The Spirit Wilds: Magic of the Green Sage (Fall of the Sages Book 1), стр. 13

Dorrick cleared his throat. “Tha-thank you for that. Appreciate it.”

She smiled wide and punched his arm. “Just like to point that out.”

He snorted, but upon further thought, he realized that she had to watch him intently a lot for her to notice that about him. She pays that much attention to me? he wondered. He smiled. That was good to know.

“You know, you aren’t perfect either,” he said to her, his spirits suddenly lifted.

Marcella cocked her head and lifted an eyebrow, a slight smirk forming, “Oh yeah? Please, do tell, Vane, do tell.”

Dorrick opened his mouth to respond, but then Sir Nogrund called to them from the front. “Quiet, you two, stay focused. Now isn’t the time for chitchat.”

The young squire gulped. “Yes, sir,” he called back, ears burning yet again. Marcella smiled mischievously. Dorrick wanted to swipe that smile off her face. They were best friends, but sometimes, she was so infuriating.

They continued like that for another hour, then stopped for lunch, and then another hour of relative silence. And still no spirits or creatures, which made Dorrick uneasy. It made sense for there to be nothing along the main roads, but they’d long ago left them behind for the back trails. Sure, birds still chirped and little critters played in the underbrush, but no spirits or tree folk or the larger creatures? Something was wrong.

On the other hand, he should have been relieved. He didn’t trust spirits, so no spirits meant no potential problems. He tried to keep that positive mindset. No use being negative. As he’d been taught by the knights, ninety percent of the battle was mental. If you believed in your skills and had the confidence and the heart, you could do anything.

Dorrick was lost in his thoughts again when he walked right into Evan’s back. Being as solid as he was, he didn’t budge. Instead, it was Dorrick who cursed and rubbed his pained neck

“Ow! Why did you—” His words fell short as his eyes widened.

All around them were low trees with golden leaves and gray bark, and seeping out of the veins of the trees was blood-red sap. Dorrick gulped. He’d heard of this place. The Bleeding Grove, a small forest within the wilds where the trees secreted a thick red sap that looked like blood. They were simply called bloodwood trees, though Dorrick thought the name was wrong, since it made it seem like the wood was red, when it was the sap.

“Wow,” Marcella said beside him. Her eyes were wide, filled with awe. She smiled. “This is beautiful.”

He rolled his eyes. “More like disgusting.”

She snorted. “It’s not real blood, Dorrick.”

“I know,” he said defensively, cheeks flushed again. Gods, why does she make me like this? “It just looks weird. Beautiful isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Maybe you need to broaden your horizons.”

“Maybe you need to be more cautious with bleeding trees.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. He shook his head but couldn’t help his smile.

Ollo walked over to one of the trees. “Never thought this place was real. I mean, bleeding trees? Seemed stupid.” He chuckled. “Guess Nan’s stories were true. I wonder how much of the other stuff was true.” He reached a finger to touch some of the sap. Before he could, Sir Nogrund materialized by his side and snatched his hand away.

“I wouldn’t,” he said gruffly.

Ollo stammered. “W-why?”

“Bloodwood sap is very volatile. At best, it will seep into your skin and give you a euphoric high that will leave you with a devastating addiction that will slowly eat away at you. At worst, it will poison your bloodstream and set you ablaze from the inside. If you’re up for either of those, then by all means, go ahead.”

Everyone stared at him. Ollo gulped and backed away as Sir Nogrund dropped his arm. “No, sir, I think I’ll decline.”

Nogrund huffed. “Very wise.” He turned away from Ollo, his grip on his sword. “Keep your wits about you. The village is on the other side of this forest. If the spirit is still in the area, then we’ll handle it.”

“Yessir,” the squires all chirped. Sir Nogrund nodded and led the way.

Dorrick followed behind the brothers, his eyes on the veteran knight. Sir Nogrund was one of Dorrick’s father’s most trusted men. He was an imposing man, despite his age, all muscle, bald head, and a long blonde beard that was always impeccably groomed. The red cloak draped over his armor, a sign of his rank, was always pressed and clean. This was the type of man a squire needed to learn under, and Dorrick intended to soak in every minute of it.

They trudged forward, and this time, none of them had any desire to speak. They were on alert, as they should be. The silence weighed heavy on them. Even the birds stopped chirping. It was just quiet. Unnatural, even. The hairs on the back of Dorrick’s neck stood on edge. They were being watched; he could feel it. He looked around, but there was no sign of anything or anyone. Tree folk and spirits could flit between objects at will, so that meant little.

He knew they were there, watching. And this time, it wasn’t just paranoia.

For whatever reason, they were content to watch. Fine by him. He supposed he could understand it too, since he’d be curious if a band of highly-armed and highly-trained knights marched through his neck of the woods. As long as they stayed away, he could live with it, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t make his skin itch.

Before long, the bloodwood trees gave way to regular trees. Ahead, he could hear voices, distant and loud. Not quite yelling, but urgent. It was many people. The village, if he had to guess. Seemed like a pretty safe bet.

“We’re here,” Sir Nogrund said suddenly. He went forward. The path widened and the trees gave way to a wide clearing and the village. Dorrick had to stop in