The Trail? No marks bruised her face, and her hair reached her waistline.
The apparition, false image or whatever sat on the log couldn’t be Isla. He searched the bushes for the other guards. He wanted to warn them about the possible danger. From the corner of his eye, he saw Garret enter the clearing.
Bronwyn pushed himself to his feet and readied his sword. He scanned the area but found nothing out of place. A story came to mind of a wood nymph which captured her prisoners by her voice. The powerful creature could match any man, particularly those void of magic like himself.
Garret walked further into the clearing. He stared at the girl by the fire. “Isla?” She didn’t look up but continued to sing.
Bronwyn slipped from his hiding place and stepped into the clearing. “Garret, draw your sword. This is not Isla.”
The guard gave a puzzled look but followed orders. “Who is it?”
“The question is: what is it?” He motioned him away from the singing girl. “It’s in Isla’s image, but it’s not her.”
“An illusion?”
He nodded. “The real Isla would have run to me by now.”
Isla’s image stopped singing and laughed out loud. She stood and glared at Bronwyn. He raised his sword, but hesitated to wield it against his precious daughter’s image.
Without warning, the image cast its hand in Garret’s direction. A bolt of lightning flashed and struck the guard in the mid-section. He screeched and dropped to the ground. He twitched for a moment then lay still.
Bronwyn charged and swung his sword. The false Isla avoided the weapon. He swung again, but it didn’t matter how hard or how quickly he wielded the sword, the image evaded him. It seemed like a game to her. The smile on her face, the same one he loved, looked menacing.
When Rorie charge into the clearing and attempted to make contact, he discovered the same thing—the illusion played a game. The two swordsmen attacked but couldn’t strike their target.
If this creature had magic and couldn’t be brought down by a sword, Bronwyn didn’t know how to defeat it. He moved around the illusion to put it between him and Rorie, hoping one of them would catch it off guard. They swung together, but the image simply shrank and jumped away.
Once again, the guards stood side by side, facing the illusion.
“Any ideas, sir?” Rorie sounded out of breath from the strain of missing with his powerful swings.
“Maybe we should step away. Leave.” Bronwyn wondered if the illusion would let them escape. Obviously she had the power to bring them both to their knees. Why didn’t she use it?
“It may be the wisest decision you’ve made, Sergeant Darrow.”
How did the illusion know his name? The masculine voice added to Bronwyn’s confusion. He glanced at Rorie. “Back away slowly. I’ll be right behind you.” He held his sword, ready to fight. It puzzled him still how this creature knew how to replicate Isla’s image and her voice. How did it know it would attract him? And how did it know her favourite song?
“Who are you?” asked Bronwyn.
“I suppose it’s only fair to see the face of your foe.” A soft light consumed the illusion of the hauflin child. The guards shielded their eyes as the illumination grew and transformed into a human man.
Bronwyn studied the stranger. Both tall and lean, the blond-haired man towered over the two dwarfs. His thick brow shaded his eyes, rendering them dark and lifeless. Fingers as thin and as ridged as sticks folded together before him. A ring on his right hand held a thick red gem. The stone glistened in the fading evening light. “Am I supposed to know you?”
The man raised one eye brow. “Perhaps, you do not. A shame really. After all, I will inflict the most grief upon your miserable life.” He leered at him. “My only regret is the loss of one so true. She would have made a wonderful addition to my collection.”
Bronwyn peered sideways at the man. What and who did he speak about?
“Do you not wish to know the woman I desire, the one you have lost?” The man teased him, cajoling him with a smirk.
He couldn’t help himself. “Who?”
Alaura.
The voice echoed inside Bronwyn’s head, pounding against his temples. It resonated down his throat and into his chest. It created a pain unknown before. It gripped his heart with d
read, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse from despair. His breathing became laboured, and he clenched his teeth. How did the man know Alaura? What had he done with her? He choked back the tears threatening to blind his eyes. The unexplainable grief overwhelmed him. Was Alaura dead?
The man’s smile expanded until it spread across his face. A light began to shimmer around him, and he stepped away.
Bronwyn glanced at Rorie through blurred vision. Although he didn’t know if he could move after the attack, when he gave the signal they’d run. The magical being possessed power unknown to them.
“Men, don’t go. The fun has only begun. Don’t you wish to know who I am?”
The sergeant held back. He did want to know the name of this man who inflicted such despair with the sound of his voice. “Yes,” he hissed.
The light grew around the man. He raised his arms in the air and then brought them forth. “I am the stuff of legend, myth and lore. I am Maskil’s favourite man to blame for everything—from a dead chicken to a dead lord.”
Bronwyn eyed him. It couldn’t be. He was too young.
“Lindrum?” Rorie stepped forward. “You’re Lindrum, the evil wizard who’s turning Maskil upside down and causing chaos in the castle?”
“You flatter me with your praise.” The man clasped his hands in front. “I wanted recognition, not a glowing report.”
Bronwyn placed his hand on Rorie’s forearm. “Don’t.”
Rorie shrugged him off. “His henchmen killed two of my brothers.” He raised his sword. “The coward deserves to die.”
“Private, put the sword down. It’s useless against him.”
“Listen to him.” Lindrum smiled as a child might smile at a chocolate treat. “He knows of what he speaks.”
Rorie gritted his teeth. “We just let him go so he can inflict more misery on the citizens of Maskil?”
“I don’t think we have a choice.” Bronwyn sheathed his sword and took a deep breath to try and calm his shaking nerves and ease the pain in his chest.
“Observant, Sergeant. Too bad you are dwarf. I’d liked to have kept you.” Lindrum stretched his fingers. “But enough talk. Let’s see what mares the night has to offer.”
Bronwyn saw Rorie walk forward. “Rorie, no! Pull back! That’s an order!”
The guard ignored him and charged.
Bronwyn drew his sword and raced after him. He halted in his tracks as an invisible force struck him to the forest floor. A burning sensation stole his breath and shook his insides. He struggled to get to his feet, but dizziness overtook him and he collapsed in bushes. Through hazy eyes he watched Rorie reach his target.
With a great snap, Lindrum withdrew the light and disappeared.
Bronwyn recoiled in horror when he saw Rorie caught up in the extinguishing beam. A wave of blood spewed from the light’s edge as the portal closed, severing the body in two. Half went wherever Lindrum had gone; the other half wriggled on the ground, twisting and turning as the nerves fought to find the rest. Rorie’s legs kicked and squirmed. Entrails spilt out and life’s liquid flowed onto the ground. A hideous chunk of flesh thrashed in place of the once strong, capable dwarf.
Bronwyn stumbled away from the horrendous sight. The throes in his stomach twisted and churned. The pressure rose to his throat, and though he tried to shake it, he couldn’t. His body shivered violently. Rorie and Garret, both good men, had perished needlessly. Why had Lindrum spared him?
He thrashed through the bushes and trees, stumbling over stumps and mounds of grass. The branches slapped his body. He tripped over a rotten tree, only to rise and run again. He had lost all his men, every single one he had started with. In his search for his daughter, they had died. How could he explain this to their families? Who gave him the right to live?
Tripping over a fallen tree, he crashed to the ground. His stomach heaved. Rolling to his hands and knees he released the pressure, spilling his stomach contents in one violent motion after another. He coughed and spit and gagged until nothing was left.
Exhausted, he rolled several feet and slammed into a tree trunk. His body twisted from wounded nerves. Images of Rorie filled his mind, and tears welled in his eyes. The dwarf didn’t deserve to die that way. He imagined what the other half must have experienced. Did Rorie look around in an attempt to find his legs? Did he die instantly or did he live long enough to know his fate? Did his tormentor laugh as he struggled to make one last futile effort to live? Bronwyn imagined he did. His heart ached for Rorie. The brave guard die needlessly.
Bronwyn felt helpless to bring him back. He couldn’t help anyone, not even himself, far from home, lost and alone. His men were dead and Keiron had escaped with Isla. His beautiful daughter would suffer unimaginable horrors with a monster who didn’t deserve to be her das. The ache in his chest grew, and the tears flowed freely. Never again would he hold her in his arms and tell stories as she drifted off to sleep, or see her smiling face beaming up at him when she thought she had tricked him into getting her own way, or carry her on his shoulders through the castle. Her small hands would never again cup his face and tell him how much she loved him. “Isla!” His raspy and broken voice rose into the tree tops where the wind carried it away. “Isla!”
Squirming in pain, thoughts of his dad exploded in his head. Lord Nevell had said it himself—he’d more than likely die. In one day, his mum had lost her mate and her youngest son, her baby. His family might move as Finola had. She was also dead, leaving Liam alone. He and Isla were separated forever. Farlan had died on The Trail; he felt it deep in his gut.
Alaura shared his fate in the dungeon. Bronwyn rolled to his stomach and beat the ground. Lindrum had said he had already lost her. He tried to feel her fingers on his face, the little kisses she had planted on his cheek, but the sensations eluded him. He shook with despair. Her death and the loss of Isla filled his heart with desolation. He lived for them. The deaths of his dad and Farlan pushed him further into hopelessness. He wallowed in the emptiness, slipping further into a blackness which numbed every sense and drained him of every drop of energy. Dreams of hideous sights and mournful screams haunted his mind.