The Warlord's Legacy by Ari Marmell Page A

observations on the weather to the names of sundry flora and fauna, he poured unwanted speech like molten metal into the baron’s unwilling ears, and took great delight in watching the fellow quietly seethe.
    As the roads grew narrow, however, dwindling into game trails—and as the sparse foliage slowly thickened, the trees towering nearer one another as if seeking comfort from some unseen fear—even the impertinent sorcerer grew serious. Kaleb and Jassion exchanged glances, each beset by a sudden wariness.
    A bend in the trail, circling a copse of particularly thick boles, and they saw it rising before them: a wall of green and brown. At that border of branches and brambles, the voices of the wildlife stopped as though the sound itself had been cut by an unseen blade. The sunlight, no matter how it squirmed, failed to wend through the gaps in the leaves, so that nothing but utter darkness regarded the new arrivals from within the foliage.
    For several moments they stared at that barrier, each lost in his own thoughts. And only then, as though made abruptly aware of where they were and what waited ahead, the horses reared. Bestial shrieks of terror rattled the trees, startling what few birds and animals had dared draw even this near the looming forest. Eyes rolled madly, and spittle dripped from iron bits.
    Even as his mount lurched, Kaleb leapt nimbly from the saddle to land on the thick soil. Jassion, weighted down by his hauberk or perhaps simply less fortunate, fell hard on his back and lay gasping. The baron’s mount thundered madly back down the path, and after an instant of wrestling with the reins Kaleb dropped them, allowing his own to follow.
    Behind him, the leaves of the impassible wood hissed and rustled in a breeze that neither man could feel, as though chortling their grim amusement.
    Kaleb sidled over to Jassion and offered a helping hand, hauling the winded baron to his feet as though he weighed no more than a child’s doll.
    “Horses …,” the nobleman panted between gasps.
    Kaleb shrugged. “I can probably call them back once we’re through here.”
    “And …” Another wheeze. “If not?”
    “Then I guess, my lord, you learn the hard way that your feet are good for more than putting in your mouth or kicking the occasional servant.”
    Jassion tried to glare, but his gulping breaths—which, Kaleb noted with a snicker, were all too appropriate for a man with a fish emblazoned on his chest—rather ruined the effect.
    Remarkably, Kaleb chose to remain silent until the baron had finally recovered. Then, spotting a sudden spark of panic in Jassion’s expression, he pointed. “Over there. It fell when you did.”
    Jassion must have been grateful indeed, for his muttered “Thank you” as he stooped to retrieve the fallen Talon actually sounded heartfelt. He looked taller when he rose, and the lingering traces of pain had faded from his breath.
    And again both men stood and scrutinized the wall of trees, like children desperate for any excuse to put off a hated chore.
    “Are you certain she’s here?” Jassion asked finally.
    “What’s wrong, my lord? You couldn’t possibly be
frightened
, could you?”
    “There’s precious little in the world that frightens me,” Jassion said, still watching the trees. “But I’m not an idiot.”
    “You—”
    “Don’t.” He paused. “Can’t you just cast a spell to find out? Wiggle your fingers and see if she’s home?”
    “Oh, certainly. Why, I’ve just been waiting for you to ask. Then, for my
next
trick, I’ll gnaw on a steel ingot until I shit broadswords.”
    “I’ll take that as a
no
, then,” Jassion muttered.
    “You do that.”
    More staring.
    “You must understand,” the baron said, “I’ve heard tales and ghost stories of Theaghl-gohlatch since I was a child. Normally I wouldn’t believe a word of them, but then I consider who it is we’re looking for. And my understanding is,
very
few who enter Theaghl-gohlatch ever