Ghostwalker - Erik Scott De Bie [2]
Somehow it seemed almost too peaceful. The birds had stopped chirping, and there were no sounds of rustling leaves or lonely crickets. Absolute silence reigned.
The hair on the back of her neck rose and Chandra had the unnerving sensation she was being watched. Was she being hunted? Surely no werebeast would dare…
Another cold sensation ran through her-this one very different. She was suddenly intensely conscious of the blood pumping through her veins and the breath passing through her lungs-more so than she had ever been before. Trembling, she became aware of a ghostly presence, one that touched her soul with tenuous fingers and probed at the vibrancy within her, seeking, perhaps, to explore.
Or to feast.
She had heard legends about a ghost who haunted these woods, but she had always dismissed them as mere fancy, as children's stories told by young men who wanted to weasel their way into awed young ladies' beds.
Until now.
"Chandra…" the wind seemed to whisper.
Chandra dug her spurs into Songbird's side and the mare gave a fierce neigh as they burst into a gallop. Chandra no longer cared about the rocks and twigs-Songbird could handle herself. Indeed, the mare seemed just as terrified as she was. All Chandra cared about was getting away from that awful feeling, that ghostly chill that had come upon her. She flicked the reins and shouted to Songbird, urging her on to Quaervarr.
As such, she hardly even registered the click of the cross-bow until a bolt sprouted in her right shoulder.
Gasping in surprise and pain, Chandra jerked in the saddle, slamming her head into a low-hanging tree branch. The impact hurled her off Songbird's back, and she landed with jarring force on the ground. Fortunately, the trail lay muddy with rain-else, her back might have snapped from the impact.
As it was, Chandra sat stunned for a moment. Then a ringing broke out in her head, an ache tore her backside, and the sucking pain of the bolt in her shoulder cried for attention. Her leg was twisted as well. Hot blood flowed into her eyes, and the world was cast in crimson. She wiped at her face, clearing the sticky stuff as best she could, but more oozed from the cut on her forehead.
Then she remembered Songbird, galloping on ahead of her.
"Wait!" she tried to cry out, but the choked sound that came from her throat was more a gurgle than a word. Chandra tried to push herself to her feet, but horrible pain lanced through her and she collapsed to the ground again with a short scream. Dragging her broken leg behind her and wincing from the darkwood shaft in her shoulder, she crawled along the trail after Songbird.
Right up to a pair of black boots.
Chandra looked up at the man standing over her. Cloaked with a cowl that covered his face, he seemed a pillar of black. A sheathed sword hung from one hip.
"A-ah," Chandra started to choke out. "H-help… m-me… P-please…"
The man may have smiled at her, but she could not see through the black hood pulled low. He bent down and ran one cold finger down her cheek.
She thought she could hear her name on the wind.
Few heard Chandra's scream, except for unthinking animals, and even they recoiled.
* * * * *
It was a cold evening after the rain passed-the last great chill of winter-but the darkness was warm with cheer.
Hundreds had crowded into the plaza of Quaervarr for the largest gathering in months. Children huddled with their mothers, trying to pull as much of themselves into the warmth of their parents' cloaks as they could. Fathers and unmarried men mulled around in the town square, working to light the fires before dusk, trading hearty jokes and even more raucous laughter. Even the grumpy ones could hardly keep smiles off their faces. Fine, fey eyes twinkled and a scattering of elf faces seemed to glow in the falling light of the setting sun. The men finally got the fires lit, and flames danced up, hissing and crackling. Children laughed and squirmed, escaping possessive mothers.
Tonight