Chapter 9

Ayana swayed to the rhythm of her snowy steed as it trotted along the wooded trail. Zelroth and three of his men rode at the lead, followed by Iezabel. The others brought up the rear in a frivolous and disorderly manner.

The towering trees basked in the bright glow of noon, their skeletal arms grasping at each other. The crunch of dried leaves under the iron shod hooves was often drowned out by the raucous babble of voices that permeated the air. Iezabel’s clenched jaw kept twitching as she threw frequent glares at the noisy rebels.

One of Zelroth’s men, whom Ayana assumed was his lieutenant, noticed the look of disdain on Iezabel’s face and chuckled. “Most of them are new recruits,” he said. “It usually takes at least one battle for them to fall in line.”

She braced herself as Iezabel’s features twisted in outrage. “And your Commander saw it fit to send a pack of unruly misfits to escort Lady Ayana?”