She sighed. For all the darkness of her thoughts, it left her feeling somehow at peace to acknowledge what was true and what was not.

Footsteps announced the arrival of Lieutenant Grant wrapped in his cloak, his face shadowed by his hood.

“You can go to sleep, Rider. I’ll take the rest of your watch.”

“Sir?”

“It’s all right. I can’t sleep. The damned dripping—it’s driving me mad. Go along now, you’re excused.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Karigan stood and retreated to the tent she shared with Yates.

Dripping? she wondered as she ducked through the tent flaps. Yes, there were the ever-present drops on canvas, but it didn’t bother her. Now Yates’ snoring? That was something else.

Not to mention the occasional bloodcurdling scream of some creature meeting its end deep in the forest.

MOONDIAL

They survived the night. Those on watch reported creatures scuffling and snuffling through the woods, but nothing had come too close. Dawn arrived as another soggy, gray day and camp was swiftly packed up.

Karigan didn’t think any of the Sacoridians had slept well, except maybe Yates, who snored his way through the night. Between his snoring and the rocks rammed into her back, Karigan certainly hadn’t. As for the others, pouches sagged beneath Lynx’s eyes, and she wondered if the voices of the forest had infiltrated his dreams. Ard looked surly and threw his gear around as if he’d like to break something. A haggard Grant kept scratching his arm and muttering to himself about the dripping.

Once everyone was ready, they set off down the road, their mood subdued, no one engaging in chatter. Nothing threatened them as they walked along, though Karigan felt as if their every movement was observed by malevolent eyes.

They paused only for a meal at midday, and when they finished, Graelalea announced, “Here we shall depart the road.”

“What?” Grant demanded. “What do you mean we depart the road?”

“You don’t expect us to bushwhack through this forest, do you?” Ard added.

The idea of leaving the road dismayed Karigan, too, but she withheld her protest, waiting to hear Graelalea’s explanation.

“There were once paths, not just roads, that Eletians used to travel this land. If you knew our roads, you would realize they are not ... efficient. Think of your main thoroughfare in Sacor City. Is it the most direct route to the castle?”

“No,” Grant admitted. “There are shortcuts.”

“Though our roads were not made to slow an invading army as your Winding Way was, the result is the same. So I seek to shorten our journey by another path.”

“I see. And what will this path lead us to?”

“The heart of Argenthyne.”

Her pronouncement was met by silence.

“On the path,” she continued, “it is even more imperative we do not stray. The forest shall attempt to mislead us, I think, but it may be the land is not entirely opposed to Eletians.”

They were not consoling words.

Karigan saw no path leading from the road, but without further explanation or hesitation, Graelalea stepped into the woods, followed swiftly by the other Eletians.

“Wait!” Grant cried. “We need to survey this for the map.”

“We have paused here long enough,” Graelalea replied.

“Our mission is to map and—”

“That is your mission. Eletians need no maps. You may stay and strike out on your own if you wish, or you may come with us.”

The Sacoridians waited for Grant’s decision while he stood on the road cursing the Eletians, the gods, and the dripping water. Meanwhile the Eletians disappeared deeper and deeper into the woods. Finally he plunged in after them, much to Karigan’s relief, and no doubt to that of the others. She was pretty sure they did not stand a chance in the forest without the Eletians.

They thrashed through brush and branches, tripping over roots as they went, likely sounding like a pack of charging bears, until they saw the flash of white armor between the trees. When they caught up, Solan, who was last in line, cast them a smile. It was more than clear the Eletians possessed the upper hand in Blackveil. Any pretensions Grant once held about being in charge of the expedition were dashed long ago.

No words were exchanged as the Sacoridians followed. One advantage, Karigan decided, to having others ahead was that they cleared the path, though some branches still swung back at her from Yates’ passage. The trail they trod, though not easily visible beneath layers of loam and mud that sucked at their boots, was more level than the adjacent forest floor. Now and then there were hints of stonework—crumbling retaining walls and flat stones on the treadway—not entirely obscured by moss.

But here the forest felt closer, shouldering in and bearing down on them, the air stagnant, almost suffocating with wet rot. Brambles grabbed at trousers and sleeves. Yates stumbled to the ground and Karigan almost tripped over him. She helped him rise and he kicked at an arching tree root in the path.

“It tripped me on purpose,” he declared, and he stepped around it, hurrying to catch up with Grant.

Karigan tapped the root with her walking cane. Was it her imagination, or did it shrink away from the touch of bonewood ? Perhaps Yates had not been exaggerating. She hurried on, taking especial care to watch her footing.

Despite the chill, perspiration trickled down her face. The Eletians maintained a punishing pace, and she was grateful when they halted, until she found out why.