Fireblood (Whispers from Mirrowen #1)

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.”


– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos





Paedrin watched Annon emerge from the woods, ashen-faced and quivering. That he had seen something startling was no mistake. He looked rigid with fear.

“What is it?” Paedrin asked.

Hettie turned sharply, seeing her brother for the first time. “Annon?”

The Druidecht’s voice was thick. “I nearly died.” He gestured back toward the waterfall. “There is a creature hidden in the mist of the falls. This is its lair. We are in danger.”

Erasmus’s face scrunched, and he began flickering his fingers, counting.

“What was it?” Hettie asked, approaching Annon and putting her hand on his arm to steady him.

Paedrin was a little surprised at the show of tenderness. He squeezed the shaft of his staff, peering into the woods, alert now for danger. His ears reached out, listening for the sound of the creature.

“The spirits in the Alkire call it a Fear Liath. There are few spirits in this area. They are terrified of it. It moves at night.”

Erasmus scratched his cheek. “In that case, we should not linger here. Better to get in and out of Drosta’s lair before the sun sets. You said that your uncle gave you a key to enter?”

“Yes,” Annon replied.

“Then we had better hope it still works. This way.”

Erasmus took them down a scrabbling trail at the base of the ravine, one that meandered back and forth, with heavy, stunted trees clawing at their faces and arms as they walked. After passing a dense tangle, they arrived at Drosta’s lair.

It did not require the Preachán’s eyes to spot the place.