Bitterwood by Rowan Speedwell

Author:Rowan Speedwell [Speedwell, Rowan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2016-07-13T04:00:00+00:00

They went single file through the woods: Tenn in the lead, followed by Joss, his men behind; Meric, in the middle, with Faran just behind and Eissa just before; and Faran’s men taking rear guard.

The close growth of the trees and bushes made Faran uncomfortable—he could barely see a foot off the trail before the tangle of branches became impenetrable. It shouldn’t be so thick in the dead of winter. He was used to the leafier forests of the south, but the matted twigs and branches made as tight a barrier as any summer hedgerow, and grew high enough to arch overhead, making Faran feel as if he were creeping down a dark tunnel. They scraped and caught at the men’s cloaks like demon fingers—more than once he heard a faint mutter and an invocation against evil. It might have been midday, but it felt more like midnight.

He yanked his cloak free of an entangling limb, and hissed as the movement sent him stumbling to the opposite side of the narrow trail so that a thorn bush scored his cheek. Aldin, at his back, put out a hand to steady him, and he shook it off irritably. “Bloody forest,” he muttered, and Aldin made a noise of agreement. They kept their voices low. It felt too much like something might be listening.

It seemed like hours, but the rational part of Faran’s mind told him it was probably no more than three-quarters of one by the time they broke out of the woody tunnel into a wider patch in the road. The whole clearing couldn’t have been more than a couple score of feet in diameter, but it felt like a cathedral after the narrow, dark path. The woods swept on beyond, but less overwhelming, more open.

“Saw it through the trees, there,” Tenn said, indicating the woods to the west of where they stood. “Twice—once on my way back from a trapping jaunt up near Butterburr, once on my way toward Sweetsands. I know others have seen it, but nearer their own territories and longer ago.”

“When did you last see it?” Joss asked.

“Matter of a couple of weeks. Before this last storm.”

“And that was here?”

“Aye.”

Joss stood with his hands on his hips, eyes narrowed against the snow glare, and looked around the clearing at the woods to the north and east, as well as the west. South, of course, was more of the impenetrable brush, but the nature of the trees changed in the other directions: fewer bare deciduous trees and more pines, the only underbrush the softer bracken that could grow in the ground poisoned by pine sap. True, the branches of some of the younger pines grew lower, and swept the forest floor, but the ground underneath was clearer, and those pines were at the very edge of the clearing in the sunnier spots.

Beyond, Faran could see through the tall trunks for a distance, though too soon the woods thickened and darkened again. In no direction could he see farther than a few score yards deep into the woods.

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