Page 20

Yet as I mount up, another flicker of that haunting voice stirs in my mind. A gentle whisper, almost sorrowful:Vaelin… you can’t do this.My jaw clenches. “You’re wrong,” I murmur into the quiet. “I have no choice.”

I maneuver the zalkir toward the north. The undergrowth here is formidable, brambles snagging my cloak, tangling around the beast’s legs. Progress is slow, the path hardly worthy of the name. My sword occasionally flashes to hack away vines. After a quarter hour of labor, the terrain opens onto a narrow ledge, overlooking a precipitous drop into a river gorge below.

Beneath the cloudy sky, the water thrashes white against the rocks. No easy crossing here. The footprints—if they even persist—must hug the mountainside, though I see no obvious trail. My gaze drifts uphill, where pine trees cling to the steep slope, and a series of jagged boulders create a natural barrier. If Elira was fleeing, she might risk that route.

I dismount to investigate, planting each step carefully on the uneven ground. My hands brush aside pine needles, searching for any sign of passage. Most footprints are lost to erosion, but the occasional broken branch or scuffed rock hints at a single traveler forging up the slope. My pulse picks up a beat. She’s been here.

As I climb, the wind grows fiercer, carrying a faint smell of approaching rain. The forest canopy shudders overhead, and I see flashes of dull gray sky through the branches. My zalkir snorts, clearly displeased by the altitude and the cramped footing. This is no place for a heavy reptilian mount. Still, we press on, drawn by the trail’s meager clues.

In a hollow between two large boulders, I find a piece of torn cloth snagged on a jagged edge. Soft fabric, dark in color, possibly part of a cloak. My chest constricts with excitement. This might confirm I’m closing in. Tucking the scrap into my belt, I push forward, guiding the zalkir around the obstacles.

That’s when thunder growls overhead. A sharp wind blasts down the slope, nearly knocking me sideways. My mount rears, spooked. “Easy,” I hiss, wrestling the reins. The ground here is treacherous—one misstep and the zalkir could topple us both into the ravine below.This is madness,a small voice in me says. But the Overlord’s command drowns it out:No matter the cost.

Lightning forks in the sky, illuminating the mountainside. Rain begins to pelt in fat droplets, turning the path slippery. Each step becomes a test of balance. Adrenaline courses through me. If Elira climbed this in a hurry, she must be desperate. Or perhaps she’s adept at illusions that stabilize the footing. Either way, I can’t abandon the chase now.

Suddenly, the slope collapses under the zalkir’s hind legs. A patch of loose scree gives way, cascading down the drop with terrifying speed. My mount thrashes, tail lashing. I dig my heels in, bracing with one hand on the saddle, the other gripping a boulder. Fear surges. I will not plunge to my death here.

Gritting my teeth, I call on the faint Chaos magic that flows through my veins, funneling it into a burst of kinetic force beneath the zalkir. The air shimmers with violet sparks as I steady the beast, halting its descent. Pebbles scatter into the depths, but we remain on the ledge. My heart hammers as the creature snorts, muscles trembling. “We go on,” I command, though my voice shakes.

The storm intensifies, rain slanting in sheets that pummel my face. My cloak whips around me, soaked through. Each breath tastes like electricity. Memories nudge at the deepest part of my mind: stone wings, roaring wind, a deep hunger that’s not fully mine.Focus.

At last, the ledge widens into a plateau where a massive pine stands bent by the weather. Nearby is a shallow cave, half-concealed by trailing vines. The perfect spot for a traveler to wait out a storm. I guide the zalkir closer, every sense straining for movement.

Lightning reveals a scattering of footprints in the mud, leading to the cave entrance. My pulse jumps. She could be inside—Elira, or another Purna. It’s definitely someone clever enough to shelter in a storm.

I dismount quietly, sword in hand, ignoring the thunderclap overhead. Water streams down my face, stinging my eyes. I cling to the side of the rock wall, inching toward the opening. If she’s inside, illusions might hide her, or she might sense me first. My mind flickers with conflicting impulses:Capture her.Confront her.Spare her?A swirl of confusion grips me, but I press on.

The cave mouth gapes, revealing darkness. I step inside, silent as a shadow. My sword tip glints in a flash of lightning. The smell of damp earth and faint smoke drifts past my nose. This place was inhabited recently—someone built a small fire near the entrance. Embers glow, half-doused by rain dripping from the ceiling. My heart skitters with anticipation. She’s close. I can practically feel it.

Yet as I ease deeper, sword raised, I see no figure huddled by the fading fire. The cave extends farther back, twisting into blackness. I set a foot on a rocky outcrop, preparing to move deeper, when a sudden wave of dizziness hits. My vision doubles. The flicker of illusions? Or my cursed memories?

I blink hard, trying to dispel the blur. Instead, images flood my mind: taloned hands reaching for me, stone muscles bunching with impossible strength. A keening wail echoes through some underground chamber. Then a woman’s voice, achingly gentle, like a lullaby:You don’t have to obey…

I stumble, sword scraping the cave floor. My breath ragged, I brace a hand against the cold wall. “Stop it,” I rasp, cursing the empty air. A hammering pulse throbs in my temples, and the cave spins. “Not… real.” I need clarity, need to remember my mission. The Overlord’s conditioning taught me a lot of things, including how to dismiss illusions, to override them with logic. But this feels deeper than any trick.

Tremors wrack my frame, and I nearly collapse to one knee. My chest feels tight, as though a storm rages within me, more ferocious than the one outside. My free hand claws at my tunic.Something about this place… or about her.Could Elira’s presence resonate with the suppressed gargoyle blood, stirring these hallucinations? My mind reels at the possibility.

Forcing the breath into my lungs, I gather what remains of my will. “I… am Vaelin Duskbane,” I whisper, words slurring with strain. “The Overlord’s enforcer.” As if reciting a mantra, I repeat it until the pounding in my head diminishes. My vision steadies, though a clammy sweat pools on my brow.

When I finally manage to look around, the cave remains empty. If Elira was here, she’s gone. The realization tears at me, part rage, part relief. At least I have proof I’m on her track—her footprints, the faint smell of a recently extinguished fire, the swirl of energy that lingers in the air. She must be close. Maybe she sensed me and fled, or perhaps she left hours ago, the storm forcing her to press on.

I sheath my sword, cursing under my breath. Thunder rattles the cave, and droplets continue to drip from the ceiling. My stamina feels shot, as though I waged a brief but intense magical duel.I need rest.The Overlord might demand I chase her immediately, but I can’t hunt effectively in this state. I’ll end up careening off a cliff if the illusions strike again. Better to wait out the storm and pick up her trail at first light. She can’t get far with the terrain this unforgiving.

Unrolling a simple bedroll from my saddlebag, I place it on a dry patch of the cave floor. The embers in the fire pit flicker, casting dancing shadows across the walls. I sense no wards or hidden illusions here—only the faint echo of her presence. Sitting with my back against cool stone, I swallow a mouthful of water from my flask. My throat burns with each gulp, as if those visions left a tangible residue.

My gaze drifts to the cave entrance, where rain sheets the world beyond in a constant roar. The zalkir stands just outside, taking what shelter it can beneath an overhang, glaring at me with reptilian impatience. Lightning illuminates its scaled hide, revealing its scarred flank—a testament to past battles. Like me, it’s a creation and a tool. We both exist to serve a single master. Or so we’ve been told.

As exhaustion seeps into my muscles, my thoughts drift again to the half-remembered visions. The presence of gargoyles, the possibility that my blood carries a twisted echo of their lineage. I recall overhearing whispers among the Overlord’s retinue—dark rumors about experiments that blended Gargoyle essence with Dark Elf stock to create unstoppable warriors.Am I one of them?The Overlord always deflected those questions, assured me my prowess came from the Thirteen’s blessing and rigorous training. But my body betrays me with these glimpses of stone and claws, stirring an inescapable suspicion.

And that voice.Soothing, yet urging me to resist. Resist what? The Overlord’s command? The insatiable violence that lurks within me?

I run a hand through my sodden hair, closing my eyes briefly. The Overlord’s hold remains strong, but each day, the cracks widen. Meeting Elira might shatter me. Or it might provide answers I’ve never had the courage to seek.

Gritting my teeth, I remind myself of my purpose. I can’t succumb to doubts or illusions. The Overlord demanded Elira’s capture, and I am Vaelin Duskbane, trained for perfect obedience. For a moment, though, the steady mantra fails to quell the uneasy longing that twists in my chest. It’s as if I want to find her not just for duty, but for something else—an intangible thread that tugs at my soul.

I press a palm to my sternum, feeling the rapid thud of my heartbeat. This ache, this pull, baffles me. Perhaps it’s the Overlord’s magical conditioning malfunctioning under the strain of the gargoyle side. Or perhaps it’s nothing more than a feverish delusion caused by exhaustion. Either way, I can’t let it distract me. Tomorrow, I’ll track her again. No illusions. No second thoughts.

I lean back against the rock, letting my eyes close. Rain drums steadily outside, lulling me. The ember’s glow flickers across my lids, warm and fragile. Thoughts swirl, but fatigue claims me at last, dragging me into a fitful slumber. Even then, in the dark currents of my dreams, I sense the distant echo of stone wings beating and a woman’s voice calling my name.