Crimson blood soaked through the thin strips of cloth Adams had ripped from his shirt to bind the Duke's wound. Blood was crusted down the arm and neck of the Duke's white shirt. His hair was plastered to his head, soaked in sweat that still beaded on his forehead.

Adams had been careful not to tie the makeshift bandages of cloth too tight, but he also did not want them to be too loose. If he was honest, he had no idea what he was doing. Unsatisfied with his original job of binding the wound, he ended up using a few long strips of cloth from the Duke's cloak. He had used them to wrap under Peterson's arm and up to his neck. At least the blood flow had slowed down and the Duke was no longer bleeding out.

Adams glanced wearily over his shoulder at Duke Peterson. The Duke's face was pale and his eyes were still shut. Aside from the occasional muffled groans and the sweat soaking the man's body, Duke Peterson looked more like the dead than the living.

The thick dark forest was quiet around them. Only the occasional sound of crickets singing in the darkness could be heard in the night. It was a welcome change from the screams and sounds of clashing swords that had filled his head earlier.

His horse, a small dapple grey mare he had found still tied in Arden's stables, seemed relaxed as it came to a walk. The ride along the well-worn wagon trail was easy. It was the dark forest on either side of them that made Adams nervous.

Adams leaned back, his face bared to the sky as soft cold snowflakes fell down onto his cheeks. He closed his eyes, saying a quick thanks to whatever god or even the Fates for looking over him. He had never been the religious sort, not like his mother had been. Yet he still wore the small golden pendant of the great mother around his neck. His mother had given it to him as a boy and instructed him to never take it off. He had obeyed.

His mother had told him so many things about the magical world and the Etherie people. Legends and stories he wished he had listened to and remembered.

Adams lifted the necklace to his lips and kissed it. He did not believe it was the necklace that had protected him, but the soul of his mother watching over him.

Unlike the others, he had been stuck on kitchen duty. He was cleaning the night's dishes with a few other boys while most of the other guards had been drinking in the barracks, or already asleep. It was a few hours till midnight when the bells began to ring. He knew it had not been simple luck that he had escaped the night's slaughter.

It was the voice, the same voice he had heard all those years ago, that led him to safety.

While the other boys hid in the kitchens. The voice whispered to him.

Run. And Adams obeyed.

He ran and did not stop until he was past the stables and at the pile of garbage that collected behind the barn. Adams had flattened himself against the side of the wooden building. Trying not to breathe too loudly as monsters hunted the grounds for any human or even Etherie prey.

It was almost an hour later that the voice let him into the stables where a single grey mare was still locked in her stall. Adams had not questioned the voice once, he had simply obeyed it.

He had once believed the gates of Arden were indestructible. Adams heard the explosion and saw the aftermath of the attack, but he could still not believe that it had all really happened. The iron gates looked as if they had been cleaved in two from the top down. That was nothing compared to what lay just inside of those gates. In bloody piles, half-covered in snow, were the bodies of so many guards, both from the prison and the Prince's own personal guard. A few dead Etherie also lay abandoned in the snow. It looked like the gates of hell, with the blood-stained snow and twisted iron gates.

It had been in one of those piles of snow that he saw the body of the Duke, half dead and covered in his own blood. An iron arrow lay just a few feet from his body.

Save him. The voice had said. Adams did not need the instruction to know he could not leave the Duke there to die.

It took him several minutes to carefully lift the Duke onto the back of the dapple grey horse. It was just past midnight when he finally set out on the familiar path to the next Kilian outpost.

Several times since he joined the prison guard, he had ridden back and forth to the outpost on the back of a supply wagon. It was little more than a few hours' ride away. Now that it was almost sunrise, he knew he should be getting close.

As the faint glow of the morning sun barely broke through the darkness of night, Adams found himself scanning the trees. He had been on full alert, looking for any sign of attack, but so far, he had been lucky. Especially with the bleeding Duke on the back of his horse.

Run. The voice said.

Before Adams could question it. Three ear-piercing screams cut through the night air like knives. The small grey horse Adams had stolen came to a halt. His luck had finally run out.

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Go!

The horse's ears pressed back against its head as it paced in place. Its eyes were wide as it wildly looked from side to side. The screams echoed around them like they were coming from every direction. Adams' skin goosed, he had heard screams like that before. In the darkest parts of the prisons where creatures, worse than the Etherie, were kept. Hollows.

Go! The voice said even louder this time. Finally, Adams obeyed.

Adams pressed into his horse digging his heels into its sides. The beast hesitated but gave in, taking off into a full run. He cursed under his breath as the screams of the monsters grew more unified, coming from only one direction. Directly behind him. They were tracking him.

Adams leaned into the horse rubbing its neck to comfort the animal as they raced through the trees. His only hope was that the outpost ahead had not fallen to the Etherie as the prison had.

Biting cold wind and stray tree branches stung Adams' face as his horse raced through the forest. The trees flew by in a blur as they weaved in between them. The red dirt looked like blood peeking through the snow in the moonlight. The memory of the blood-soaked courtyard flashed through Adams' mind. The lifeless faces of his fallen countrymen stared up at him.

Adams squeezed his eyes shut to keep the tears from falling down his face. He shook the thought from his mind, focusing on the path ahead. The screams of the hollows behind him made him only want to go faster.

He refused to look back at them. The hollows were the worst of the monsters that had been held in Arden. He was surprised the Etherie had let them out. The hollows were considered monsters even to the witches and wraiths.

When Adams was a child, he remembered his mother telling him stories of the brave Etherie warriors who would hunt the monsters of the forest down and kill them. They protected those that could not protect themselves.

A bitter taste filled Adams mouth at that memory. His mother had always believed the Etherie to be good people. Where were those immortal warriors when his village was attacked by the very monsters the Etherie swore to protect them from? The Etherie had abandoned them. The soldiers of Kilian had not.

Out of the corner of his eye, Adams caught the shadowy movement of a hollow gaining to his right. His horse weaved out of the way taking off towards the left, but not before Adams caught the glowing red eyes of the monster staring into his soul.

Its eyes were sunken back into its bone-white face. Its wraith-like body was taller than a fae but much smaller than a giant. Its body looked as if it was made of little more than muscle stretched over bones. Rotting flesh covered the exposed muscles — flesh that did not belong to it. Its long teeth snapped at him, each one coming to a sharp point. They were stained black and yellow.

Adams' horse navigated them just out of reach of the monster. The smell of death hung heavy in the air around them as they rode. He knew that smell well, it filled the lowest level of the prison, choking out any breathable air. It was the smell of rot and decay.

Adams leaned into the horse's neck. He could feel the animal's heavy breaths coming faster and harder as it pushed. The horse wanted to get away from the monsters as much as he did. Adams ignored the ear-splitting screams coming from behind him as he ran his hand down the horse's mane. He was trying to comfort the animal and coax it to run faster through the night, towards the outpost. Adams was running out of time and so was the Duke.

The forest before him opened up revealing the outpost jutting up out of the surrounding trees and hills just ahead. Adams nearly cried out with joy at the sight of the white-washed brick walls and tall iron gate that was wide open. Adams looked back at Duke Peterson. He wanted to tell him they had made it, but the man was out cold. He could not tell if he was alive or dead. He did not want to know at that moment. He just wanted to get them out of there and into the outpost.

The iron gates groaned loudly as Adams drew closer. He could hear the gears shifting as the doors slowly began to close.

"No," Adams breathed — the word half caught in his throat.

Faster! The voice cried out.

The screech of the monsters behind him a second later told him why the gates were closing. The monsters were not stopping at the tree line. They were still following him. Adams glanced behind him and immediately regretted it. Running faster than should be possible for any creature, three hollows emerged from the forest. Pieces of rotting flesh lay in ribbons on their bodies like tattered clothing.

Pain sliced through his body as the claws of one of the hollows raked down his arm. Adams could have sworn a burst of energy pulsed out of him in response, throwing the monster off of him. He did not have time to think about it.

Adams focused on the gates in front of him. His heart thrummed in his chest as he neared the narrow entrance left in the gates. Adams closed his eyes as he burst through the narrow gap and into the safety of the outpost. The large iron gates slammed closed behind him with a sickening crunch.

Adams whirled to see what had happened. His head spinning as he did. The throbbing pain in his shoulder and back was like a hot heartbeat on his skin.

There, stuck in the seam of the iron gate, was a hollow. The creature was still snarling and snapping at them. Its body was blistering where the iron of the gates touched it.

Soldiers shouted orders scrambling to kill the monster. Adams did not hesitate. Grabbing the sword strapped to the saddle, he walked up to the monster. Despite being almost cut in half and burned by the iron in the gate, the monster was screaming and snarling. It was fighting to get to them — to kill them.

Adams raised the sword over his head and cut off the monster's head. The hollow shrieked in pain but was still not dead. Legend said if left like this, a hollow could still stitch itself back together. Adams wondered if the monsters were truly undead as the stories claimed. Were they really men cursed by witches long ago?

Burn it. The voice in his head urged him.

Burn it now!

Adams glanced around, finding a torch hanging from the wall just by the gate. He grabbed it, turning back towards the monster. A thick black liquid oozed from the creature's mouth as it shrieked loudly.

No one tried to stop him as he touched the torch to the hollow's decapitated head. Adams turned to the body, still stuck in the gate, and burned that too.

"Good thinking," a guard said patting Adams on the back. Adams turned and nodded to the man who was smiling broadly at him. Adams could not watch the monster as it thrashed in the fire before it finally went still.

In the shadows, a figure was watching him. Adams could not believe his eyes as the man stepped out of the shadows and into the golden light of the rising sun. Standing in the light of the courtyard before him was Prince Thidal Balric himself. The Prince nodded to him in respect, a broad smile plastered across his too-perfect face.

Danger. The voice said as Adams collapsed to the ground. His back and shoulder were covered in his own blood.