- Shopping Bag ( 0 items )
The coachman shivered as he urged his horses faster through the darkest part of the forest. Feeble moonlight trickled through the night-blackened leaves overhead. It fell in small, silver pools here and there, barely large enough to illuminate the deeply rutted road that led to Lord Rodan's estate.
Some unseen creature howled. It was a lonely sound, full of longing. In response, the coachman's young heart began to thud in a rhythm more frantic than that of the dozen hooves of his team. Did the sound originate from some distant glen? Or might it have been a trick of the wicked thing that rode beneath him in the coach?
Those who had captured her had assured him that she could not break the chains that bound the carriage doors. They swore she was weak from days spent in their darkest dungeon, unable to renew her power. Nevertheless, he feared her.
He was certain he could feel her wrath. It was directed at him and every living thing in the Southern Kingdom. He was terrified that she would find a way to escape before he delivered her to her new master.
He urged the horses faster yet and clutched the talisman that the men of Galadrin had given him for protection. It was only a little farther to the castle. He could make it before moonset if he kept the pace.