FOURTH BOOK OF THE CHRONICLES OF FANTASILIA SERIES
𝘈 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭. 𝘈 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘈 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵. 𝘈 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦.
Xanthiene Vivenca, a fairy with a bounty for her soul, is caught between...
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Nobody told Xanthy that Mora was a fortress.
The sirtya dropped them into a road curving from the forest filled with trees (again). Xanthy craned her neck to make out a steep incline that led to a single, walled fortress in the far horizon. Who lived there? The King?
The wind shifted and a thunder of rustling leaves resounded through the forest. Wood creaked. Xanthy looked up to see houses propped against thick branches. Wouldn't those fall down and crush innocent passers-by and kill the fairy living inside? Why would varichriais even build houses on trees?
Xanthy leveled her gaze at the expanse of forest around them. Would they get mauled by beasts here? What about that fortress?
She turned to Cirasa. "So, fortress or forest?"
Cirasa shifted his weight from foot to foot. "If this forest we're in is the Forest of Beasts, we couldn't risk it," he scratched the side of his face. "It's called that for a reason."
An image of a rampaging graspel inched into Xanthy's memory. Okay. She got the message. She turned back to the walled structure up the mountain. Fortress, it was.
Cirasa pushed past her and began walking down the path that would take them to the fortress. Yeah, he did bring them here using the sirtya. Perhaps, he's been here before so whoever lived behind those walls would welcome them with open arms.
The midday sun shone over them through the gaps in the trees' canopies. Cirasa slapped branches out of the way while Xanthy was doing the same behind him. Cursed forests and mountains. Why couldn't they just use the sirtya to get there?
Cirasa raised an eyebrow when Xanthy blurted that sentiment aloud. "That's an armed fortress and the Narfalk army base," he jerked his thumb at the walls. "You don't want to flash undetected magic in their faces. We'd be fried even before the sirtya spit us out."
Oh.
So, they walked. All around Xanthy, stringent cries of animals unheard of rang in the air. Shadows and scuffles whizzed by Xanthy's periphery. Her hand wrapped around the hilt of her stolen dwarven sword as her knees folded into a guarded stance. Cirasa continued hitting protruding branches and swiping at strange bugs with colorful bodies and transparent wings from landing on his face.
The road curved upwards, making it harder to climb with each step. By the time they reached the apex of the trail, sweat poured off Xanthy's back. She braced her knees and huffed. Oh, they should have just used the sirtya. This was horrible.
Cirasa wiped his sleeve over his forehead. See? He's sweaty, too. Xanthy blew a breath and craned her neck at the walls that greeted them at the end of the trail. Just like the Palace of Cardina, this fortress was all cold stones and tall spires. Crossbows peeked from the crenelations craved at the walls' rim like little teeth. The arrows nocked in them were at least as long as Xanthy's entire form.
