A Tale of Could-be Heroes Book 1: Hero, Dragon, Elf

What Lurks Beneath the Lunar Veil: part 2

The moment Loche's arrow left the string, the Wisp Mother let out a piercing wail that reverberated through the cold night air. It was a sound that made Aeyrie's very bones ache, the kind of sound that carried ancient sorrow and malice in equal measure. As the ghostly wail subsided, four translucent shades emerged from the Wisp Mother's form, their features an eerie mimicry of their progenitor. Each shade was as pale and spectral as the original, their hollow eyes glowing with cold malice as they floated forward to attack.

The horses, already distressed, reared and whinnied in fear. Sterling let out a defiant snort, his hooves stomping against the frozen ground, but even he gave in to instinct as Aeyrie's command reached his ears. The four steeds galloped away, their hooves thundering through the snow toward the frozen pond. Aeyrie muttered a hurried prayer under her breath, her lips trembling from both the chill and the fear that gripped her heart.

"Akatosh, watch over them," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "And grant us the strength to survive this night."

There was no time to dwell on the horses' safety. The shades were upon them. One lunged at Loche, its clawed hands glowing with frost magic. He sidestepped just in time, his boots skidding slightly on the icy ground as he nocked another arrow. With a practiced fluidity, he loosed the arrow, striking the shade in its chest. The arrow seemed to pass through it harmlessly, but the creature wavered for a moment, its form flickering like a flame caught in the wind.

"They're not solid!" Loche called out, his voice tinged with frustration. "Steel alone won't do it!"

"Then we'll burn them!" Jenassa snarled, her red eyes glinting in the moonlight. She flipped a vial of oil into her hand, dousing her daggers before igniting them with a flint strike. The flames roared to life, their orange glow a stark contrast to the cold blue light of the Wisp Mother and her shades.

Uthgerd, ever the fearless warrior, charged one of the shades head-on, her greatsword cleaving through its ephemeral form. The shade let out a distorted shriek, recoiling as if wounded, but it did not fall. "They don't bleed, but they still feel the blade!" Uthgerd roared, planting her feet firmly and preparing for another swing.

Aeyrie focused on the Wisp Mother herself, the spectral figure hovering just out of reach. Her sword gleamed in the light of the moons as she tightened her grip, muttering a spell under her breath. The faint golden glow of magicka began to spread along the blade's edge as she infused it with a blessing she had learned from the priest of Arkay—a blessing from Arkay, the divine of life and death.

"You've haunted these woods long enough," Aeyrie said, her voice steady despite the chill in her chest. "You'll find no solace here, spirit."

The Wisp Mother tilted her head, her expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something—was it curiosity? Or perhaps mockery?—in her hollow gaze. She raised one hand, her long, claw-like fingers curling as an orb of frost formed in her palm. With a flick of her wrist, she hurled it at Aeyrie. The frost spell crackled through the air, its icy tendrils reaching out hungrily, but Aeyrie ducked and rolled, the spell striking a tree behind her and encasing it in a thick layer of ice.

"Watch her spells!" Aeyrie warned, rising to her feet. "They'll freeze you where you stand!"

Aeyrie felt the cold bite of the Wisp Mother's claws scrape against her blade, the clash reverberating up her arm. Frost seeped into the steel, numbing her grip, but she held firm. Her breathing was ragged, her blood dripping from the wound on her free arm, but her resolve was unshaken. She locked eyes with the Wisp Mother, whose hollow gaze seemed to shimmer with something beyond malice—an ancient sorrow, unfathomable and endless.

"Aeyrie, fall back!" Loche shouted again, his voice thick with panic as he saw her pressing forward alone. The shade she had driven back was already reforming, its ethereal body flickering with renewed strength.