Twenty-seven – 01

[This post is from Phelan’s point of view.]

A steady, chilling rain came with the dawn. It found most of them on horseback, riding together toward their ultimate destination—an army camp miles away, peopled with individuals who would love to see them dead or worse.

All of them were definitely trying not to actively think about what the or worse might actually entail. Phelan knew for certain that he was trying not to think about it as he swayed along with the motion of his horse, riding with Marin on one side of him and Matt on the other. Matt was flanked by Hecate and Thordin on the other side, Marin by Thom and Cameron. Neither sibling had been successful in convincing their spouses to stay behind. Somewhere ahead of them rode Sif, scouting alongside Gideon from the Hunt, making sure that there was no sign that the enemy knew they were coming.

Surprise was their only ally in this, and she was a fickle ally indeed.

His gaze flicked toward the sky for a few seconds and he frowned, twisting his reins in hand. Thordin arched a brow at him.

“What?”

“This isn’t you, right?”

Thordin shook his head. “No. Not me. Not even something that’s a remnant of the last time I played with the storms. Can’t tell you whether it’s fully natural or not right now, though. Not without someone taking my reins and making sure I don’t fall out of the saddle.”

“There’ll be time enough for that once we reach our staging point,” Marin said. “We’ll get a last feel for the lay of the land and figure out exactly what we’re working with in regard to his defenses.”

“I can’t imagine that he wouldn’t have some sort of magical defenses,” Hecate said, her brow furrowing. “There must be something that the Hunt just didn’t notice.”

“The scouts did say they didn’t sense anything but that they could have missed it. It’s not necessarily their area of expertise.” Matt’s lips thinned. “We just have to hope that maybe there really isn’t anything.”

“Not likely,” Phelan murmured. “But we can hope.”

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