Rowan Greenwood's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Rowan Greenwood wanted a place in the royal huntsman's guard. He needed to reach the trials in the capital to earn it. But the only road out of Ironwillow was closed. A beast had mauled three travelers on it that week, and no one dared leave. He stood at the edge of town and studied the tree line. His fox pressed against his leg, copper fur bristling. The animal smelled it first, the thing in the shadows. Rowan pulled his steel bow off his back and set a gold-tipped arrow to the string. "Stay," he told the fox. The fox did not stay. It darted ahead, nose low, tracking a scent toward a huge tree with blue leaves and dark purple fruit. Rowan followed. Under the tree the air went cold. A low growl rolled out from behind the black trunk. The beast stepped into the light. It was bigger than a bull, with matted fur and a torn ear and teeth the length of his fingers. Dried blood crusted its jaw. The travelers' blood. It charged. Rowan loosed his first arrow. It struck the shoulder and glanced off thick muscle. The beast did not slow. He stumbled back, drew again, and fired at the throat. That arrow dug in, but the thing kept coming. He had one shot left before those teeth reached him. Then the light changed. A woman stood under the tree where no one had been. Her hair was violet and her eyes were violet. A great eagle gripped a staff at her side. Rowan knew her. She was the goddess who had blessed his arrows long ago, the reason he dared to hunt at all. He had not seen her since he was a boy. "Breathe," she said. "Then shoot." Rowan breathed. He raised the bow a final time and aimed for the eye. He let the arrow fly. It did not miss. The gold tip punched through, and the beast dropped mid-stride. It slid to a stop at his boots, dead. Silence. The fox crept out from the roots and sniffed the body. Rowan's hands shook on the steel grip. "You could have killed it without me," he said. "You could have." The goddess smiled. "But you forgot to trust the blessing. You will need to remember that soon." She looked past him, toward the road and the capital beyond it. The eagle shifted its wings. "The trials are not what you think," she said. "The men who run the guard do not care if your aim is true. They care about other things. Things you have never had to fight for." Then she was gone, like a candle pinched out. Rowan stood alone with the dead beast and the open road. The way to the capital was clear now. He slung his bow and started walking. He did not yet understand her warning. But he would.