SECOND BOOK OF THE CHRONICLES OF FANTASILIA SERIES
𝘈𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘦. 𝘈 𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘛𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘴. 𝘈 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘫𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧.
Xanthiene Vivenca, af...
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Xanthy squirmed in her bonds, the cords biting her skin and leaving it stinging. Damn, those spirits did their job and did it well. Her stomach still churned at what happened with Kymalin. The image of the knife burying itself on her thigh, the blood and pain that came with it, and the banshee's manic grin still burned in Xanthy's mind and sent panic to her throat.
Kymalin Iaro. She didn't deserve to be saved.
Silence bled around the tent as Xanthy gritted her teeth and tugged at her bonds. No use. She's stuck. Xanthy gazed at the tent flap, the outside world mocking her just by existing a few paces away from her. How many hours has it been? How many hours were left before the Necrom overwhelmed the Temple of Souls? How many were left before it would be too late for the brownies?
She needed to get out of here. Find Cyrdel and Ravalee. Find the thief. Get back to the Temple. Defeat Kymalin. Release the shadows. Live happily ever after.
It's that simple.
It sure as hell wasn't easy to do.
Xanthy craned her neck at the tent flap once again. It didn't appear that Kymalin left someone at camp due to the silence around her. There were no crunching leaves and only the wind's whispers made the trees' canopies rustle and the cloth in Xanthy's tent flap. Xanthy looked around for the nth time and like all the other times she did, she concluded that there was nothing that could help her cut those bonds. No knife. No sharp things.
Only magic.
The reckless side of Xanthy's brain took over. Who cares if she used her magic here and get sniffed? She's already doomed. At least, she would get to fight better when she's not tied to a pole. Screw being detected by her captors. Let them come.
In about five seconds and a spark spell later, the cords were mere ashes by Xanthy's feet and she was pushing the tent flap open. More silence and stillness greeted her as soon as she stepped out of the tent and into the camp.
The forest was thick in this part of Joperos Lin which means this was farther than the lip of the city that hosted more concrete buildings. Xanthy stalked around the mess of more cloth tents pitched against the moist forest floor, keeping her magic hovering at the surface, ready to be cast.
The camp was deserted, judging from the mess of upturned tables, discarded mugs of ale, and even a sheathed sword lying forgotten on the grass. Xanthy spied wooden crates with half-eaten pies and eggs with light green shells. Her stomach growled. She cursed. This was no time to think of food.
There were at least twenty tents similar to the one Xanthy left pitched in this particular camp. The smell of stale wine, spoiled food, and burning wood filled what's supposed to be fresh forest air. A gust of wind drove Xanthy's hair away from her forehead. The grass blades followed its direction.
Xanthy narrowed her eyes at the tents. Cyrdel and Ravalee have to be in one of those. If they're captured, that was.
A twig snapped. A presence slipped at her back, judging from the unnatural whish of wind behind her. Xanthy whirled, her fist already in action. Her hand sailed through empty air. There's...nothing. Xanthy knitted her eyebrows.
