Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 162269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
And in no time, the gods shined fortune on him for he saw a rise, a tall mound that he hoped he could ride behind with enough time to gather a magical cloak to shield him.
He called upon his power, feeling it sing through him, gather in his balls, and oh…there it was. Unused for so long, it was mighty.
For the first time in a very long time, Jellan smiled.
Then he rode behind the mound and put his hand to his face, his fingers extended, before he drew it over his head, through his hair, to the back of his neck.
And he and his steed were hidden.
He rounded his horse, pulled it to a stop so the beating hooves of an apparently invisible animal would not sound in the dead leaves, or be seen thrashing them, and he threw his hand up, out and over himself, magically muting the noises of his and his mount’s labored breathing.
Jellan then watched as the highwayman chasing him rounded the mound, rode the length of it and beyond, disappearing into the night.
He held steady and did not move.
He gave it time, listening to the faraway shouts of men, Marian’s repeated screeching of Daemon’s name, feeling morose that the fantasy of those highwaymen would be no more.
He then heard his name being called by both Marian and Daemon.
Gods.
It was done.
These calls echoed into the night and got farther and farther away until he could hear them no more.
Eventually, the one who gave chase after him rode back and Jellan had to fight calling out to warn him not to find Marian and her creature.
But in order to look after himself, something he was adept at doing, he won that fight, sat astride his horse and waited.
He was not wrong to wait.
For Jellan heard Marian and Daemon come back, still calling for him, and he held his breath, and his magical cloak, as they entered the forest.
Marian had magic and Daemon was…whatever Daemon was.
They might sense him. Even though he was concealing his magic as well, they might sense his power and that he was using it.
Not only sense him and find him.
But also realize he had tried to escape.
He held his breath as they came into view around the end of the mound and Jellan sat very still atop his horse. As such, he prayed to every god he knew that he would remain undiscovered.
“Where the fuck is that arsehole?” Marian groused as their horse picked its way through the trees not thirty feet away from him.
“Can you not use your magic to track him?” Daemon asked.
“It doesn’t work like that,” Marian snapped.
It absolutely did.
Or it could, if you knew how to do it.
Jellan stared as they wandered, looking this way and that.
She did not only not know how to read the veil.
She did not have a very good understanding of her power.
By the gods, he wished he’d known that before.
But in the now, he relaxed, kept himself cloaked and felt the sneer hit his lips as they rode past him.
His sneer faltered when he saw, to his astonishment, that it appeared Daemon had cuts that were bleeding through his shirt at his forearms and one along his neck.
Marian had none.
The lash of a highwayman.
Ever the chevalier, he would never strike out at a woman.
However, he would a man.
But…
Daemon let it get to that?
And…
Daemon bled?
He turned in his saddle to watch them ramble away, but that was all he did, and he remained where his was, how he was, for a good long time.
After that, he closed his eyes, cast his senses, and when he did not feel them near his vicinity, he cast his senses to something else.
Remaining masked, he clicked his teeth, touched his heels to his now-beloved steed, for the animal had served him well, and started to amble through the forest, following where his perceptions told him to go.
And he was surprised it did not lead him back to the road where they were confronted.
It led him deep into the forest.
It was a long ride, in the opposite direction he should be taking, but he eventually saw the merrily roaring campfire.
He cautiously approached it.
And to his shock, not only did it appear the highwaymen had rather a lovely bohemian outdoor abode tucked in a curvature of black stone amongst the forest. It included many thick rugs upon the ground, rich hides, tasseled, rolled pillows, sturdy awnings hung to hold back the elements, some low tables, logs that had been dragged in to serve as back rests or shields from the wind, and lanterns and candles scattered about to give it a cozy feeling.
They also had wenches who looked like a cross between a Zee and a doxy. These women wore low-cut, striped blouses under stiff Airenzian corsets that stretched along their midriffs and came to a point in the middle, beneath their breasts. With these they had skirts with deep ruffles at the edges, a few of them that included lace. The skirts fell to their heels at the back but were cut so high at the front, they just covered the pubis. Thus, legs were exposed with lace-topped stockings encasing upper thighs and boots that rode up to just under their knees.