Warriors of the Mist, Tome 1 : My Lady Mage

Chapter 1

Merewen tripped over a twisted knot of tree root jutting up in the narrow game trail and pitched headfirst to the ground. It wasn’t the first tumble she’d taken racing through the night to reach the river. This time, though, she didn’t—in fact couldn’t—immediately push herself back to her feet. As she waited for her pulse to ease and her lungs to fill, she leaned back against the tree for support and used the hem of her cloak to wipe away the trickle of blood on her knee.

If it hurt, she didn’t notice. Lately, pain and fear were her constant companions, her chest aching from more than just breathing the thin air of the mountains.

“A few seconds’ rest,” she whispered into the darkness. Whether the words were a prayer for a respite or a promise that she wouldn’t give up, she didn’t know. Probably both were true.

All too aware that time was quickly passing, she settled her cloak back over her shoulders and started upward again. If her enemies had discovered her absence, they would’ve already sent the hounds racing after her, hungry for a chase and the taste of fresh blood. The deep blue of her cloak might hide her presence among the deep shadows of the woods, but nothing would hide her scent from the pack, especially given the traces of blood she’d left behind.

She hurried her steps, well aware that if she didn’t reach the river before the moon rose, all would be lost. At times it seemed as if the very woods themselves conspired against her. Low branches blocked her way. Roots and rocks tripped her. The undergrowth sprouted vicious thorns just to tear at her clothing.

At the crest of the next rise, her hem became entangled in brambles as she brushed past them. Pausing to yank her cloak free, she heard a distant sound, one that gave her hope for the first time since sneaking past the sentries to run toward the woods.

Merewen closed her eyes and listened with everything she had as she sorted through the sounds of the night. She ignored the soft rustle of a small creature dashing through the underbrush, the whisper of an owl riding the air currents, and the breeze dancing its way through the leaves overhead. One by one, she acknowledged the sounds and discarded each of them, until all she heard was the distant rush of water down the mountainside.

Her destination was close by. With renewed vigor, she ripped her hem free and hurried forward, fighting the urge to run. She’d come too far to risk another fall that might prevent her from reaching the water’s edge.

Ahead, the trees thinned out and the path widened. The roar of the water drowned out all other noise as, at last, she cleared the forest, stepping out on a rocky shoreline blanketed in a heavy mist. As she waited and watched, the mists swirled and parted, revealing the river at last. Merewen compared the reality of the scene before her to the descriptions in the ancient text she’d found buried on a back shelf of her late father’s library.