Page 72 of Tashama
“Has the High Priest been questioned?”
“He’s being roused as we speak, sire.”
“Have my horse saddled in the meantime. Ready the others to ride.”
“Yes, sire.”
The prince turned to his advisor. “Listra, do you think?”
“I fear so, Your Highness.”
“The Karthlander woman is undoing my realm.”
The prince stormed with Carissian to the gate, where the guards both bowed quickly to their sovereign. “We would have stopped them had the bells been rung before we let them go, Your Highness, beg your forgiveness.”
“Was there any indication that the one lady was Princess Tashama?”
“The black veils of the order do not permit the viewer to see much of the woman, Your Highness.”
“Sire!” a monk called out as he ran toward the prince. “None of our monks are missing from the abbey. Whosoever wore such habits was not some of our own.”
“And the women of your order?”
“All have been accounted for.”
The prince’s horse was brought to him. “Then we must ride and bring them back here at once.”
For two hours,the prince and his soldiers searched for the women as they followed a trail through the woods that led directly to the mountains. A heavy fog blanketed the forest as sparks of light flared up from time to time while woodland sprites entertained the men. The howling of a wolf set off the rest of its pack, and the prince paused his horse as he looked up from the hoof prints imprinted in the soil he’d been studying.
He frowned as there was no sign of his men. A blanket of white mist as thick as any blizzard encircled him. His fingers gripped his leather reins tighter as his blood pumped through his veins as if in a race. His breath quickened as he fought the panic in his heart.
To be in the woods alone was a dangerous venture, even for the stoutest of warriors. And now with Loran’s men encroachingon the forest with increasing boldness, Aleron knew he had to find the women and his men soon, or they could all perish.
20
“Carissian!” Aleron called out. There was no further sound than the snorting of his horse and no other sight than the fog mixed with his horse’s breath. “Carissian!”
“Shh,” a feminine voice hushed him, and as he peered into the low-hanging cloud, he saw not a soul stirring.
“Carissian!”
“You’ll get us both killed,” the voice whispered. “Bestill your heart and come seek shelter with me.”
The prince pulled his sword from his sheath. “Show yourself.”
“So you may slash at me with the razor-sharp edge of your blade? Find your own way then.”
The prince nudged his horse into the cool, wet air toward the whispery voice, but still not seeing the creature who had spoken to him, he sheathed his sword. “All right. Show yourself.”
“I stand before you, oh prince. Do you not see me in the mist?”
The prince stared at the fog in front of him, where he could barely see the twitching ears of his very own steed. “I cannot.” He leaned forward in his saddle.
“The woodland sprites warn me they come for us.”
“Who?”
“Why, my enemy and yours.”
