Death was in the trees. Black branches reaching like spindly fingers toward the white sky and a stillness that was deafening in Aberenni’s elven ears. Snow was something he was not accustomed to seeing in Elfland, and now he found himself ankle-deep in the stuff standing next to the human adventurer who had crossed over into the fairy realm and invited him to come back to Hyracanum. It seemed like a fun idea at the time.

Now, the pair were being stalked by an invisible foe. Harkin’s steely eyes scanned the black branches watching for movement, his hand on the elf’s shoulder keeping Aberenni in place. Then, pausing briefly, he whirled round and drew his blade, adopting a fighting stance which the elf duplicated.

Not even fifteen feet away stood the stooped form of Blue Beryl, hag...

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