BooksBarbecue
Back Witchshadow Save as PDF
Chapters (70)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Map
  5. Epigraph
  6. BEGINNINGS
  7. PART I
  8. ONE
  9. TWO
  10. THREE
  11. FOUR
  12. FIVE
  13. SIX
  14. SEVEN
  15. EIGHT
  16. NINE
  17. TEN
  18. ELEVEN
  19. TWELVE
  20. THIRTEEN
  21. FOURTEEN
  22. FIFTEEN
  23. SIXTEEN
  24. SEVENTEEN
  25. EIGHTEEN
  26. NINETEEN
  27. TWENTY
  28. TWENTY-ONE
  29. TWENTY-TWO
  30. TWENTY-THREE
  31. TWENTY-FOUR
  32. TWENTY-FIVE
  33. TWENTY-SIX
  34. TWENTY-SEVEN
  35. TWENTY-EIGHT
  36. TWENTY-NINE
  37. THIRTY
  38. THIRTY-ONE
  39. THIRTY-TWO
  40. THIRTY-THREE
  41. THIRTY-FOUR
  42. THIRTY-FIVE
  43. THIRTY-SIX
  44. PART II
  45. THIRTY-SEVEN
  46. THIRTY-EIGHT
  47. THIRTY-NINE
  48. FORTY
  49. FORTY-ONE
  50. FORTY-TWO
  51. FORTY-THREE
  52. FORTY-FOUR
  53. FORTY-FIVE
  54. FORTY-SIX
  55. FORTY-SEVEN
  56. FORTY-EIGHT
  57. FORTY-NINE
  58. FIFTY
  59. FIFTY-ONE
  60. FIFTY-TWO
  61. FIFTY-THREE
  62. FIFTY-FOUR
  63. FIFTY-FIVE
  64. FIFTY-SIX
  65. FIFTY-SEVEN
  66. TRICKSTER
  67. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  68. Also by Susan Dennard
  69. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  70. Newsletter Sign-up

Horses, the weasel seemed to say, sharing an image of Lord Storm Hound with his bindings already chewed free. He was by the well, a mere twenty paces away and cast in moonlight.

With her free hand, Iseult gripped Owl and sprinted toward that moonlight. Once to the shaggy steed, she hefted Owl onto the saddle, shoved the diary into her small arms, and finally hauled herself up behind. The weasel was already halfway up Iseult’s body, already looped around Iseult’s neck by the time she dug her heels into Lord Storm Hound’s body.

Corlant’s screams blistered around her, amplified by shouts from Purists and Hell-Bards. He would hunt Iseult, as would Aeduan and Evrane. In fact, she sensed the Bloodwitch approaching, his muscles fueled by magic. But he was too late. Iseult and Owl were already pressed flat against Lord Storm Hound, and the horse was already cantering wildly toward the trees.

TWENTY-FIVE

White terror had reclaimed Owl’s Threads. All-consuming, and Iseult had no doubt that if she could see her own Threads, they would look the same. They were lambs hunted by a wolf; only fear drove them now.

At least they had the weasel to help, and with each crashing fall of Lord Storm Hound’s sturdy hooves, she sent images of where to go.

At the hornbeam, go under.

At the linden, go left.

A game trail between two oaks: follow until the patch of mud.

Iseult lost all sense of time as they rode. Only Owl’s Threads, bright as the moon above, wavered against her. But Aeduan—or the soul that now wore his body—was faster with his Bloodwitchery to propel his muscles and guide the hunt. He might not be able to smell Iseult, but he could certainly smell Owl. Soon he had caught up. Soon Iseult sensed him in her periphery, Threads green and hunting and tainted by shadow birds.

A dried-out streambed ahead. Abandon the horse at the pine.

Iseult spotted the pine. “Must we leave the horse?” She felt safer elevated and carried on legs faster than her own. But then she spotted the stream: its drop-off was far too steep for the horse. Iseult yanked in his reins and in seconds, she was on the forest floor and tugging Owl down.

“I’m sorry,” she told Lord Storm Hound. Then she smacked his rump. He pounded off into the trees—where hopefully Aeduan would follow the horse, however briefly, instead of his witchery.

As Iseult hurried Owl toward the empty stream, another set of Threads skated into her awareness: silvery, muted, prowling this way.