Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7) by Charles E. Yallowitz Read Free Book Online Page A

the thick mist drifting through the air. Reaching out to the forest, Trinity yanks her hand back when a chill runs up her arm and along her spine. Her sight becomes hazy and distorted for a few seconds, recovering only when she drops her spell and rubs her eyes.
    The enhancer gems in her palms and forehead burst to life when the chaos elf focuses her aura on the spaces between the tendrils of mist. It takes her some time to locate the curse, which rides the quick and gentle breeze that weaves through the trees. Extending her aura, Trinity snares the powerful spell, intending to inject it with enough magic to double its potency. She is surprised when it bucks and becomes violent, the struggle making her lurch forward. The invisible tether appears as a rainbow rope and she coils it around her arms to gain some control, but it only makes her helpless when the curse pulls harder. With an echoing crack, Trinity strikes a tree and the snare snaps, allowing the panicked spell to escape into the thickening mist.
    “My father never remembers how tricky this curse is,” Stephen says, appearing next to the caster as she stands. He snaps his fingers and the bleeding gash on her forehead vanishes. “I find it disheartening that he barks orders and never pays attention to how things have changed over the centuries. The old man is showing his age through ignorance and anachronism.”
    “Are you here to help or make my life more difficult?” Trinity asks while she searches for the curse again. This time she is unable to pinpoint its location, driving herself into frustration and a pounding headache. “Damn sentient curses are a pain to alter. One needs the magical reflexes of a god to catch this one.”
    “Or be a Chronos,” her companion points out, clapping hands. The sentient curse appears on his arm, taking the form of a serpent made of mist. “Then again, there’s no point in doing what my father asked. The champions will enter the forest in the morning. The gods have already prepared the same tricks they always do at this stage, but they don’t think we’ll get involved this time. Let this little one enjoy what little time she has left.”
    He flicks the curse back into the misty forest and watches it dart away. For the first time, Stephen notices the puddles of melted ghouls around him. One of the bubbling pools has flowed to the heel of his black boot, leaving an ugly mark on the expensive leather. With a disgusted scowl, he wipes the damage away and the foul-smelling ichor sinks into the ground when he lowers his foot. The smell of rotting plants fills the air as the grass dies and the nearest tree turns black.
    “You realize this is now a sign that we’ve been here,” Trinity angrily says, setting the tree on fire and blowing the ashes away with a wind spell. “Why do you always make things harder than they have to be? Go back to Bor’daruk and leave this to me.”
    “I’m sorry, but this is where I need to be, your highness,” the black-haired man replies with a lick of his lips. Something about the common gesture is different, making Trinity wonder what is on her companion’s sadistic mind. “It’s a tradition that I be here when the sixth champion wakes up. I always enjoy the look on her face when she realizes she has to go through the same hoops again only to end up back here. It gets more delicious every time.”
    “Why not kill her like the others?”
    Stephen flashes an evil grin that chills the chaos elf to the bone. “That wouldn’t be fun. This champion is special and has been prized by Gabriel and my father for centuries. Both of them went too far with her creation.”
    “I still don’t follow.”
    A faint voice emerges from the forest and the nearby trees twist, their bark snapping from the unnatural motion. Trinity cannot make out the words, but a wave of sorrow and loneliness washes over her. All desire to cast a defense spell is drained from her mind and she falls to her knees. Her body