Free 3 Weaver of Shadow by William King Page B

Shadow-warped men to her armies. With such a force she could defend the Blight, defy any armies sent against her, use the forest as a base to enslave the surrounding provinces. If that happened, only the king of Taurea with all his barons united behind him would be able to muster the strength to stand against such a force, and the king was a sick old man whose sons made war over a divided realm.
    It was imperative that he get word out to his Order so that they could organise whatever resistance they could. This Blight was potentially a festering wound in the flank of the kingdom of Taurea, and like all such wounds it might prove fatal if untreated long enough.
    He reached the forest’s edge and stepped into the shadow of other, lesser Blight-corrupted trees. He felt slight relief at the cover they provided against the eyes of the elves who would soon pursue him. This warred with the knowledge that they would provide cover for others to sneak up on him.
    Huge moths fluttered around glowing toadstools taller than Kormak’s head. Large webs hung between trees. Mould crackled beneath his boots. Shadows shifted in the uneasy light. Somewhere in the distance a great predator growled. He marched on deeper into the forest, feeling with absolute certainty that somewhere alien eyes were watching him.
    At least he was free, he told himself. He was going to have to make sure he stayed that way, long enough to get his job done.

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    KORMAK RAN THROUGH the darkened woods, heart pounding, sweat running down his face. In the distance, he could hear the hunters. They were making no attempt to silently stalk him. They were blowing horns and yelling to each other in the thrill of the chase.
    At least he hoped they were.
    He did not rule out the possibility that all of the noise was merely a distraction to keep him thinking that he was safe while others snuck up on him. Elves were clever, subtle and they did not think as men did. They were famous for their woodcraft.
    He sprang over a fallen log and gave a quick glance to his surroundings. As far as he could tell there was nothing lurking in the shadows under the eaves of the forest. The trees looked warped, their leaves were furred with mould but that was normal in this blighted land. At least the sickly phosphorescence of their blooms gave him light to see by.
    Nothing moved through the branches above him but he was wary. The elves and their hunting spiders ran along those as easily as a man ran along an open pathway. Twice he had been surprised by mad-eyed elves dropping on him from above. Twice only his quickness of reflex had saved him from being taken.
    He pulled the wraithstone amulet out from beneath his armour and checked it. The once milky stone was dark now. Long tendrils of darkness writhed through the heart of it, and it had lost all its chill hardness. It was starting to crumble at the edges. It would not be able to protect him against the corruption of the forest much longer. Perhaps it was not able to do so now. He offered up a prayer to the Sun, grateful it had lasted this long.
    He was not sure how much longer he could keep this up. He had been on the run for days now, had slept only in snatches when he had thrown himself down beneath bushes and he had grown wary even of that. Once he had woken to find a spider scuttling close to him. Another time, a blighted insect nibbling on the flesh of his face had brought him to wakefulness. The flesh it had bitten was swollen and sore.
    Now he struggled to keep his eyes open, to place one foot in front of the other, to keep moving. He was not sure that if he was caught he would have the strength to fight, and he did not want to fall back into the clutches of Weaver’s people. He knew he did not have the strength to escape again and it was imperative that word of what was happening here was brought back to his Order.
    Something large fluttered through the branches overhead. A great owl swept by, its wings suddenly still