Betrayer of Blood by C. Greenwood

Author:C. Greenwood [Greenwood, C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-03-25T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

Some of the enemy would be as untrained and ill equipped as the thieves Orrick had fought the previous night. Just whatever rabble the thieftaker had been able to hire to his aid. But others might be made of better stuff. Retired soldiers or mercenary guards. Men Orrick was not eager to go up against in such numbers.

Cursing under his breath, he leaned his forehead against the cool stone he hid behind and tried to come up with a hasty plan. His enemies would not hold back long. They obviously knew he was here. Once their greed for reward overcame their superstitious fear of the stone circle, they would come rushing up the hillside.

Orrick would go down fighting, of course. He had no intention of being taken alive back to one of their filthy Lythnian prisons.

For a moment the memory of the miserable dark cell he had escaped at the Morta den ’Cairn rose up to taunt him. He could feel the aching cold seeping from the rock walls and floor, could sense the cell closing in around him. The fetid stink of the dungeon filled his nostrils.

And deep inside his skull throbbed the tracing mark, tormenting him even now.

Enough!

Orrick scrambled to his feet, preparing to rush down the hillside and meet the enemy head on.

Only something had changed, he realized, looking around. The silver moon had been suddenly swallowed by dark clouds, cloaking the hilltop in shadow. The night air had abruptly chilled, cool white mist rising up from the ground to swirl around his ankles. There was something eerie about the unnatural fog coming so quickly out of nowhere.

As Orrick stood, confused, the mist rose to his knees and then his shoulders, enveloping him. He could no longer see anything but the stone monoliths jutting out of the cloudy whiteness.

He was isolated. Hidden.

That was when he heard it, the disembodied voice of a woman coming from within the mist.

“Your enemies are confused,” she hissed. “Seize this opportunity to make your escape.”

Orrick didn’t move. “Who are you?” he demanded, searching for the source of the voice.

A wisp trailed away from behind one of the stones. At first it seemed like only a swirl of mist. But then it separated itself and grew into a distinct shape. That of a pale lady, clothed in a long white gown. She offered no answer to his question but silently flitted between the stones, beckoning him to follow.

Orrick hesitated. The thieftaker and his gang were still out there. And he had no cause to trust this mysterious ghost. But what other choices did he have?

Cautiously, weapon at the ready, he struck out in the direction she had gone, following her through the pale haze. The screen of fog was so thick he could not see where he walked. But at least if his foes were invisible to him, so too must they be blind to his movements.

All was eerily silent within the billowing mist.

He could feel the ground gently sloping downward. Despite his confused sense of direction, he suspected he was traveling down the back slope of the hill.

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