20

Eyes

“HEY WYNN, YOU HAVE TO check this out!” Beryl said.

Wynn looked up from trekking to see Beryl holding a small wilder with needle-like fur. It curled into a small ball, protecting its round ears and wrapping its small spiked tail around itself.

Lance glanced back, annoyed. “Leave the needlewisk alone,” he pleaded.

Beryl placed the small hedgehog-like wilder on the ground, and it skittered away under a shrub.

Wynn spotted a windy dirt trail to the right of them.

“Hey, a road!”

But Lance shook his head. “Too risky.”

Wynn frowned. “Where’s the risk? Maybe it leads to Runnelloom, or that other place on the map.”

“It does,” Lance said, “but I think we ought to keep our distance.”

Wynn looked at him like he was crazy. “What risk? It’s a road. It’s made for larks and pull carts.”

“And not every lark you meet this far along the trails is friendly,” he said, “especially this far out. When we get closer, we’ll travel along it.” He continued trekking and they followed.

Wynn wondered if he was speaking from experience.

“Have you run into any dangerous larks?” she asked.

“Plenty,” he said. “Bandits, other casters, and an annoying lark that’ll follow you everywhere.”

“Har-har,” Wynn said sarcastically.

Lance pointed at Beryl. “I was talking about him.”

“Hey!” Beryl shouted, buzzing over to Lance. “You listen here—!”

As they started to squabble, Wynn felt her fur bristle.

What—

Crack.

The trio turned to see a small stump-like lark with long leafy wings standing a few feet away. It stepped on a branch and looked up nervously, shaking in its green plant-like armor covering its chest and shoulders. It held up its tall halberd.

“H-halt,” he said, “you must go no further.” The leaves on his long branch-like nose shook.

“Excuse me, who are you?”

“Peat Wattlemoor,” he said. “As a sentry of the Runnelloom Guardsmen, I have received orders to detain you.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “Orders from who?”

“Captain Conifer,” he said.

“Why?” Lance asked.

“Can’t say,” he said, “and you’re asking too many questions.”

Wynn turned to others. “What do we do?”

Lance gave a blank stare. So did Beryl.

They walked past the lark. Wynn followed.

“Hey!” the sentry cried, pointing his halberd towards them, “you’re making a grave mistake!”

Lance looked back at him, unimpressed. “How so?”

“You should respect authority,” said a gruff voice behind them.

They turned to see a large oak-like lark in armor glowering at them.

Peat saluted him. “C-Captain Conifer!”

The captain ignored him and kept glaring at the trio.

Lance looked at him wryly. “So you’re the fabled captain we’ve been hearing about.”

“I am,” he simply answered.

Wynn felt a shiver in her pelt. Something was off, but what?

The captain raised his arm. “Guards—to me!” he rallied.

All around them the foliage moved and turned, revealing itself to be plant-like larks.

The captain stepped closer to the trio. His long green cloak blew in the breeze until he stood mere inches from them.

“Due to the many transgressions of your lot against Runnelloom law, you will be quartered within the Windlebriar cells,” he informed them.

“What?” Beryl yelped, wings buzzing.

Wynn felt the wind leave her lungs. Did he say cell?

Lance walked up to him, outraged. “Why?”

Captain Conifer looked at him coolly. “For disregarding the orders of a sentry.” He gestured to Peat. “Trespassing and matching the descriptions of three magic-thieving vagrants.”

“What do you mean magic-thieving?” Lance snapped. “And how were we supposed to know this was voided off?”

Captain Conifer towered over Lance. “Didn’t you hear the orders to halt?” he mocked, then folded his arms behind his back and began to walk away. “As for the magic thieving,” he stopped in his tracks “I think you are well aware of what I’m talking about, Lance.”

Lance froze. So did the others.

How did he—?

Lance echoed her thoughts. “How did you…?” he asked. Then his eyes widened. “Wait a minute.”

Captain Conifer’s eyes flashed as he whipped around. “Apprehend them!” he ordered.

The guards began to close in.

Lance turned to Wynn and Beryl, panic on his face. “We need to leave!”

“How?” Beryl said. “We’re surrounded.”

“Then fight!” Lance snapped.

Lance raised his staff and made a downward cut, launching bolts of amber light at two guards to his right. The guards raised their shields, blocking the light, which dispersed upon impact. Lance frantically launched spears and splinters of light. They whizzed past, hitting some guards, but mainly bouncing off armor.

Beryl rammed a guard into the ground, only for another to pop up from a fake moss patch. The guard speedily scooped Beryl into a headlock. He thrashed, “Put me down!”

Wynn ducked and wove past shields, leaves, and spears as the guards attempted to snatch her. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Lance cast spell after spell. He landed a spear of light, knocking a guard off their feet. He swerved and cast another, causing a guard to barrel into another.

He turned his gaze to the guard holding Beryl. But before he could launch another spell, he received a blunt mace to the face. He stumbled back as three other guards swarmed him, one knocking his staff to the ground.

“Lance!” Wynn yelled.

The swirl-ear backed up against the tree as the sentries surrounded her.

One with a slicked-back shrub-like hair glowered at her. “Give it up,” she ordered.

Wynn’s heart pounded as she felt a familiar chill run down her spine. The downcast wind blew the scent of dead hyacinth and burnt wood to her.

Wynn followed its direction to see the captain turn back to look at her.

The same eyes that had haunted her since that night.

The Caster of the Malignant Shadow.