It occurred to him, then, that this was an enchanted forest. Of course it was. He'd been dimly aware of this from the start. Sprites did not fill the trees in every copse in Britain. Ghostly soldiers did not ride every road, at least not with the power and solidity that Wild Edric and his men had shown. Faerie princesses and their ladies-in-waiting did not gallivant about in the dark heart of every forest of Albion.
As the darkness deepened and the blackest of shadows gathered, William began to wonder if they were really in Blackbriar Wood at all, if they had not, perhaps, slipped out of the world and into some corner of Faerie without knowing it. Stories of such misadventures were legion.
Somewhere nearby the underbrush rustled with movement. William glanced about in sudden fright and for a moment the darkness shadowed his eyes. Then he saw, just ahead along the same route they had been following, the spectral glow of Queen Bodicea. With an upward glance he located the rude little sprite who was their guide. With great trepidation and a frightful attention to his surroundings, he hurried after Tamara.
William whispered under his breath and raised his right hand. A silver light glowed at the tips of his fingers, casting shadows that seemed to move of their own volition, skittering away to escape the illumination. But he caught a glimpse of Tamara ahead and heard the crack of a twig beneath her step.
