The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,50
cattle, and I left enough blood on those thorns to paint a portrait.”
The woodland twilight offered respite from the sun, drawing upon itself a deeper darkness as the day waned. Anhuset was grateful for the shade and not having to squint. She glanced at her companion, noting that he now squinted in an effort to make clear those things made obscure by the gloom. “We're closer to Haradis,” she said. “I'm familiar with this area and can put us on an easier path than this one.”
“By all means, take the lead,” he said, gesturing for her to stride in front of him. “The darker it gets, the harder it'll be for me to see. I never thought I'd be in a hurry to return to Haradis, but I don't need to slow us down by stumbling my way through the woods half blind.”
He was Beladine, raised in a society where women rarely held a leadership role, and she'd expected him to offer some token resistance to her leading the way. He did not, and she was glad for it and his practicality. At least there'd be no foolish arguing over who enjoyed the questionable privilege of being first to carve their way through a spiky bramble thicket.
Darkness had descended fully by the time she caught sight of the closest tower that flanked one side of Haradis's main gate. It rose above the treeline like a spear point, the small windows near the top nothing more than black spots from which no lamplight shone.
“The woodland breathes softly,” Serovek said in quiet tones. “And carefully, as if it either waits for something to come forth or hopes it passes by once it finally does.” The slight change in the way he held the cane knife alerted Anhuset to his rising caution.
She didn't scoff at his observation, feeling too a kind of unnatural hush that thickened around them, growing more and more stifling the closer they got to the city. No animal sounds, no scurrying for food, no howls or the crackle of dead leaves under creeping feet other than theirs. This forest was empty of its creatures.
The night held no mystery for her. She saw better in the shadow than she did in the light, and nothing looked out of the ordinary as they trekked closer to the gate. But the silence—it breathed, just as Serovek said, and Anhuset strained to hear some odd whisper or ghostly conversation float toward her. A burbling sound teased her ears, and she pointed in the direction from which it came, close to the city and growing louder as they walked.
“Water,” Serovek said.
Anhuset frowned. “I used to go adventuring with the herceges in these woods when we were children. There's no water on this side. The Absu curves around the city's southeastern border before bisecting it.”
“There was no stream on this side when we arrived in Haradis to fight the galla, but I know what I hear. It's the sound of water.” He groaned softly. “And I'm just now warming up.”
His good-natured complaint didn't lessen her increasing unease. A strangeness clung to these woods now, even without the wet whisper of running water that wasn't supposed to be nearby. It was as if each step closer to Haradis took her one more step away from the living world, where the stars glimmered above, and the shadows cavorted below as they had always done. This felt more like a falling away toward an abyss where everything that pitched into it fell and fell and never stopped. This wasn't her magic sounding a warning; her instincts recoiled ever harder from Haradis with each step taken.
“Anhuset.”
They'd halted. Anhuset frowned. When had they stopped? Serovek stared at her, concern mingled with puzzlement carving lines into his forehead. “Can you feel it?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Haradis is more than abandoned, more than destroyed. It's befouled. Those who died here...theirs weren't clean deaths. Are you sure you want to do this? We can turn back any time you wish.”
Were he anyone else, she'd assume he either patronized her or considered her weak. Instead, she considered his words for a moment, knowing they were offered in empathy and a shared sense of wrongness suffocating the entire area. “I'm sure,” she said. “Was Haradis like this when you were here?”
Serovek shook his head. “I don't know. The galla were spewing out of the heart of Haradis, thicker than a hive swarm. Maybe what we're feeling is the memory of the