Page 93 of In Rising Tides

“Wulvers,” he ground out, drawing his blade.

A tiny bell chimed, its shrill peeling eliciting a wince from them before they set off at a run.

Someone was being attacked, and by the sounds of it, it was pixies.

Snarls and laughter had the hair on the back of his neck rising as they raced towards the sound.

An owl hooted nearby, and Maelys thanked it.

“The others heard the bells. They’re on their way,” she said steadily, despite the speed at which they ran.

Trees flashed by as they weaved this way and that, hurtling over fallen logs and moss-covered rocks.

The wooded, earthy scent of the forest was drowned out by the coppery tang of blood.

Just ahead there was a gap in the trees, and Wilder could make out the shifting of shadows.

He pointed. “Just there.”

The air turned heavy and warm as they slowed their approach.

Tiny screams were met with vicious snarls.

Breaking through the gap in the trees, they realized they were too late.

Tiny bodies lay broken and discarded. Wings of glass were shattered and glinting in the moonlight.

An entire pixie hive, massacred, while the beasts that did it laughed.

Wilder didn’t know where to look. Everywhere he turned, there was blood.

“Well, what a surprise,” a nasty voice crooned. “A decent meal has arrived.”

Wilder stood between Maelys and Ridge, his sword at the ready.

“What have you done?” he snarled. “They were innocent!”

Maelor stepped into the white light of the moon. He was far more human than the others of his kind. His face was rounder, his nose less of a snout.

“Is this the emissary the High King sends? A disgraced prince and two elves?”

His chuckle was met with a few others as red eyes glowed in the darkness.

There had to be at least half a dozen wulvers. They would be outnumbered until Dust, Oak, Oron, and Cedric could arrive.

Wilder wondered how far they had traveled in the opposite direction until they heard the bells.

He listened intently to the forest for anything that would signal their arrival.

He heard nothing.

“Where’s your little mermaid?” Maelor asked, scanning them and then the forest. “Oh, that’s right … she was taken.”

Wilder’s grip tightened around the hilt of his sword. Maelor was goading him. He knew this and yet still felt the effects of the words blister his veins.

“She’ll be back,” Maelys replied. “But you won’t be alive to see it.”

Maelor began pacing. “You know, I heard something curious about her, and I didn’t think much of it until I saw her magic.”