Gedain emerged from the cavern into a thickened morning mist that clung to the skin. He called out to his riders, and they soon stumbled forth one by one.

  “You live!” said one, relieved. “What didst thou find, my lord?”

  “Nothing,” Gedain answered, yet his gaze shifted from their eyes as he spoke. Perceiving their doubt, he added, “I lost my way in the darkness, and found it again by morning’s light.”

  The rider exchanged glances, looking unconvinced, yet none pressed him further.

  “What shall we do?” asked another. “The mist confounds our bearing.”

  “Where is the faun?” Gedain demanded.

  “We have not seen him since last night. He hath abandoned us.”

  “Nay,” Gedain snapped. “He is near. He watches, just beyond, veiled by the fog.” He lifted his voice into the drizzle and haze. “Come forth, faun! Guide us.”

  For a breath there was naught but mist. Then a darker shape stirred within it: first the pale curve of horns like unto a ram’s, then the full outline of the creature, seeming to congeal from vapor as a specter drawn into flesh.

  “There he is,” Gedain remarked. “Lead us.”

  “Unto where, my lord?” Veorn answered. “Unto what?”

  The men looked to Gedain with hopefulness that he would seek to turn back.

  “Thou knowest that which I seek.”

  The eyes of the riders fell.

  Veorn’s mouth curled into a sinister grin.

  “Aye, then. Follow me.”

  They mounted and rode single file, descending with the narrow trail. Veorn ever before them, far enough ahead that his form wavered upon the brink of vanishing into the haze. They rode thus through the day, and the mist did not lift. Then, as the light began to wane, they again heard the distant drums.

  “Where dost thou lead us, my lord,” a rider ventured, but Gedain gave no answer.

  Ever downward they pressed, the drumbeats growing louder as the skies darkened.

  “Shall we turn back now, my lord,” another asked, fear cracking his voice.

  Gedain reined his horse, and again, hopefulness stirred in the rider’s hearts. Yet he did not answer but instead he took hold the hilt and drew his sword a hands breadth from the scabbard, fixing his glare upon the last rider to voice his cowardice.

  Veorn returned to them, took a lantern from a saddle, and struck it alight. Without a word he turned and advanced further into the dark.

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  None of the riders dared to speak again. They rode into a night without Luna or starlight to guide them, led only by Veorn’s amber lantern glow on the darkened trail ahead.

  The drums pounded, no longer distant but thumping within the chest, as though their own hearts beat in answer. They rode on, with only the hoofbeats and panting of the horses to fill the silent oblivion.

  Veorn’s faint light then disappeared entirely.

  Rustling filled the darkness.

  Then strange whispers in unknown tongues.

  Gedain halted the troop to listen.

  Unseen footfalls crossed the path behind.

  Their steel rasped free of leather as they drew their swords.

  One rider cried out and fell from his mount. The other horses reared and screamed.

  Gedain’s eyes, blinded by dark, caught a glimpse of a figure sweeping past his lantern’s glow— there but for a moment and gone. He lunged, his blade biting naught but shadow.

  Footfalls to their sides.

  Another rider fell, groaning once, then silent.

  “Where are ye?” Gedain shouted in futility.

  The drums thundered, vast and merciless.

  A rider wheeled to flee uphill, yet he was unhorsed a moment later, falling silent, lifeless.

  “Stand! Fight with honor!” Gedain roared.

  A shape rushed past him, He struck and missed, his face left burning.

  “Veorn!” he called. “Where have ye led us?”

  No reply came.

  He spurred his horse forward in the chaos, down the path, hurling blind through the night. For perhaps a furlong he rode, heedless of stone or root. He slowed. The sound of drums had stilled and the night was as silent as a tomb. He felt his face. The right cheek badly gashed and oozing. His right eye seeing naught.

  He dismounted and slipped into the ferns and bramble, crouching low, willing his breath to stillness lest it reveal him. Shivers seized him with the damp cold gnawing to his bone. He pressed a corner of his cape into his wound. He waited long, daring not to stir or flinch, counting neither moments nor hours, until at last the darkness thinned and the sky paled in the east.

  With dawn came the lifting of the fog. As the daylight took hold, Gedain found himself in a tangle of saplings and moss and pine needles. He waited still, listening. Nothing. When he deemed the light strengthened enough, he rose partway to claim his horse, which was yet standing on the trail. But he heard hoofbeats and sank back into the blind, sword bare in his right hand, left hand pressing his maimed face and blinded eye. His view obscured, he saw hooves halting upon the trail, then boots on the path.

  “My lord,” whispered a voice. “Art thou in there?”

  Gedain crawled out of the bramble.

  “Where are the others?” he asked, sheathing his sword and holding his wound.

  “All slain,” the young rider answered, voice hollow. “They lie back upon the path. I fled when I could. Your face, sir…”

  Gedain swung himself into his saddle.

  “Do we ride back then, sire?” the young rider asked.

  Gedain paused to study the rider’s youthful face: the wide eyes, too wide for battle, the narrow shoulders, the beard no more than tawny fleece upon his chin.

  “I have forgotten thy name,” Gedain said.

  “It is Elden, sire. Elden of—”

  “Ride home to your mother, Elden,” Gedain cut in. “This is no road for boys.”

  Elden swallowed.

  “I would rather ride with thee.”

  Gedain turned his horse toward the descent.

  “So be it.”

  Gedain looked forward, down the trail, Veorn appearing, then beckoning. Gedain inhaled a deep breath.

  “Canst thou smell the rot? We are nigh at hand.”