Branches whipped down from above, striking the ground around him like spears from high.

  “This is the power the Old Gods give me!” The man pointed at Midhir. “What does your god give you, prince? What does the sun and the daughter do for you?”

  Midhir glanced over his shoulder. The branches had come down around him like a cage, not giving him much room for movement. He turned his gaze back to the man. “Is this about how the new church failed you and your people somehow?”

  The ground beneath his feet shifted slightly. Like snakes slithering out of a cover of dead leaves, roots slowly curled around his ankles. “You would destroy the world as we know it to exact revenge on the church?” He cast his mind back – to the very first time he truly witnessed the power that brought the Overgrowth to life. What had Arwen done then?

  “We will all ascend in the embrace of the Old Ones!” The man’s voice trembled with glee. “Immortality, and power beyond comprehension awaits. Can you imagine?” He raised his hands up, towards the sky. “Can you imagine seeing them?”

  Midhir stared at him blankly for a moment. Was this man serious? They didn’t even know what their ritual did! A tinge of anger, mixed with amusement rose within. A laugh escaped his lips. “Is that what you want? To see them?” He shook his head as he pressed his palm against the sharp edge of his blade.

  “What of it?” The man asked. “What man doesn’t want to see his god?” His voice faded towards the end as he watched Midhir cut his own palm.

  Midhir reached for the branches forming this rather small cage around him. He pressed his bleeding hand against one of them. “I thought you competent.” He wrapped his fingers around the branch as streaks of blood flowed down. “I believed you to be a danger – not because of the forces you command, but because of your resourcefulness. You were always where you could do the most damage – and at first, nobody even noticed, did they?”

  The man raised his chin like a peacock ruffling its feathers.

  “Lohssa was your doing. You first tried it there, didn’t you? You destabilised a healed tear in the Veil. Made sure it was torn once more. That’s why it was much more difficult than it should have been to heal. And then there was your work in Olisar – you caused nearly all enforcers to be sent there, because of how many tears you caused.” He scowled. “Lady Larna died because of you.”

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  The man scoffed. “One of your enforcers killed her.”

  “She tore the veil apart – in the castle. Nearly killing her own bloodline. That would have been a great victory for you, wouldn’t it?”

  The man simply shrugged.

  “So what is then?” Midhir asked, ignoring the pain in his left hand. “You attack an imperial convoy, say you succeeded – you kidnapped the prince. What happens next?”

  The man chuckled. “I think we’ve talked enough.”

  The roots wrapped around his ankles tightened as they continued to crawl up his legs.

  “No,” Midhir glared at him. “You’ve got a lot of talking to do before we’re done.” He raised his gaze to the tree the man was leaning against. “Now release me.”

  The roots retreated, and the branches rose back towards the canopy as the trees heeded his command.

  The man stumbled backwards with a gasp. “You can’t! I have the authority! She granted it to me!”

  Midhir showed his bleeding palm. “Surrender.” He commanded.

  “No!” The man shouted at the top of his lungs. “How-“

  “Capture him.” He was done letting him escape, over and over again. Circe’s warning was fresh in his mind. He was not going let this man ad his lackeys harm the Veil beyond repair.

  As if the forest was waiting for his command, branches struck down from above as soon as he uttered those words. Roots whipped up from below the thin layer of fallen leaves, wrapping themselves around the mans legs.

  “Your Highness!” He heard the Castor brothers’ voice, accompanied by the rustle of branches and bushes as they made their way through the forest. They came to stop when they noticed the trapped man struggling to escape. “We have dispatched of the other cultists, my Lord.” The Castor Brother in black quickly said, while his brother approached the man. “What are your orders, sire?”

  “We’re bringing him with us to Derwen Hold.” He turned around, and walked away, leaving them to deal with the struggling man.

  As soon as he was out of their field of view, he let out a grunt as his shoulders slumped, and his steps became uneven. Simply commanding the overgrowth to release him had left him exhausted. His second command was nothing more than a gamble – either he was going to wrestle control of the overgrowth, or he was going to lose consciousness trying.

  He dragged his feet towards the convoy, half regretting not taking Cait along with him. Had she been with him, the man wouldn’t have gotten the chance to start running in the first place.

  It took him a short while to reach the edge of the forest. A frigid wind slammed against him as soon as he stepped out of the overgrowth, carrying with it the scent of blood.

  His body tensed up as he rested his hand on the hilt of his blade, and his gaze darted towards the convoy.

  The white snow covering the area was dyed crimson with blood. Bodies laying face down had already begun to freeze as gentle snowfall started to blanket them in snow. On the road, the carriages were damaged, their wheels shattered, doors and windows smashed, and the horses either routed or dead.

  He bit his lips as a wave of dread washed over him. He should have never left the convoy.