Salamin could not find the path in the darkness, and endless trees and brush. Instead, they followed hoof tracks through the brush, likely a katan herd. As long as the horned creatures weren’t startled, they were not dangerous.

  A howl echoed through the forest.

  The crack of a branch under his foot sounded too loud, and Salamin glanced behind. Nothing but darkness.

  Lane was faster, and led them through the brush, cautioning Salamin when she came to a hole or fallen tree.

  “Water!” Lane called out and pointed towards her side. “I can hear it.”

  Salamin’s lips and throat burned with thirst. If it was the Parmouth stream, it could lead them to the other side. They’d made time, and the chanting was distant behind them.

  “Just a few sips,” Lane said. “Come on.”

  Thorns from a brush caught Salamin’s robe, and it ripped as he pulled away. A fast running stream with clear water revealing the stones underneath and occasional fish jumping nearby.

  Lane reached down and began scooping it up into her mouth hungrily. “They never gave me anything back there,” she said between gulps. “Nothing to eat or drink.”

  Salamin peered down at it. It had been centuries since he’d taken anything by mouth. The curse had kept him alive. The curse and his deep hatred alone. He scooped the water into his mouth and felt the cool liquid soothe his parched throat all the way down.

  Salamin took another scoop in his hand and then another.

  A twig snapped nearby, and Lane stood. “What was that?”

  Just feet from them was a wild Katan, a beautiful four-legged creature with sharp fangs and incredible five pronged horns. He was magnificent. Salamin locked eyes with the creature, and for a moment neither of them moved.

  Then, with a graceful motion, the creature sauntered back into the brush.

  Then came the barks and excited yipping. The Order had gotten out the tracking hounds. The hounds could scent and kill upon command and were lightning quick. They had to keep moving.

  “Come on, we have to get into the stream, it’ll block their scent.” Salamin grimaced, dipping his fingers in one last time. It was going to be icy cold.

  Salamin removed the robe and emptied the pockets into his tunic. He put his foot in the water, and the cold hit him. He shivered and waded in, moving against the strong current. Lane followed more tentatively, and they took off splashing, hearing the hounds still yipping and coming closer.

  His heart was beating way too fast, and Salamin’s muscles were giving out. This body was not used to this much labor. He hoped sheer will could keep his legs moving.

  Lane was now ahead of him, her stamina unstoppable, and she disappeared around a bend and screamed.

  Salamin hurried as best he could, navigating the water. Around a bend, Lane was suspended by something invisible. Her face was pale as she struggled to escape.

  Stopping, Salamin held his hand out and felt the sticky web. It would have been invisible to the human eye.

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  “I’ll cut you out, don’t move.” Salamin said, getting out his dagger. It would take some time, however, and he just hoped they had it.

  The barks were getting closer.

  Lane let out a garbled sound, and Salamin looked up from his work. Lane’s eyes were fixed on the rachnid crawling towards them along the shore. Long legs entered the web with precision.

  “Keep breathing,” Salamin instructed. “Don’t move, I’ll get you out.”

  But instead, Lane did panic, as she tried to free herself and became more entangled. The rachnid watched her with its two beady eyes, knowing it had found its meal of the day.

  Hex had taught him the rachnid speak many years ago, and Salamin centered himself. A howl in the distance said the Order was closing in.

  “Get me out of here!” Lane called out, her eyes squeezed shut. She moved and entangled herself further.

  Was it several clicks and pauses? Salamin did his best to copy his familiar and remember what he’d been taught as a youngling in the woods. Rachnids were territorial and arrogant. He glanced over his shoulder. The hounds were coming closer.

  Salamin bowed to the rachnid. “Honorable one, let us pass, we mean you no harm.”

  The large creature put a claw on the web and yanked Lane closer. It stopped and regarded Salamin.

  “You speak? A human? You smell of our poison.” The rachnid’s pincers clicked. “Ripe for the eating.”

  “I learned from Abelieth of the Shadowlands.” He spoke Hex’s true name with reverence. Salamin inclined his head, looking down at the stream and avoiding contact with those black eyes.

  “You are not Devold. This one is.” It pointed a leg to Lane. “I will let you and your companion pass. You will owe me.”

  “Let it be so.”

  The rachnid drew back and disappeared into the forest.

  Lane let out a ragged breath. Howls echoed through the trees. “They’re coming.”

  Salamin drew out his small knife and with the last strand, Lane fell and splashed down into the water.

  “Run,” Salamin said, and they both took off once again through the water.

  They had gone some distance before the sounds of the hounds faded into the distance. The Order would not want their acolytes to go too deep into the woods. With the carnivores within, they had to assume their prey was already dead.

  Salamin’s body was failing him, and he stooped over, breathing hard.

  Lane gazed at him, and upward towards the darkening night. The moon had set, and it was hard to see anything ahead. “We should stop,” she said. “We can take turns keeping watch.”

  Nodding, Salamin gazed out into the woods. It was silent but for a predatory howl, and the scuffling of hooves nearby. It was prime feeding time. “Maybe we can find some shelter.” He wished he’d had the cloak right now, as they left the stream, and the cold air hit his wet tunic and pants.

  “My brother knows how to make a fire.” Her eyes turned back where they came from. “I wish I’d taken the time to learn.” She thudded heavily onto the ground near the roots of an ancient tree.

  Salamin sat nearby, huddling into himself to warm up. “How did you get out here from the Barrows?”

  “You haven’t heard?” Lane asked. “Haldar and the Order have taken over the Barrows. There were a few of us who escaped and we took our sacred objects with us. My brother,” she paused, “thought he could make a deal with them.” She shook her head. “They took him.”

  This was all news to Salamin. For ages the Order respected the line and let the Devold live in peace. How far had the Order gone? “They destroyed the Barrows?”

  Lane’s eyes grew far away. “Yes, they burned what they could and took the rest.”

  What was Haldar up to? Only a dark and ancient magic could keep him alive for so long. He shivered again. It was going to be a long night.

  “How do you know the shadow tongue?” Lane asked, a hand on her hip. “You are not Devold.”

  “My grandmother taught me.”

  She gave him a skeptical look. “You are very mysterious Sal. You’re just a boy, but when I look into your eyes…” she shuddered and rubbed her arms. “It’s so cold. This is going to be a long night. I’ll take watch first.”

  Salamin couldn’t argue with her. The poison was taking hold and nothing was working right. His arm and legs were so heavy, and his mind longed for rest. “Thank you,” he mumbled, his tongue thick, and he tried to wedge himself under the roots of the tree.

  He closed his eyes, trying to block out the deep pain in his side. Salamin could only hope that he’d made the right decision to trust her. How could anyone be trusted? But his eyes could not stay open. Nearby, Lane sang softly in the Devold tongue.

  Take us to the shadowlands, where all of us are free.

  The shadowlands is our home, and where we're meant to be.

  Salamin felt a warmth emanating from the words, and he recognized it. His grandmother had sung that very song to him. He remembered his head on her lap as she stroked his hair with her gnarled fingers. That memory had been buried along with everything else. And with the memory of his grandmother, he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.