The cold north wind blew a foul stench through the camp. Laryn shifted uncomfortably in his boots, covering his face as he gazed up the trail. His skin prickled, even beneath his thick sheepskin cloak and woolen garments.

  He shifted his robe, trying to hide the splattered blood on the sleeve of his shirt. Laryn had washed his hands several times since they’d left Townshold, but every time he checked, he found more of Master Alzan’s blood. A fleck in the joint of a knuckle here, a smudge in the crevice of a fingernail there.

  It had to be done.

  Keldin—his younger brother—finished loading the wagon and walked over.

  “You hardly even look like a priest these days,” Laryn said, clapping Keldin on the shoulder. “Like a proper adventurer. Master Felwin wouldn’t recognize you.”

  Keldin glanced down at his clothes and shrugged. “I’d be freezing if I was wearing those robes,” he said. “And sandals are out of the question.” He yawned.

  “I was talking about this,” Laryn said, rubbing Keldin’s prickly scalp. “You haven’t shaved once since we reached Cataria.” Laryn had shaved his own head that morning.

  “Come on,” Keldin said. “Since when do you care if I’m keeping the rules?”

  As a second son, Laryn was destined to become a general; a warrior advisior to his older brother. Keldin would serve out his days as a priest in the Temple of Ishtoran. As the son of the king, Keldin and Laryn both often got away with skirting the rules.

  “I think you keep too many of them,” Laryn said, walking back over to the wagon. “I think you should have brought a proper sword, instead of this stupid thing.” He picked up Keldin’s priestly cudgel and tossed it into the back of the wagon.

  “I’m trying to be better,” Keldin protested. “I could be back in the Temple, reclining on a sofa and eating grapes,” he said, pulling his cloak around him more tightly. “This was supposed to be a hunting trip, but we haven’t seen a single goblin.”

  Laryn rummaged around in the back of the cart. For a moment his eyes rested on the large chest, buried beneath their supplies. They just needed to go a little bit further, out into the unclaimed lands…

  “Come on,” Keldin said, walking over. “We both know this was just an excuse for you to get out of Eltar for a few months. If not longer.”

  Laryn grimaced and stared at the ground. Elena had given him a wound that would never heal. “Don’t tempt me, Keldin,” he said, turning to watch his brother’s reaction carefully. “We have to be back in time for the coronation.”

  Keldin nodded. “You’re right,” he said, staring off to the north. “I’m nervous being out here without the guards,” he said.

  Laryn looked at the blood on his sleeve again. “Dysentery is a miserable illness,” he said. “They said it was spreading through Townshold. They’ll rejoin us when they recover. It’s safer being out of the town until the illness passes.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Keldin said. “Still, it felt weird leaving in the middle of the night like that.”

  “I didn’t want to stick around and risk catching it,” Laryn said. Then he grabbed Keldin’s sword from the cart. In one swift movement, he spun, tossing it at his brother.

  Metal flashed through the air, and Laryn shouted. “On guard!”

  Keldin reached out and caught the training sword. Laryn charged.

  “Not fair!” Keldin shouted, dodging his brother’s first attack. He settled into water form, dancing over the ground as his blade flowed through defensive arcs. Steel crashed against steel, and Laryn pressed the attack, using a modified life stance, strong against Keldin’s defense.

  Sparring sessions between the brothers had often turned vicious in the past, and could be dangerous even with the dull training blades. Keldin lost to Laryn five out of six rounds, but he was always game for a bout.

  Wielding a sword in combat was against the priestly codes, but sparring was a grey area which Laryn took full advantage of. He knew Master Felwin disapproved, but the man couldn’t stop him from training his younger brother. Laryn’s father was king, after all.

  This morning though, Keldin’s heart wasn’t in it. Laryn gained the upper hand, and he soon disarmed Keldin and pushed him to the ground.

  “What’s wrong?” Laryn asked, offering his hand and helping Keldin to his feet. “You barely even fought back!”

  Keldin shrugged, and took Laryn’s training weapon from him. “Do we have to keep going north?” he asked. “Why don’t we just camp here for a while. We’re right on the border of the wildlands.” He walked to their cart and peered into the back.

  A nervous tension gripped Laryn, as Keldin’s eyes rested for a moment on the long, mysterious chest Laryn had brought with them. Maybe now was the time to tell him what his real plans were.

  Laryn shook his head. “Feeling a bit of trepidation?” he asked.

  “There should be plenty of goblins to hunt on this side of the river,” Keldin said. “You heard the man in Townshold. They raid down here all the time.”

  “But we haven’t seen any sign of goblins yet.” Laryn countered, as he mounted his charger. “Let’s go as far as the river, at least.”

  He snapped his reins and the horse started forward, trotting northward along the old trail.

  Behind him, Keldin climbed up onto the seat of the wagon. The two horses hitched to the cart pawed at the ground as they watched the stallion trot away.

  Laryn heard a snap of the reins and Keldin calling “Hyah!” followed by the rattle of the cart as it lurched and bumped on down the road.

  Laryn thought he struck an epic figure, riding into the wind as his cloak billowed behind him. He felt confident, free, and commanding. Like he was in control of his own destiny. He fought back the pang of uncertainty. This is what he’d always dreamed of.

  He often wondered how his life might be different, if he had been born first, instead of Yarin. His older brother was lazy, selfish, and indulgent. Laryn didn’t understand why his father insisted on following the old traditions, when it was clear that Laryn would make a better [Ruler].

  But tradition demanded that Yarin, the first son, would ascend to the throne as [Ruler]. Laryn, the second son, would become a warrior and general. And Keldin, the third son, would be nothing more than a priest and adviser.

  The time passed quickly as Laryn lost himself in his thoughts. They reached the Ebil river before midday. Here the mighty river spread out into several shallow channels, making it possible to ford. Laryn swept his gaze northward, observing the wildlands for the first time.

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  The odor of decay was stronger here.

  “No sign that anyone’s been here for a long time,” Laryn said as Keldin rolled up with the cart. “The river’s flooded a few times, but no tracks in the soft sand.”

  “So how are goblins getting across?” Keldin asked.

  “Maybe there’s another crossing somewhere,” Laryn said. “Or maybe goblins haven’t been here for several months. The innkeeper did say that they’d been less of a nuisance lately. Maybe all the new settlements in the wildlands are pushing them further north?”

  Keldin stopped the cart at the edge of the water, looking up at his brother. Both brothers peered across the river. Then they looked east, down river. The Ebil flowed that way, over a massive cliff and down into the Elvandar plains, where it joined the Withwyn river and marked the borders of the elven domain.

  Back home, in Eltar, Laryn had never felt truly exposed. He always had someone watching him. Always had his father’s name protecting him. Now, out here in the wilderness… something about the isolation made him nervous.

  But it was too late to turn back now.

  “Onward then,” he said, and he rode his horse down the banks and into the Ebil.

  Keldin’s mouth worked, but he did not protest. “Hyah!” he cried out, snapping the reins and driving the horses into the water.

  A dozen meters into the wildlands, they came across a rotting cow carcass. Laryn wrinkled his nose. He dismounted and prodded the corpse with a stick.

  “Goblins?” Keldin asked.

  Laryn shook his head. “No. They’d have taken the meat, wouldn’t they? This looks partially eaten, like some kind of large insect—”

  He looked up, realization spreading across his face. Laryn locked eyes with his brother, and they spoke the answer in unison.

  “Void.”

  “We should get out of here,” Keldin said.

  “We don’t know how bad it is,” Laryn said. “It might be minor.” He gazed northward, a longing in his eyes. Then he turned to Keldin, speaking with rapid intensity. “Keldin, I should have told you sooner. I… we… this isn’t a goblin hunting trip—”

  “Behind you!” Keldin shouted, cutting his brother off. A half dozen voidlings—man-sized insects—chittered and trumped as they burst from the undergrowth, charging at the brothers.

  Laryn whirled, blade flashing from his scabbard. Keldin dove into the back of the cart, fishing his cudgel out. He found the heavy stick with its solid metal head, and jumped from the wagon.

  Laryn’s horse bolted, the scent of void driving it off. He stood his ground, razor-sharp, spell-infused blade striking limbs from the massive, roach-like beasts. The power of his magically enhanced blade thrummed in his hands.

  The voidlings danced around Laryn, looking for easier prey, and charged the wagon.

  Laryn darted after them, just as his brother was overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of voidlings. A wicked sharp claw tore open a deep gash in Keldin’s leg. He stumbled and he fell to the ground.

  Voidings pounced, mandibles tearing at flesh.

  Laying about him with his cudgel, Keldin cracked carapace. He drove the monsters back, sending the bugs scrambling the way they came.

  Laryn’s blade flashed, splitting carapace and severing legs, buying them a moment of respite.

  He helped his brother to his feet. Keldin gasped, his face pale, clothing torn in a dozen places.

  His wounded leg spurted blood.

  “Come on! They’re coming back!”

  Laryn helped Keldin stagger back to the cart. The horses stamped nervously. Bug legs clattered on the rocky ground, as the roaches closed in.

  With a mighty heave, Laryn hefted Keldin into the back of the wagon. He scrambled up to the driver’s seat and turned the vehicle around in a tight circle as roaches rushed in. One got too close, and Laryn crushed its head beneath the heavy wheel.

  A voidling caught Laryn’s charger. The mighty steed bellowed and kicked, but its rear leg was hamstrung. The vulnerable creature momentarily distracted the voidlings.

  Laryn clung to the wagon seat with one hand, gripping his sword in the other. The vehicle jolted and jerked as it raced across the rough ground. In the back of the cart, Keldin cried out as the violent motion aggravated his injured leg.

  The horses plunged ahead in fear.

  “We can’t outrun them!” Keldin said.

  “There are too many to fight!” Laryn shouted back.

  Behind Laryn, the horse screamed in pain. He glanced over his shoulder. Voidlings swarmed behind them, the man-sized insects chittering and trumping. They buzzed, occasionally jumping into the air and flying forward, but mostly racing across the ground on six legs.

  Laryn’s charger screamed again as sharp mandibles pierced flesh. The horse went down, disappearing beneath a wave of chitinous spines.

  A half dozen of the creatures, no longer distracted by the horse, pursued the careening wagon relentlessly. Legs blurred as the roaches flowed across the ground, closing the gap.

  “Can we make it back across the river—”

  “The river won’t stop—” A wheel bounced over a rock, and Keldin grunted in pain. Dark red blood covered the supplies around him.

  Laryn glanced back over his shoulder, and counted a dozen voidlings strung out behind them. Could he fight that many? A pang of fear shot through him. Maybe he could. Lead them away; string them out and take them one at a time?

  He tied the reins off—he wasn’t doing much to lead the terrified horses anyway—and rolled into the back of the wagon.

  “You drive,” he said, grabbing his brother and pushing him to the front of the cart. Keldin grunted in pain, but gripped the reins.

  Ahead, the Ebil river glimmered in the midmorning sun.

  “We never should have crossed the river,” Laryn muttered, half to himself. He braced himself, holding Keldin’s mace in one hand, his sword in the other.

  The river loomed.

  Laryn prayed that the water would deter the voidlings. They hadn’t seen any of them south of the river. What were so many voidlings doing so far south? There couldn’t be a bloom nearby, could there?

  “Laryn!”

  Looking back again, Laryn saw three voidlings catching up to their rear. These were all of a similar variety; cockroach like creatures large enough to eat a man. Others remained behind, gorging on the remains of Keldin’s horse.

  Keldin gripped the reins, leaning over the seat of the wagon, blood still dripping from his leg.

  “I can’t slow the horses!” Keldin shouted. “Hold on, we’re about to hit the Ebil!”

  The horses tore into the shallow water, drenching Laryn with spray. The cart slowed and water rushed up around them. Steel clanged against carapace as a voidling buzzed forward and snapped at Laryn. He struck it in the maw with the head of Keldin’s mace.

  A massive cockroach grabbed the tailgate and began hauling itself over the lip. Laryn swung his cudgel. The heavy metal ball affixed onto the end of the staff smashed into the mouth of a voidling, breaking a mandible and knocking it down into the water. The bug flailed in the water, not dead.

  “I thought goblins were smart enough to kill void blooms before they got too big,” Laryn said.

  Keldin gasped for breath. Laryn glanced at him. His brother was struggling. Pain etched on his face, and he grunted as the wagon bucked again.

  The horses pushed forward, pulling the cart deeper into the Ebil river. A third voidling clambered over the wagon tongue, and Laryn thrust his blade into the creature’s maw. A thorny mandible clawed at Laryn’s forearm as the blade rammed home. The insect twitched and shook, then fell back into the water. Laryn dropped the blade, his wounded arm adding to the mess of blood around him.

  “The water’s not stopping them,” Laryn said. Larger voidlings, nearly the size of the horses, plunged down the banks.

  “They warned us in Townshold—” Keldin started, but was cut off by the jerking of the wagon.

  “They’re not dying! I cant get any good hits in!”

  The voidling Laryn had smashed into the water leaped back toward the brothers, broken mandible still dangling from its mouth. Terrified horses struggled to pull the heavy cart through the grasping fingers of the Ebil’s strong current. More voidlings surged into the river.

  One swam underneath the wagon and burst out of the water just in front of Keldin.

  “Here!” Laryn tossed his sword toward Keldin, but the boy missed, and it fell among the cargo beside him. Struggling for footing and gasping for air, the horses whinnied and tossed their heads.

  Keldin fished for the blade and brought it up, just in time to split the head of the attacking voidling in half.

  “I’m not supposed to fight with a blade,” Keldin shouted. “By Ishtoran!”

  Water foamed around the oncoming voidlings as they swam. One of the faster ones darted upstream, scuttling past the waterlogged cart. It jumped out of the water, wings buzzing as it dove, sinking razor sharp claws into the horse’s haunches.

  The horse screamed, rearing up and kicking out with its back legs. A powerful hoof struck the voidling, sending it spinning toward the wagon. Laryn smashed the creature with his cudgel, knocking it into the river.

  Tripped up in the current, a horse stumbled. Both the horses fell, pulled into the deepest part of the river. The wagon pitched to the side and water sloshed in, drenching Laryn.

  Three more voidlings caught hold of the sideboards. With a crunch, a wheel splintered. Keldin cried out, desperately grabbing the sword with his left hand, batting away voidling limbs with weak blows. Laryn smashed one of them away with the mace.

  The wagon lurched, wheels leaving the ground as it began to float in the river. Laryn slid, catching himself just before falling overboard.

  Rocking as it drifted in the current, the wagon pulled the horses down the river.

  The Ebil had them in its grasp.

  They were going to drown.

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