Library of Dragons
Thanks to reviewees and alertists, more will be coming soon. Sorry it's only a short chapter. Oh, and just a quick question, would you prefer me to write omitting or not omitting deaths etc. from the seventh book (as i did start writing before then)?
Chapter Two
Woodland Wanderer
In the depths of the forest, where skeletal trees knotted so tightly sunlight broke through in pin pricks, dry twigs crumbled beneath heavy boots. A sickly green and brown haze rose around them, disturbed into plumes of death and decay by the passing feet. The cloak, drawn tightly about him was already dusty and musty smelling, the hood shadowing the occupants face.
It was not far to his destination though the way was difficult and time seemed to stretch. He was vaguely aware of others around him, heading the same way, each with their own path to tread. If the fates decided he should happen upon these others, then he would, and he would be ready.
One dark hand, young and scarred, slipped into his robes, closing around his wand. Drawing it, he took a moment to relish its length, the ornate carvings and the precious stones that enhanced his abilities. With a lop-sided grin, he continued, unfazed by the potential threat of those around him.
Minutes slipped by. He passed over gnarled roots, ducking beneath low hanging claws of leafless twigs and moving around painful looking brambles. On one occasion, his cloak had snagged in the natural barbs, tearing the hem unnervingly loud.
Maneuvering around the massive bole of a branchless tree, the limbs long since fallen, decaying around the ancient behemoth, a silence descended. Before, the horse trill of black birds had echoed about him, nameless creatures had scuttled into shady nooks, yet now, nothing. The hair on the back of his neck prickled and he paused, straining his ears.
He wet dry lips with his tongue, regretting it soon after as the foul particles assaulted his taste buds. He worked up saliva and spat. It was then he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps. That was all he needed to pinpoint the would-be predator.
Gripping his wand tighter he whirled about. Purple sparks splintered the trunk above his head, as he dropped into a crouch and shot his own spell into the woodland. The emerald streaks, screaming with the final cries of those he had killed before, exploded from the tip of his wand and hit the attacker square in the chest. There was a dull thud, another branch tumbled from lofty heights and then an ethereal sound, mournful and haunting, left the corpse.
Setting his mouth into a firm line, he listened again. Several heartbeats passed before a hollow caw in the distance reached him. His breathing slowed, steadying into a natural rhythm. Swallowing, he stood, shifted his shoulders.
With his arm, he pushed aside undergrowth to find the body. A pale face, eyes blank and staring, her mouth open in shock. Green robes mottled with brown dust lay beneath a parted cloak, hung to the slim frame of the now dead witch.
Quirking his head to one side he studied her. He may have considered her worth pursuing had their circumstances been different. As it stood, she had fired upon him first and there was no time for making friends in this hostile place.
Her wand was beside her, tumbling from her grip as she had fallen. With a shrug, he stowed it in his cloak and moved to examine her personal effects. Nimble fingers and keen eyes quickly revealed a small fortune and several treasures. Most important among them was a crescent of silver, engraved with symbols of the arcane. She had been a bearer then, of one of the Torc pieces.
Then, as a final measure, he stripped the cloak from about her shoulders; at least now he had a pillow to sleep on. Smiling at his fortune he turned on his heel and returned to his path. With three pieces in his possession, he had the upper hand and the knowledge put a spring into his step.
