The following morning, I set out to visit the home of Hugo Vesper—former classmate, possible war criminal, and current owner of Briarthorne Library.
I hired a carriage to take me to the nearest town. From there, I was able to continue on to the smaller town of Besker which was less than ten miles away from the Estate.
It was late afternoon when I reached Besker, and I knew my time was running short. I considered my options: check in to local lodging or venture forth to the estate, where, if all went according to plan, I would be graciously welcomed.
I checked my pockets. I was an academic, not a merchant, and my coin supply was running perilously low.
With a swift nod of my head, I made my decision. I would continue on, and if things went well, reacquaint myself with Hugo Vesper as rational adults. The sort of people who could put aside past differences in the pursuit of the advancement of knowledge.
I thought of the massive shelves in his library and the endless tomes stored there. I had visited nearly every large collection within one hundred miles—except for this one. A thrill of anticipation shot through me. What might I learn? What forgotten knowledge might be hidden there?
If I left now, I could arrive before sunset and read by candlelight.
I wondered how long Hugo might allow me to stay. Cataloging a library as large as his could take weeks.
While my mind whirled, my feet carried me to the town square where I saw a man with his horse.
“Excuse me, sir. I’m traveling to the Vesper Estate. Can you help me?”
He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “No one goes to the Vesper Estate anymore. If you were smart, you wouldn’t either.”
I gave him a patient smile. “I’m afraid I must. Can I not trouble you for the name of a reputable coach?”
He snorted. “A coach? No coach will enter those woods. You’ll have to go on horseback or on foot.” He looked me up and down, no doubt taking in my scrawny arms. “Better be a horse.”
“And where might I find this horse?”
He jerked his head toward a building across the street. “The tavern. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. No one uninvited comes out of those woods.”
“What makes you think I’m uninvited?” I frowned.
His eyes lingered on my sharp ears. “I’d cover those if you want a horse,” he said in a low tone.
Damn. I had forgotten to hide them. How could I be so careless! This was a town of mostly humans, and the war had only just ended.
“Thank you for your help,” I said with a slight curtsy.
He inclined his head. “Good luck to you.”
Across the street, I found the local tavern. Tacky deer antlers hung outside, and several horses were tied up at the troughs in front. The latter boded well.
I stepped into a dimly lit wooden room, thick with the scent of smoke and spirits. The moment I crossed the threshold, I knew I stood out—an out-of-town fae scholar among hardened locals. Still, I did my best to blend in, moving from table to table, seeking someone willing to discuss transport.
After several false starts, I was beginning to lose hope of finding a horse tonight. It seemed the fear of the woods and estate was pervasive in this small town. I wrote it off as post-war superstition.
Then I spotted him–my last best chance. A drunk man sitting in the corner of the bar. He appeared isolated and down on his luck. Perhaps he would like to make some extra coin.
As I moved toward him, three men got up from a nearby table and reached him first. One beefy human grabbed the drunk by the shirt collar. “When are you going to pay us?”
The man’s words slurred. “I’ll have it soon.”
“You shouldn’t gamble what you don’t have,” growled another of the men.
“How much does he owe?” I inquired, stepping forward.
All four men turned to look at me incredulously. The angriest one asked, “What’s it to you? This your dad?”
He didn’t realize I was fae. That was a relief. “He’s not my father, but I would like to borrow his horse. Perhaps if the numbers work out…”
The man’s eyes lit up. “Yes, yes, Take her. I only need one hundred and twenty coin.”
I sighed deeply. For that price, I could damn near buy my own horse. “Which horse is yours?” I asked.
“The dappled mare,” he replied.
I excused myself to go and inspect the horse. I found her easily at the water trough. She was a young dappled mare with a beautiful gray coat, but she had been made pitiful by a tangled mane and the first traces of malnourishment.
I gritted my teeth in anger. People like that man shouldn’t possess animals they couldn’t properly care for.
I returned, my eyes flashing. “I will clear your debt, but I will own your horse outright.”
“But that’s undervalue!” he cried.
I glared at him. “Take it or leave it.”
Moments later, I paid his debtors, fed the mare an apple from the tavern, and we were on our way.
Together, we entered the forest on a large dirt road. Ahead, the trees were adorned with colorful autumn leaves, and rays of late afternoon sunlight glinted through them. After a day in stuffy coaches, I enjoyed the fresh air.
After an hour, we stopped at a nearby stream. My mare lowered her head and drank her fill while I stretched my legs. I looked up and down the dirt road, wondering how much further we had to go. So far, there had been no signage to denote the direction of either the estate or nearby townships.
We continued on our way. Soon, the road turned to scarcely more than a trail with overgrown trees and bushes encroaching on both sides. It appeared no one had maintained this road during the war.
More time passed, and the sun began to set. The trees, once colorful and welcoming, appeared skeletal. I started to worry we were lost. Hadn’t we already crossed this stream? Was it possible we were riding in circles?
Once it was completely dark, I had hoped the welcoming lights from the village or estate might guide our path, but there were none to be seen.
“It’s no trouble,” I said to my horse. “We’ll just make camp for the night. Everything will be clearer in the morning.”
Then I heard the first howl—long and low on the crisp night air. Soon, more joined the horrible chorus. I knew at once that there would be no camping in these woods. We had no choice but to continue onward.
My horse shifted restlessly beneath me, and I calmed her with a steady hand. “We’ll be just fine, girl. You’ll be in a nice, warm stable with a mound of hay in no time,” I murmured.
But I knew we were in trouble.
We couldn’t camp for the night, but we also couldn’t ride on endlessly.
So, I brought my horse to a halt and dismounted. She waited patiently as I eyed my torn petticoat, ripped by thorns along the way.
The ripped fabric gave me an idea. I could cut strips of cloth and use them to mark our path. Then I would know for certain if we were repeating our steps. I reached under my dress for the knife I always kept sheathed against my thigh.
Quickly, with an ear out for wolves, I cut my petticoat into strips. I tied one piece on the nearest tree and remounted my horse.
Then I searched the night sky for the Northern Star. I would ride in its direction for several miles, leaving strips along the way. If I saw no lights, I would return to my starting point and try another direction.
I rode for an hour and was beginning to feel quite defeated when I finally saw faint lights in the distance—not enough to be the town but perhaps the estate.
Just as I began to relax, a wolf howled. This time, it was close. My horse grew restless beneath me, and for a moment, I feared she might bolt.
“Steady, girl. We’ll get out of this together,” I assured her. But I tasted the lie on my lips. I was no longer so sure.
I dug my heel into her flank, and together we flew down the dirt trail toward the lights.
The howls grew closer. Then, suddenly, with a vicious snarl, something leaped from the embankment and landed on the path ahead of us, blocking our way.
It was a wolf—and yet it wasn’t. It was large and black, with glowing red eyes. Its silhouette was hazy, as if it weren’t entirely corporeal. As if it were part smoke and shadow. As if it had come straight from hell itself.
Surrounded, my horse began to panic.
“Steady. Steady,” I breathed.
I tried to make myself look big, raising my arms above my head. “Hey!” I shouted. “Get out of here! If you come closer, I’ll gut you.”
The wolves sensed my hesitation—my fear. And the first one lunged.
Everything happened fast. My horse reared, kicking her legs skyward and sending me plummeting to the hard ground.
I cried out as I hit hard.
In the blink of an eye, my horse galloped toward the lights, running for her life and leaving me to fend for my own.
I wasn’t sure how many wolves there were in the shadows, but I knew I was surrounded. I saw at least three sets of glowing red eyes ahead of me. Bruised and battered from my fall, I stood anyway. A small whimper escaped my throat.
The alpha wolf paced ahead of me now. Its teeth were not shadow—they gleamed a brilliant white.
Huddled on the forest floor with no way to escape, I drew my knife. It felt insignificant now. How close would a wolf have to come for me to slit its throat? And I was no hunter.
I was used to the quiet halls of learning, where solutions came from books rather than physical actions.
I was scrawny. I was out of shape. I was going to be devoured.