Daerahil rode his tired horse eastward, legs and buttocks chafing against his worn, creaking saddle. Day after day, Daerahil moved toward a destination forced upon him by a narcissistic father and malevolent first minister. As he rode the last miles upon the Haunted Road, he reflected upon his journey, pondering the inexplicable, irrational loss of his men on the road. After the initial disappearances, Daerahil had lost four additional men. This might have been statistically tolerable for troops riding in enemy territory, but here, in lands held by Eldora, it was utterly unacceptable. There was no enemy here. No arrows sped from cover. No poisoned traps opened underfoot. Soldiers simply vanished.
No patrols could stop the losses either at night or during the day. There was no logic to the
