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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

My fault, my fault. Iseult forced her eyes open again. My fault, my fault. She had done this; she had to fix it. If she were Safi, she would run right into the flames, no plan, and somehow the world would right again.

But Iseult wasn’t Safi. She wasn’t light and sunshine and instinct and ideas. Iseult needed someone to lead her, somewhere to aim.

Safi initiated, Iseult completed.

Ruins ahead. Single stone wall, curved at the edge. Flames engulfing it, and keeping the monster on one side. It also keeps the Nomatsis trapped with the monster—and with Corlant and his Purists too.

Iseult’s first priority had to be getting those people to safety. To do so, she would need to distract the silver-Threaded monster, then distract Corlant. Fortunately, they had come here for her. She was the Cahr Awen, the dark-giver, and if she could be the distracting right hand, then maybe all of these witches could cut the purse.

But first she turned to Aeduan. “If you try to stop me, I will cleave you.” She launched into a run.

Initiate.

Her feet picked up speed, her footfalls hammering in time to a single thought: My fault, my fault. Her mother had been more than right, and now her mother—and others—were paying the price. My fault, my fault.

Distantly, she sensed Aeduan following her, a host of shadow birds in her periphery. Then she reached the stone wall where the flames billowed highest and the stones dipped lowest. She vaulted upward. The fire parted. She tumbled onto the other side, and a new scene met her eyes: Threads. They were terror-ridden and woven with violence, while keening over them all were the monster’s burning silver.

And there was the beast itself. A shadow wyrm, unlike anything Iseult had imagined, made of pure shadow. Her eyes couldn’t land on it. Each glance made the creature waver and morph, as if it had no solid shape. As if it were all a trick that would vanish on the next blink.

Its Threads shone too brightly, and only when she let it move in her periphery did it finally seem to gain a solid shape with hundreds of centipedal legs off a body serpentine and glassy. Wherever it moved, hoarfrost crackled.

And right now, it scuttled Iseult’s way. It had spotted her. It was screaming, and unlike all those hours it had lurked out of sight in the forest, now it was ready to come for her. Now it was ready to claim.

“Move,” Aeduan roared beside her, and she did, pumping instantly back into a run. There were no tents now, no campfires to block her way. It was a straight shot aiming for the fighting, frantic Threads clumped fifty paces away. Too far for Iseult to make out Gretchya’s or Alma’s faces within the mass.