Read Online Disenchanted by Robert Kroese - Free Book Online

Corbet.
    The horse darted past the wraiths and onto the trail. It seemed hesitant to reenter the woods, but Boric urged it on mercilessly. As the horse galloped down the trail, Boric spared a glance behind him. The three wraiths were following closely but couldn’t keep pace with the horse and rapidly fell behind. Then, just when Boric was starting to think he was safe, the horse collapsed beneath him, as if one of its front legs had given way. Boric flew over the horse’s head, spinning head over heels, and landed flat on his back some ten paces down the trail.
    “Accursed beast!” spat Boric, looking back at the horse. “What do you think you’re…” But then Boric saw that the animal was lying on the ground, shuddering and nuzzling its foreleg, which was bent at an unnatural angle. It had tripped over a root protruding from the ground.
    “Idiot!” muttered Boric, this time at himself. The horse hadn’t been able to see the root in the near total darkness of the forest path. He had forgotten that living creatures — even horses — needed light to see. No wonder the poor animal had hesitated.
    Boric got up and ran, with the three wraiths not far behind. Even with his preternatural night vision, running down a narrow, ill-maintained trail through the Forest of Twyllic was a hazardous occupation. The ground was uneven and littered with rocks, dead branches, and roots, and he frequently had to dodge low-hanging branches. If he fell or got caught on a branch, the game was up: the wraiths would be upon him. And then…what? They’d haul him in front of Lord Brand, presumably. Boric realized as he thought this that there was nothing he wanted more than to face his tormentor. Maybe the witch was wrong, and that if Boric went to Brand now, while he still possessed his wits, he could strike him down, freeing himself and the other wraiths from his control. Still, it galled him that Brand thought he could send the other wraiths to fetch him as if he were Brand’s property. No, as much as he wanted to face Brand, he would do it on his own terms.
    Distracted by his thoughts, Boric suddenly realized he had left the trail. Before he could stop running, he lost his footing and found himself tumbling uncontrollably down a steep embankment, thrashing through shrubs and saplings on the way down. Finally he smacked into the trunk of a tree and came to a stop, dazed. Far above, he heard movement and harsh whispers. Had the other wraiths seen him fall? He remained as still as he could — helped in this endeavor by having neither breath nor a heartbeat — and hoped the wraiths were continuing on the path above. After a moment, the sounds faded into the distance.
    Boric got to his feet, carefully moving down the slope. It wouldn’t be long before the wraiths realized their mistake and came back for him. Working his way from shrub to shrub, he eventually made it to the bottom, which was a dry creek bed about fifty feet across. It was overrun by trees and bushes, but it looked to be traversable with some effort. Considering his options for a moment — left would take him roughly north, toward the witch’s cottage, and right would take him farther south, the direction he had been going — he decided to continue south. This was the direction the wraiths would expect him to take, but he didn’t dare head back into Ytriskian territory. He was too likely to be recognized by his fellow countrymen, who harbored a long-standing superstition regarding walking corpses. Anywhere else, he might pass as a wounded soldier wrapped in bandages — as long as he wasn’t inspected too closely.
    He trudged along the creek bed for several hours, using Brakslaagt as a machete to hack through the brush. When he came to a more gently sloping section of the ravine, he climbed back up and found his way to the path. Stopping for a moment to listen, he heard no sounds in either direction other than the hooting of owls and rustling of the wind through the