The forest grew denser as they ventured deeper into the Thornwood. The road had narrowed to little more than a dirt path, forcing them to ride single file with Arthur in the lead, Jacob behind him, and Nero bringing up the rear just ahead of Sergeant Aldric.
The canopy overhead thickened, filtering the sunlight into scattered beams that pierced through gaps in the leaves and created shifting patterns on the forest floor. The air had taken on a different quality here, heavier somehow, with an underlying scent that reminded Nero of rotting fruit mixed with something metallic.
They'd been riding for perhaps twenty minutes when Arthur raised his hand in a fist, signaling a halt.
Everyone stopped.
Nero's hand moved instinctively to the spear strapped to his saddle as he scanned the surrounding trees. The forest had gone quiet. No bird calls, no rustling of small animals in the underbrush, just the soft creaking of leather and the occasional snort from one of the horses.
