He was not that far from his companions. They were nearby. Surely there was nothing wrong in seeking water. He continued his pace, glancing cautiously as he went. There were no signs of animal life as he went.

How strange. This deep into the canyon, there should be many.

The rush of the waterfall beckoned from ahead. The water would be so cool and refreshing. It would taste so much better than the leathery flavor he was used to. The thought of it made his mouth water. He was tired and weary. Soaking his feet in the pool would be a relief.

As he advanced, the trees began shimmering in the mist. Even the sunlight was masked by the mist. There were no shadows.

Annon stopped short, hesitating. He yearned for the rush of water, to taste it and enjoy it. Why stop when he was so near? Would he return empty-handed to the others? Was he afraid of something?

Fear.

Annon felt its presence trickle down his back. He was afraid. His palms were sweaty and not from the arduous hike down into the canyon. A tremor went through his stomach, leaving a salty taste in his mouth. A shiver.

Fear.

It was foolish and irrational to fear a waterfall. Why hesitate? It would only be a moment and the flasks would be full. Then he would return to his companions and laugh at himself for being such a fool.

For being such a fool.

Annon swallowed. Why had he not sensed the presence of any spirits since arriving in the belly of the canyon? Always before, if there was danger, they warned a Druidecht of it. He alone could hear their thoughts. And he realized that he was hearing the thoughts of a spirit. Not the frantic whispers of a tree spirit or a thrush spirit. He was hearing the luring thoughts of something even more deadly and powerful.

It was the Fear Liath itself.

It recognized his change in attitude. His wavering indecision. A wave of dread struck him like a hammer to a post, driving his feet into the ground so that he could not move. It was paralyzing fear, wave after wave of dread and anguish. He could not move, only stare at the mesmerizing mists. That was its lair, of course.

Was it not a principle for hunters to watch places frequented by their prey? Treasure hunters seeking Drosta’s lair were probably more frequent than rare. They were the Fear Liath’s prey.

Annon tried to run, but he could not move. His mind clouded with terror. The Fear Liath was hidden within the falls. It was coming for him. It would kill him.

No!

He screamed the thought at it, trying to master himself. It was an emotion. There was nothing holding him back. He could move his limbs. He could breathe. He could run.

With that decision, his legs were unlocked.

Annon turned and ran, charging through the trees and away from the misty shroud that was thickening around him. He bounded over rocks, dodged past trees, and nearly wept with shame as he scrambled away from the deadly trap.

He launched himself over a rounded boulder and a creature scuttled from beneath him, a mass of thick dark fur. His heart went through spasms of terror and he darted away from it. A bear cub? A bear? It was large. He streaked away down the hill, gasping for breath, and saw a giant sloping boulder in front of him, one that tapered to a point at least a span high.

Unable to stop himself, he ran up the sloping edge until he reached the top. He gasped and panted, sweat blinding his eyes. It was behind him, in the mist. But somehow, it was not able to follow him that far. The mist crept down the hillside, slow as death. He could feel the presence of the Fear Liath, looming and angry at its escaped prey.

Annon shuddered, swallowing despite the parchment-like feel of his throat. He breathed in deep gulps, staring at the creeping mist. Slowly, slowly it descended. He licked his lips, staring at the unseen enemy, grateful he had managed to escape in time and horrified at how easily it had lured him away from the group.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, hunched over the peak of the rock, ready to leap down the other side if he saw anything move in the mist. He blinked once and saw a lone gray wolf, paused at the edge of the mist. The creature was staring at him, eyes silver.

He stared back at it, still drawing in each breath with relish. He recognized the spirit being.

The Wolviren padded away from the mist, weaving through the trees until it was gone.

Annon slowly detached himself from the shelter of the boulder. They did not have much time to find Drosta’s lair and escape again. But he had a feeling it was very near. The Fear Liath’s presence near it was no accident. His imagination could not fathom what type of treasure his uncle knew to be hidden there. What sort of power did it possess and why had it been hidden away for so long?

“Each race and kingdom has certain specialties. Those from Stonehollow have earned their wealth carving living rock. When you venture into their lands, you are amazed at the enormous evidences of stone carving all around. The hills are littered with giant boulders and dark evergreen trees. Some families of Stonehollow helped lay the foundation stones for the first castles of Wayland. Building the island city of Kenatos was one of their shorter projects.”

Tags: Jeff Wheeler Whispers from Mirrowen Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net