Chapter ONE - Weebly

the dead. Folter wouldn’t be able to see the specter; no
one who wasn’t a conjurer could. But he would see the
conjuring that Ethan’s ghost made possible.
For this illusion, Ethan summoned the first image that
came to mind: a great white horse with a flowing mane,
like the one he had seen earlier that day leading a chaise
through the streets near the Common. Ethan cast the
spell quickly, with little preparation; at midday, the
creature might have looked insubstantial, but in the
gloaming it appeared solid and huge and wild. It bore
down on Folter as if intent on trampling him, and the
pup did exactly what Ethan had hoped. He halted, dove
to one side, and wrapped his hands over his head to
shield himself. He gave no sign of noticing that though
the beast looked real enough, its hooves made no
sound on the wharf.
Ethan sprinted forward just as Folter scrambled to
his feet.
The young man looked around frantically, his knives
still in hand, though seemingly forgotten for the moment.
“Where’d it—?”
Ethan didn’t allow him to finish the thought. He