The Boy Who Knew Too Much

Riders in Black

Riders in Black

The horn’s echo rolled across Willow Creek like a warning from another world.

Clara stepped toward the window, her breath caught in her throat. On the hill stood three riders dressed in long black cloaks, their horses still as statues. Faces hidden beneath deep hoods, they seemed less like people and more like shadows carved into the morning mist.

Eli trembled beside the fireplace.

“They found me,” he whispered.

Rowan’s jaw tightened. “Then we have less time than I hoped.”

“Who are they?” Clara asked.

“The Night Seekers,” Rowan said. “Hunters who serve no kingdom, no law, and no mercy. They take children born with gifts and turn them into weapons.”

Clara felt cold all over. She looked at Eli, who seemed smaller than ever.

“He is just a child.”

“To them,” Rowan replied, “he is power.”

One of the riders raised a hand. A second horn blast thundered through the valley. At once, villagers began opening doors, peering from windows, gathering in the road in fear and confusion.

“We cannot stay here,” Rowan said. “If they enter the village, people will be hurt.”

Clara knelt before Eli. “Can you walk?”

He nodded weakly.

“Good. Then stay close to me.”

Rowan moved quickly, checking the back door and the narrow path leading into the woods. “There is an old trail behind the cottage. It leads to the river gorge. We may lose them there.”

“We?” Clara asked sharply.

“You need someone who knows what hunts him.”

Before she could answer, the front door shook under a heavy blow.

Then another.

Dust fell from the ceiling.

“They’re here,” Eli gasped.

Clara’s fear turned suddenly into anger. She grabbed the iron poker from beside the fireplace.

“No one breaks my door,” she said.

Rowan almost smiled. “I like you.”

A third strike splintered the wood.

“Back door. Now!” Rowan ordered.

Clara took Eli’s hand and rushed through the kitchen. Rowan followed, pushing open the rear entrance. Cold morning air hit them as they ran into the trees behind the cottage.

Behind them, the front door crashed inward.

Shouts rose from inside the house.

The forest swallowed them in shadows and branches. Clara’s heart pounded as roots caught at her boots. Eli stumbled, but she pulled him forward.

“Don’t stop,” she urged.

From behind came the sound of horses and cracking branches.

They were being followed.

Then Rowan halted suddenly near a stone marker half-buried in moss.

“We go no farther,” he said.

Clara stared at him in disbelief. “Have you lost your mind?”

Rowan drew a silver blade.

“No,” he said, eyes fixed on the trees. “I’ve decided to fight.”