1 | Running from Fire

  Max lunged through the thick underbrush of the forest canopy. Branches lashed his face, but he did not dare stop. His breaths came in ragged pants; his thighs burned. Despite the dark of the night, flame and blood clouded his mind as only one thought drove his flight. I have to get away, as far as I can. Tears formed in his eyes as visions of the fire took over his mind—the smell of his mother's quilts burning in the unnatural inferno, and the shed he had helped his father build when he was just fifteen, now ash and rubble. Worst of all was Gerald.

  The thought of the old man standing in the inferno, sacrificing himself for Max, nearly brought him to his knees. He wanted to weep; he wanted to vomit. Both would have gotten him killed. Max knew he had to keep running. So blindly he went, fumbling through the night.

  He was still stumbling through the dark forest when he collided with another. Tumbling and cursing, the two rolled through the damp dirt as a light rain started falling from the canopy. Max shook his head clear. The woman sat up first, angrily brushing dirt from her dark-stained hunting leathers. Her eyes shot up to Max—those angry, calculating hazel eyes.

  “Watch where you're going,” she hissed. “I will not be found out because of a scared little rabbit chasing me through the woods.”

  “Wha—what?” Max exclaimed in disbelief. He shot up to his feet, glaring down at her. “This is your fault! You led them to my home!”

  “That’s not my problem,” she said, rising to meet him. “Besides, I didn’t even know anyone was living there, I didn’t pick up any auras in the area.”

  He took a stuttering deep breath. Focus, one thing at a time. He scanned the forest where they stood in vain. At this time of night, this deep in the woods, everything looked the same. He stared into the wall of shadow, just waiting for something evil to lunge forth.

  A faint blue light caught his attention; it was coming from the woman. She stood in the dark of the forest, her eyes closed. Blue light peeked under her eyelids as she chanted something inaudible. Witch. Or so he assumed; she hadn't exactly announced her kinship when she arrived on his farm. But he had heard stories from the veterans in town—stories of those with the glowing blue eyes: witches. The woman's face contorted, and she balled her hands into fists. Then the light died, and she opened her eyes.

  “Damn, nothing,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “I don’t understand why I can't see anything.”

  “What are—” Max started before a loud snap! rang through the forest. The witch grabbed his hand and pulled him to the ground. She nearly lay on top of him as she forced a firm hand onto his chest, preventing him from sitting up. Not that Max needed the encouragement to stay quiet.

  Max could smell the fresh pine and soil as he pressed his face into the dirt, listening intently. A skilled hunter stepped cautiously through the thicket. However, Max’s instincts told him they were an outsider, a stranger to these woods. The thwack of a sapling snapping back into place; the muffled grunt as the hunter slipped on a hidden root. His stomach turned; it was like a stranger sneaking through your home.

  “See anything?” a voice shouted from further away. Max’s stomach stopped turning and instead dropped like lead. It was the same voice he had heard at his farm—the same one that shouted “burn it to ash” from his front porch. The voice was slick like oil, full of malice and manipulation. “The rain is starting to pick up, and I don’t want to be ambushed by that traitor.”

  Max looked over at the witch, whose eyes ran deep with hate. He could feel her body tensing as if she were going to spring up and attack at any moment. Max became the one holding her back now as he grabbed her arm and slowly shook his head. She turned her glare to him but remained motionless, the hate in her eyes receding to pain.

  “Nothing here, one moment,” a voice terrifyingly close to them shouted. Max held his breath, daring not to move an inch. After a brief second, a faint blue light once again illuminated the undergrowth—not from the witch lying in the mud next to Max, but from the witch standing only ten feet away. His eyes were open, and Max could see the lightning blue that they had become. They illuminated his half-plate armor, painted black with crimson enamel trim. Luckily for Max and the woman, the light stopped just feet from them.

  Slowly the blue light dimmed, before the man released an invisible pulse through the woods. Max heard only a small pop but felt nothing. The witch lying next to him squirmed as the pulse raced over her, but she held fast to the ground. Max could barely make out the silhouette of the man in the darkness. The man took a half-step forward before exhaling in defeat.

  “I don’t understand, Nyx!” he said, his footsteps pacing back toward the second voice. “I can feel her here in the woods. But it's like she's masked, disappearing as soon as I sense her.”

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  “Well, Miranda has always had... advantages,” the second voice said bitterly. Miranda, so that's your name. “Or it could be the boy; he was rather hard to read. Something the magistrate would love to inspect... Come, let's get back to Magister Havar. Maybe we can use these bounty hunters to flush them out.”

  With that last comment, the two figures walked away. Their footsteps receded into the dark of the night until the forest was silent again, save for the patter of rain. Max slowly exhaled, his lungs burning as they begged for air. They sat still for another five minutes before Miranda began to stir. Slowly she rose, scanning the forest. Max followed suit, pulling mud from his tunic. It was a fruitless gesture, as his clothes were already singed and caked in grit and ash.

  “Okay, I think they are gone,” Miranda said, sounding not so confident in her own assessment.

  “Miranda...” Max said, testing the word. It felt wrong on his tongue. It was too soft, too delicate for a woman with a knife strapped to her thigh. She shot him a sharp look before gesturing away from Denebeam, away from Max’s home.

  “We are going this way.”

  Max didn't move; he looked back over his shoulder toward the smoke rising above the canopy.

  “Oh no, this is where we part ways,” Max said as he turned back to the witch, his voice tight.

  “Excuse me!” Miranda said, a little too loudly for Max’s comfort.

  “You're the target,” Max reasoned, stepping back. “They’re tracking you. If I head north, into the dense timber, I can disappear. Staying with you is a death sentence. I have already lost… too much.”

  “I don’t want some naive farmer fumbling around behind me either,” Miranda said pointedly. “But the truth is, they know your face. They will be hunting you, too. These men aren't just bounty hunters; they are assassins sent for one purpose… And you heard them, they want to 'inspect' you. Whether we like it or not, we have to stick together… or you’ll be dead by sunrise.”

  With that, Miranda turned and marched into the dark. Max was left with little time to make his decision as she melted into the wall of shadow. He didn't like it, but deep down he knew she was right. The witch may have been terrifying, but if she was on his side, even for just the moment, she was his best chance for survival. Damn it! He quickly charged after her, his steps light and his pace even.

  They moved silently through the woods. It took all of Max’s coordination to keep up with the witch as she seemingly melted from one tree to the other. Only his years of growing up in the countryside allowed him to come close to her grace. It wasn't until an hour had passed before the trees thinned abruptly, revealing a small dirt road. Miranda came up short on the side of the path, jerking her gaze back and forth.

  “I don’t see anyone,” she said quietly. Max nodded his assent, his eyes catching on a familiar-looking fallen log. It had two small oaks growing from its rotting trunk. The memory of walking this very road as a child flashed in his mind. We are near Ceric’s homestead. The old farmer had been a staple of Max’s early years, trading often with his parents: their handmade tools and cloth-wear for Max’s dairy and vegetables.

  “This way,” Max said in a hurry and shuffled onto the road, hunching down in an attempt to obscure himself from sight.

  “Wait!” Miranda called, quickly following. “Where are you going? There could be more assassins on the road.”

  Max ignored her and pushed forward, only slowing down whenever he neared a corner in the road. After another ten minutes of silently moving down the path, Max could just see the lantern light from the farmer's front porch. A burst of warm nostalgia washed over him before a cold, firm hand halted his movement.

  “Hold on!” Miranda said, her eyes wide with anxiety.

  “It's fine, he's an old family friend,” Max reassured her, the cold of the rain starting to leech his body's warmth. “He’ll have supplies: dry cloaks, a blanket, anything.”

  “I don’t like it,” she said, not taking her eyes off the lantern’s glow. “What if he betrays us.”

  “We are freezing, Miranda, and it's only going to get colder,” Max said, already moving forward. Miranda didn’t protest further, but her steps were hesitant. Max crept along the edge of the road, taking extra caution so as not to slip down the steep ditch that led into the weather runoff. As they neared the porch, lit well by an oil lantern, they heard voices coming from within the house. Who could that be? Max couldn’t make out what they were saying. He inched closer, turning his head to hear more, when his breath caught in his throat.

  Lying on the porch like a pile of old rope was a dog. Max froze as he watched the hound’s chest slowly rise, then release in a shaky pattern betraying the beast’s age. The dog looked familiar, but Max couldn’t figure out why; it definitely wasn't Ceric’s, as his wife was allergic to the animals. The thought festered in the back of Max’s mind until snap! Max heard Miranda let out a small gasp as she stepped on a branch.

  The hound opened his eyes immediately, sniffing the air. His eyesight was obviously poor as he panned the road several times. Max thought they might even be able to get away when the dog’s gaze finally landed on him. Woof! Woof! The hound bellowed as he raised up onto his front paws. Max and Miranda slowly backed towards the safety of the trees.

  “Rotbreath, what is it?” A familiar voice shouted from inside Ceric’s home.

  Alden.

  Max knew the dog and his owner in an instant. You don’t forget a dog with that name, or that his owner is a bounty hunter. The door to the home opened suddenly and out stepped Alden, followed by his friend Garret, both wielding rusty iron swords.

  “Max?”

  Author's Note:

  Welcome, and thank you so much for reading Chapter 1!

  I really hope you stick around to follow Max on his adventures; this is just the beginning of a very wild ride. Since this is my debut series, your feedback means the absolute world to me. Please let me know in the comments what you liked, what you didn't, and any thoughts you have along the way. I am always looking for ways to improve and grow as a writer, so don't hold back!