Vesper, Third Day Before Kalends of May

Cyrill Forest, Near the Border of Paxen, Cyrill

It was Logan Floyd’s first time in Cyrill Forest. In all his years in Cyrill he had only been in Wilton, the state furthest from the Forest. All he knew about Cyrill Forest were rumours, of which there was a great lot, and the texts in the library of Fowther Castle. Cyrill Forest was, according to these sources, a forest cursed with creatures that were half-man and half-beast. Citizens of Cyrill were forbidden from entering the Forest at night, and could only enter the sparse areas of the Forest during the day for authorised purposes only. And now Logan had just passed from the last of the sparse areas and was entering the first of the dense areas.

It was darker than Logan had expected. The trees, which seemed to have lives of their own, twisted, turned, and sprouted branches and leaves to obscure the last of the sunlight. Logan found himself having to use Connexion to Sense his way through the Forest.

So why was Logan here? He was running. He was running from Hazel. He was running from the Anselm boy. He was running from the massacre in Greghorn Castle. He was running from himself.

He thought that the best fate for someone like him would be to die in some dark corner of Cyrill Forest. At least then he would save anyone else from meeting the fate that befell on the inhabitants of Greghorn Castle.

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Logan was tired. He had entered Cyrill on horseback. The horse, which Hazel had given him, had collapsed from exhaustion soon after he had crossed the border. He had run the rest of the way. He had not eaten for a long time, but he did not wish to stop. If he stopped, the horrors of his massacres would assault him again.

But soon Logan’s Connexion faltered for a moment and he tripped on a tree root. He fell face-first, but then found that he did not have the strength to get back to his feet. His exhaustion carried his crushed Mind gently into sleep.

In his dream, he was killing. He was killing without thought, as he always did. He killed without knowing who he was killing. There was no resistance. Only the rhythm of his blade.

But then he turned and his fauchard impaled a woman. It was Hazel. She looked at him with wide eyes.

Logan screamed as he awoke.

“No,” he said, scrambling to his feet and covering his face with his hands. “No, no, no.”

Then he heard a rustle behind him, too close for comfort. Steadying his breath, Logan Sensed the Bodies around him.

“Oh,” he said.

He could Sense six Bodies, all towering at least three heads above him. What was most horrifying, however, was that they were not human Bodies. They were spiders. Large, monstrous spiders. So the legends were true.

Logan drew his fauchard. As his fauchard began crackling with lightning, he could now see in the faint light the monsters surrounding him. Black, furry spiders, each with eight small, wet eyes.

“Go on,” roared Logan. “Kill me!”

The monsters lunged at him, all at once.