The first note of the horn rolled across the forest like thunder.
It was not sharp and cruel like the first, nor hollow like the second, nor whispering like the third. This sound was deep, impossibly deep, shaking the bones of the earth. Trees shuddered. The fire at their feet guttered, its flames bending as though bowing before some unseen presence.
The girl clapped her hands to her ears, whimpering. Even Seraphel grimaced, blood trickling from his nose.
Aric staggered to his feet, hand on his sword, eyes searching the shifting fog.
The sound went on and on, each note sinking into him like a weight. He felt it in his scar, in his marrow, in the very air he breathed. When it finally faded, silence did not return. Instead, the world itself seemed to hold its breath.
And then the forest
