Free Victim of Fate by Jason Halstead Page B

hoped to be
rid of the boy without direct intervention, proving to Rosalyn once
and for all that any help that might come would stand no chance.
Perhaps it would be better to show her his strength. He could twist
her under his grip as much as he liked, but he wanted her mind
intact. Destroying her hopes of rebellion directly and showing her
that he had earned the power he wielded was the better path to
take.
    Easier, certainly, for the boy had picked a
random path that took him towards Therion's home in the woods. Or
perhaps it wasn't chance that chose the path. Therion had made his
way in the bog in the northern part of the forest on purpose. There
was a source of magic there that he'd been studying. A dark and
powerful magic that came from the bowl of a tree that had long
died.
    Legend held it had once been the willow that
a willow nymph made her home of. She'd fallen in love with a young
man who had wandered into her glade and used her magic to ensnare
him. Over time, he resisted her lures but she'd stolen too many
years of his life. He was a withered old man who died trying to
make his way back home. The nymph had turned inward and grown
darker, seeking out the harmful side of the nature magic she
wielded. In time, she languished and so did the willow that was her
home. As its health failed, so did hers, until all that remained
was a vengeful and corrupt spirit that poisoned the earth around
her. It was that magic that drew Therion. He'd learned much from it
and based many of his experiments on how she'd twisted the powers
of nature to create unwholesome aberrations.
    The glade turned bog had called to him many
years ago; perhaps now it called to the warrior as well? Did the
warrior, perhaps, remind the shadow of a spirit that remained of
her own lost love?
    Therion smiled as he strode through the
forest. Perhaps there was more he might learn yet from this. No
matter the course, he would soon have the girl convinced of his
supreme power. As soon as she threw herself upon his mercies and
understood that she was to serve him in all ways, to offer herself
to him in all ways, then she would be his. Then he would at last
have someone who would share his appreciation of all things in life
with.
     
    * * * *
     
    Alto trudged through the forest and began to
regain his wits. The corrupted animals disappeared behind him as he
wandered. Whether they fell behind or sought easier prey, he wasn't
certain. He hoped his friends had found similar respite.
    He rested against a tree and glanced around.
Ahead of him, the forest seemed darker. The ground had squished
under his boots, suggesting wetter forest or perhaps even a swamp.
In the dark, he admitted he'd lost his sense of direction. The
trees overhead kept him from seeing enough of the stars to guide
himself.
    Alto started to sheathe his sword and then
stopped himself. Having his sword ready seemed a far safer idea.
Unless he tripped and fell on it. He took a breath and let it go.
Perhaps leaving his father's farm wasn’t such a smart idea after
all.
    The warrior pushed himself forward,
continuing into the darkness. It made sense that wetter ground
would mean he was nearing the stream again. If he could find a safe
way to cross it, he only needed to get to the edge of the forest
and he could make his way back to the horses and his friends. With
that hope in mind, Alto pushed himself faster through the
darkness.
    Several minutes later, his boot splashed into
a puddle. Alto stopped and pulled his foot out of the sucking mud.
He scowled and looked around, trying to make out details in the
darkness. Plants and vines that had gone dormant for the
approaching winter offered threatening shapes in the darkness. He
remembered the animals and expected one of them to leap out at him
at any moment.
    Alto jabbed his sword into a thicket. Other
than the rattle of cracking twigs, he was both disappointed and
relieved that nothing happened. Alto stepped around the thorny mass
and moved forward into