Page 17 of Storm of Shadows

I hurry beside him. He uses his talons to point at a long white thread caught in the rug’s fibers.

No, not thread—hair. It’s so thick it’s no wonder I initially mistook it for thread.

My heart skips a beat. I pry the strand from the rug’s grasp and pinch it in my fingers, holding it high to the candlelight.

There was an orcish woman with Heston years ago. I don’t remember seeing her two nights ago in Nolderan, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t there.

I take it to Natharius, who is unenthusiastically searching a windowsill.

“Can you identify whose this is?” I ask, holding out the strand.

He stares at me.

Fine. He wants to do it like this.

“You will take this and see if you can identify what sort of person it belonged to.”

The Void Prince has no choice but to obey the command and take the strand and hold it to his nose. He sniffs it. “Orc. Female. Dark magic.”

It seems my guess was correct. “Perfect. Now you will use a tracking spell on it and locate this necromancer.”

Begrudgingly, he conjures his shadows and the white strand bursts into obsidian flames. In the dark smoke, rolling hills spread out into an emerald sea. A campfire flickers. Ten silhouettes clad in black robes are gathered around it.

The vision sharpens. I can make out the orcish woman whose hair we used for the spell. She stands next to Arluin and the bald man I saw him speaking with when I hid myself and Eliya’s body behind an illusion. The three of them are consulting a map, and Arluin’s fingers trail across it, heading east. The path he traces goes through Tirith then across northern Selynis, winding around a forest labeled the Ghost Woods, and finally up to the orcish region of Jektar. His finger stops at a city called Gerazad. I can’t hear their conversation; I can only see their lips moving. But it is clear this is their destination. Arluin folds away his map, and the smoke fades, taking the image with it.

Whatever wicked plans Arluin has, they must involve Gerazad. Maybe he intends to destroy it like he destroyed Nolderan. To fuel his army with more corpses.

I must stop him before he can succeed. I must reach Gerazad before he and the necromancers do.

“They’re headed for Gerazad,” I say.

“What an excellent deduction.”

I ignore his jab. This matter is too important to waste time by arguing. “We must reach it first, or intercept and destroy them on the way.”

Natharius says nothing.

“How long will it take to reach the city?” I ask.

He remains silent.

“Tell me how long it will take for us to reach Gerazad.”

“Two weeks.”

That isn’t the answer I hoped to hear. We’re already two days behind the necromancers. “Are there any faster routes? What if we cut through the Ghost Woods, rather than going around it like they intend?”

“Ten days,” he replies, and then by some miracle adds, “perhaps even less.”

“Then that’s the path we’ll take.”

He lets out a dark laugh. “If that’s what you wish.”

“The only thing you find humorous is my doom, so spit it out.”

“The Ghost Woods is home to all terrors of the night, feared by many mortals.” Zephyr lets out a squeal, and the Void Prince’s iridescent eyes glint. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it.”

“We spent more time learning about magic than geography in the Arcanium. Though I do vaguely recall the mention of such a region. Are the stories true or exaggerated?”

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