The dog’s howls were what terrified Annora the most. Each bay seemed closer and closer to her. She ran with all the strength in her body, her satchel slapping on her thigh, heavy with the weight of the stolen tome. The thin branches of the Brenning Forest slapped against her face and arms, and her bare feet pulsed as they bled. Her heart raced faster than she did. She wasn’t sure where she was running, but her body seemed to know what to do. She gracefully weaved her way through the black trees of the forest, ducking under solid branches and leaping over logs. The howls sliced through the air like warning bells, so close she could practically feel the hounds’ hot breath on her back. Her legs and chest burned as she ran too fast to breathe. They were almost upon her, and they knew the Brenning Forest better than her, they knew the night better. She could not go back. This was her only chance.

Annora’s foot jolted to a halt, hurling her body forward and onto the muddy earth. She fell, and for a moment she thought she had died, thought the dogs had bit her foot and yanked her to a stop. When she felt no claws ripping up the flesh of her back and no teeth clamping on her throat, she pushed herself onto her elbows. She was still alone. She twisted around. Her foot had caught under an upturned root, which now seemed to be wrapping around her ankle.

She’d always heard the forest was alive. She’d thought she was far enough from the Wilds she would not have to worry about the living trees and malicious spirits. But as she pulled her ankle toward her, the root tightened, splinters sliding under her skin.

Annora lifted her hand. Magic manifested itself around her fingers in the form of teal grains of sand, winking into life one by one. She pressed her fingers together and flicked her wrist. The grains formed themselves into a dart and shot at the root. The root recoiled from her leg, disappearing back under the earth. She pulled her legs under her and took off running again as more howls found their way toward her.

She was running for too long, and her bare feet ached from being cut open. They failed her once again as she fell, but this time she was met not with mossy dirt but with cool water that shot into her mouth and nose. She pushed herself up and gasped for breath, her smoky eyes darting around her. She’d fallen into a brook. Water. Perfect.

Annora forced herself up, muscles aching despite the adrenaline. She splashed in the brook, staggering on the rocks that built the river bed. She followed its current, knowing it would lead her toward the border of Throndor. Throndor was not safe for people like her, but it was safer than the Wilds and the cultish tribe that brought her there. Walking in the water slowed her down, but it would wash away her scent and confuse the dogs.

She walked for hours, but the trees seemed just as thick and rampant as before. Her body was ready to drop and die. The dogs’ baying had ceased, but she knew she was not safe until she was out of the trees. She pulled herself onto the rising banks, slipping in the sticky mud. She walked toward what she assumed was south, though never far enough that she couldn’t see the guiding waters of the brook.

Annora hugged herself and stumbled through the woods. She was bleeding and aching all over, her heart had almost stopped beating and her mind was numb. They would not stop coming for her until they had taken it back, and taken her life for good measure. She prayed to the Mother that this would all be worth it.

She didn’t realize that she had stopped until she had to kick a snake away from where it tried to slither over her foot. It was a harmless branch snake, but it still flicked its tongue at her as if annoyed before disappearing into the overgrown forest. She was leaning against a tree, she realized, too exhausted to even listen to her own body.

Annora slid down the trunk of the tree and nestled herself between two mossy roots. She could just barely hear the bubbling of the brook, and could only make out the brightest stars through the canopy of black and green leaves. Was it night still? How long had she been running for? Surely hours had passed.

She pulled her satchel into her lap and opened it. Just the sight of the book made all tension melt away from her body. It had all been for this. She reached inside and removed it, setting it on her lap and lovingly stroking the cover. There was no title, but the author had scratched a design into the violet leather -- a crowd of people standing behind a woman in robes, her arms raised to the glowing planet hovering over them all. Her people knew the book as the Witches’ Tome and they called it cursed, but she knew the contents of its ancient pages better than her own face. She shut her eyes, recalling the faded illustrations and cramped script that had brought her comfort her entire life. Her mind screamed at her to stay awake, but she slipped into a desperate sleep and all thoughts ceased.

She should have known better.

A hard point pressed into her thigh, then her side, and finally her cheek. As it pulled away, she turned her head, trying to force herself awake but her body not quite getting the message. The comforting weight of the Tome disappeared from her lap, leaving her cold. Her entire body slumped onto the earth. It was cold and hard, and only then did her exhausted body finally awaken. She stayed still for a moment before pulling her arms under her and pushing herself up. Her black hair draped protective curtains around her face. She let out an involuntary groan as she sat up, and she heard movement.

Annora turned her head and brushed back her hair. A man stood before her. He was tall, his blonde hair was shaggy and in need of a washing. Despite the heat of summer he was wrapped in various furs, the bodies of small creatures hanging from his belt. He pointed at her a contraption she had only seen Darkhunter guards and wealthy bounty hunters wield before: a crossbow, she remembered they were called. His icy eyes stared down the bolt at her. She looked away from him to the book he’d tucked under one arm. The Witches’ Tome.

“Who are you?” he snarled.

She reached out weakly. “That is my book.”

“That’s not your name. Who are you, druid?”

She blinked and looked at him closer. Blue eyes, blonde hair, skin so pale she could see the blush of blood in his cheeks. He was Throndian, not druid. She must be closer to Throndor than she thought. But was he a mere hunter… or a cutthroat Guildsman?

“Annora Barrett.”

“Barrett?” he repeated with a growl. She nodded. Despite her dusky appearance, her father -- so she’d been told -- had been Throndian like the man before her now. Perhaps the name would earn her some trust.

“Yes. Who are you?”

He spoke with unwavering pride. “Matthias of the Thoon Guild.”

Her heart plummeted. A Guildsman. That was marginally better than the people she’d just escaped. It meant she was close to the border though; perhaps he even knew the way out of the Brenning Forest. She would just have to find something to trade with him. She knew the guilds thrived off of a bartering system, but a mere favor or promise would not cut it. “Matthias… Nice to meet you…”

“What’s wrong with you? I thought you were dead.” His eyes darted up and down her body, his crossbow just beginning to waver.

“Forgive me.” She leaned back against the tree and raked her fingers through her hair. “I haven’t slept in a week.”

“Where’s your tribe? Why are you here, so close to Throndor?” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not a Librarian, are you?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“I didn’t think so.” His eyes swept over the trees around them. “You don’t have the cat. Can’t stand Librarians.”

“Sir, please…” She blinked and looked back to him. “I am so tired, and starved. Do you happen to have any food?”

He held up his crossbow again, pointing it at her head. “Why are you so tired and starved? What happened to you?”

“I…” She swallowed, but her mind was moving too slow for her to think of a different story. Instead she told a half truth. “I was captured by a tribe from the Wilds. I barely escaped with my life. I am sure that they are still searching for me. I think they were going to try to sacrifice me to one of their heathen Divine. I don’t know how long I have been running.”

“What about your tribe?”

She sighed. Her body hurt too much to do this. “I left them.”

“Why?” He lowered the bow and narrowed his eyes. “Why would a druid leave her tribe?”

She tried to smile. “I’d be happy to trade you the story for some food, sir. Please, I’m so hungry.”

He picked up the Witches’ Tome from under his arm and held it up so she could see the cover. “What is this book? If you barely escaped, why did you have a book with you?”

She tried not to blink. She thought she might fall asleep if she did. “It is very important to me. It is a book that is vital to my tribe. There’s knowledge in it, knowledge not even our library has. Or yours.”

“Does it have a title?”

She took a deep breath. “Yes. It is… the Witches’ Tome.”

She thought he would surely shoot his arrow through her heart. She almost welcomed it now. Instead, he cocked a full eyebrow and looked back at the book, as though intrigued.

“Witches, you say?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re a Witch?”

“What? No.” She shook her head at his ignorance. “No. Witches are not human. I am human.” She held her hand to her chest.

“But are you a wizardess?”

She stared at him blearily. She wasn’t sure if it was the hunger or the desperation, but something about how casually he had asked that question made her think that the truth would not be a death sentence.

“Yes, I am.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds. He lowered himself to the ground, crossing his legs under him. He removed a pouch from his hip and held it out to her. She reached inside and felt bread rolls and slices of jerky. She brought out as many as she could hold and ravenously began to devour them. He set the pouch on the ground between them and held the book in his lap, watching her as she ate. With every bite she could feel power sapping back into her body. It was more than just hunger fading; she could sense magic sizzling around her body as her energy was restored.

Once she was finally sated, she began to peer at him from over the roll she was nibbling on. He had not taken his eyes off of her, but the expression on his face was strange. He looked curious but cautious, keeping his hand on his loaded crossbow. He also even seemed bored. Throndians had feared magic for generations. It would be the greatest of all coincidences if Annora just happened to be found by the only one that actually was interested in it.

“You don’t fear magic?”

He smirked, surprising her. “You sound like a druid.” He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it. Small flecks of dirt were shaken free, and Annora did her best not to curl her lip in disgust. “I’ve never seen magic, but from what I’ve heard, it’s more the wizards we should be afraid of.” His gaze snapped back to her, eyes icy and cold. “But I know someone who likes magic. It’s for her sake that I didn’t shoot you where you sit.”

Annora covered up her gulp by swallowing her mouthful of bread. “She likes magic? I didn’t think any Throndian liked magic.” She was trying for humor, but her fear came through.

“Maybe curious is the better word for it. Either way…” His eyes trailed over her body, but it didn’t feel invasive, more like a jeweler appraising a suspect emerald. “You would make a good gift to her.”

Annora’s heart pounded. Druids considered slavery one of the most taboo practices of all, but much of the rest of the world practiced it. While it was being slowly weaned out of Throndor, it was one of the biggest industries of the Sakarran Empire, and the Brenning Guilds weren’t afraid to sell someone in exchange for something else. Annora could not accomplish what she needed to do if she was a slave to some twisted Guildsman’s sweetheart.

“Sir, I… I promise I can’t do any work. Look at me. This is the first meal I’ve had in weeks. I would be no help to this woman.”

“You can’t use magic?”

“I can.” Her eyes looked to the Tome in his lap. “But I’m not trained in any of the Schools. I can’t use it. I mean, sometimes it comes to me, but I can’t really control it. It just happens when I need it most.”

“I thought druids had their own magic.”

“Not really. There’s divination, but it’s not really magic. Or that successful. I promise, I wouldn’t be of much help to you or this woman you know.”

Matthias didn’t look convinced. “If you’re not useful for your magic, you can be useful in other ways.” His smile was cold and made Annora’s stomach flip with sickness. “Did you really think you could come into the Brenning Forest alone and not be taken, in some way or another?”

Annora clenched her jaw and tried to convert her fear into courage. “You’re alone.”

His smile dropped and he looked away. He wiped his palm on his leg -- clammy hands. “I’m… special.”

Annora folded her legs to her chest. He seemed reluctant to call himself that, as if the word were shameful. Annora had been hailed as special since she was a baby, and though it was nice to know she had a destiny, she couldn’t help but associate ‘special’ with death. Her parents, her twin sister, and now her tribe. She wondered if it was the same with him.

He traced the planet on the book. “What is this book? Is it magical?”

“No, but it’s about magic.”

“And so contraband all the same.”

He grabbed the food pouch and dragged it back to him, then stuffed the book inside. Annora cringed at the thought of her sacred Tome being stuffed in a sack with breadcrumbs and jerky scraps. He fastened it to his belt and stood up, then held his hand out to her.

“Come. I’m supposed to see her soon.”

Annora hesitated. Her mind raced as she tried to plan out an escape, but she had to dismiss most of them because she was too weak to overpower or run from him. She let out a defeated sigh and slid her hand into his. He was wearing gloves made from rough, pliable leather. His fingers wrapped around her hand, ready to pull her up.

Annora yanked him down using every last bit of strength she had. She snatched the pouch from his hip, tendrils of teal sand forming to snip the threads of the pouch clean off the belt. As he staggered and tried to regain his balance, she turned and ran in the opposite direction.

She knew immediately that she was still too weak as her legs turned to jelly beneath her. She forced them to stay up and keep her forward, but still she wavered. She looked ahead to avoid running into a tree and forgot to look at the ground. Her foot planted into a circle of rope, and it tightened around her ankle. Before she could take another step, she was pulled backward up into the air and swung back and forth like a pendulum, the contents of the pouch emptying onto the ground. She stared forlornly at the Tome that lay upside down and open as blood rushed into her face.

Matthias arrived less than a minute later, scowling with annoyance. He scooped up the book and sneered at her.

“You’re an idiot. And now you’re a half-naked idiot.”

She furrowed her brow. “Did you really think I wouldn’t run from slavery?”

“I thought you would conserve your energy… or at least notice an obvious animal trap.” Matthias ran his hand gingerly over the open pages before him. He turned it and held it out to Annora. “Who is this?”

She twisted and turned to try to see the illustration upright. Her heart dropped into her throat when she realized that he just happened to open to the page that meant the most to her. “The Old Witch. She’s been in Throndor for centuries. But she hasn’t been around since the Darkhunters banished magic.”

“She’s hideous.” He paused. “She looks human to me.”

“They resemble us as much as the Divines do.”

He shook his head and shut the Tome. “I will never understand all this magic of yours, druid. As far as I am concerned, the only Divine is the Mother.”

He slid the strap on the crossbow over his shoulder and slung it across his back. He retrieved the pouch from the ground and placed the Tome back inside. He unbuckled his belt, held the pouch upside down against his side, and re-fastened the belt over it, sealing the pouch and letting it fall against his hip. He walked to a tree only a few paces away where the rope was tied. Annora had the forethought to curl upward the second before he untied the knot.

She fell onto her spine and her breath was forced out of her. As she unsuccessfully tried to gasp air into her lungs, Matthias returned with the rope. He held her hands together, released the loop from around her ankle, and bound her wrists together. He took the other end of the rope and tied it around his own wrist, then took hold of the length of rope. He yanked her up to her feet.

“Can you breathe?”

She nodded. He tugged again.

“Then let’s go. I was supposed to meet her twenty minutes ago. She is not patient.”

“Who is this woman? A Guildsman?”

“One of the best.”

“In your guild?”

“Aye.”

“What does she do? What does your guild… do?”

“Our main business is by feeding the two base desires of men. Sex and death.”

Annora gulped. She couldn’t see Matthias’s face as he walked ahead of her, leading her by the rope like she were a horse on a leash. She was forced to stare at the back of his head and his unkempt blonde hair and try to determine his mood from there. Was he serious? Did he care about being in a guild of whores and assassins?

“Which is she?”

“It depends on the price. And be quiet. You know how dangerous the Brenning is.”

She waited two seconds before speaking again. “What is her name?”

“I told you to be quiet!” he hissed.

Annora clamped her mouth shut. She didn’t mind the silence. It would give her time to think of a way out. She had waited twenty years to begin on her destiny, and nothing was going to stop her now. Not even a Guildsman.