Page 67 of Lore of the Wilds

Why did she take the risk?

Lore ran, trying to quiet her panting, though her lungs were on fire. She stepped only on soft moss, trying to avoid any fallen leaves or twigs that might crunch beneath her feet.

With every step into the forest, there was less sunlight, and she could swear the forest was whispering to her. A hush of voices mixed in with the sound of the wind in the trees. She followed the voices deeper into the forest, where almost no sunlight showed through the thick canopy.

Here the ground was moist, covered as it was in a thick layer of moss. Orange mushrooms grew in thick patches along the tree bark and ferns as tall as her reached up toward the sky. The smell of greenery and damp earth filled her, utterly intoxicating.

This far into the forest, she couldn’t see the sun, so she prayed to the trees towering above her, the soft earth beneath her feet, and the rolling fog drifting in.

Save me.

Hide me.

Please.

Chapter19

She squinted into the fog and the surrounding darkness. Despite it being harder to see, she increased her speed. Branches pulled at her hair less than before, no longer twisting in her curls and snagging them. The roots beneath her boots no longer tripped her up. Instead, they almost seemed to move out of her way. The crunch of twigs lessened, too.

She was now moving through the forest silently, like a ghost or a forest creature herself.

Still, no matter how quickly she moved, no matter how silent her footfalls, the guards’ shouts grew louder. Their disgusting words coated her, violating her ears.

“Come on, girl, we just want to play,” they called. “Won’t you play with us?” They laughed, hardly even out of breath.

They knew what she knew, that in just a few heartbeats, she would be found.

Fear ricocheted through her, and she could swear the scar beneath her breast burned. She’d been here, two years before.

She stopped for a moment, slipping behind a tree. She pressed her fingertips into the rough bark, grounding herself as she pulled in ragged breaths. Her lungs were on fire. Running wasn’t working; just as it hadn’t before.

But she wasn’t going down without a fight. Maybe she could scar one of them herself before he took her weapon.

She leaned against the rough bark of the tree and unlatched her dagger from her borrowed belt. She gripped the hilt, trying to remember all the places Asher had told her to aim for: the kidney, the neck, the eyes, and the lower back.

The sun briefly broke through the canopy and the outline of a guard coming up on the tree appeared. She clenched her teeth, trying to remember to breathe. Hopefully, she had the element of surprise.

It was now or never. She stepped out, lunging with her dagger.

She cursed as the guard grabbed her wrist in a bruising grip, twisting it back. She cried out as her hand spasmed, and her only weapon fell to the ground. He pressed his other hand to her mouth, shoving her back against the tree. Her cry was muffled, and his grip was firm enough that she couldn’t turn her head at all.

She tried to inhale, eyes darting in a panic, and prepared to bring her knee up to slam it into his groin—

“Stop fighting me, Lore, and do what I say. The guards will be here any second.”

“Finndryl?” Her cry was muffled by his hand. How did he find her?

When he saw the recognition in her eyes, he released his grip on her wrist and pulled his hand away from her mouth. He leaned toward her, his breath tickling her jaw. “Grab your dagger and be ready to fight. There are three of them. I should be able to take them down, but just in case, be ready. Do you know how to use that dagger?”

Lore nodded, though she wasn’t sure if she could count the one practice session she’d had with Asher as knowing how.

“Good girl. They’re here.” And with that, Finndryl pushed away from the tree, turned in the air twice while withdrawing asword from where it was sheathed on his back, swung it wide, and removed the head of one of the guards from his shoulders.

Lore froze in shock and horror as she watched the body of the guard fall to his knees before slumping sideways. The head spun in a circle on the moss. But she could still feel Finndryl’s breath on her cheek and smell his spiced bourbon scent, as his words filtered back to her.

She kneeled, grabbed her dagger from where it had dropped, and held it ready.

The second guard was more prepared than the first. He blocked Finndryl’s sword, the impact ringing through the air before being swallowed by the fog. Not dissuaded, the guard withdrew a dagger from his own belt and tried to shove it into Finndryl’s side.

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