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Garrik chuckled a breath through his nose, twisting the side of his mouth as he sheathed his bloody sword and stepped away from twelve motionless bodies. Thalon was … his protector, ever since Garrik was a little shit-spoiled, royal faeling, training in the citadel of Galdheir. They had been brothers of different blood since Thalon’s sacred duties placed him at the young prince’s side. An unbreakable bond of brotherhood and loyalty.

“Wait here until I return,” Garrik warned the only body left standing, not waiting for a reply before Smokeshadows dawned him away.

He flashed Thalon and Jade a smirk before he stepped back inside to find Brennus sprawled on his bed with the two females from earlier. Their clothing was nowhere to be found.

“Well, boy. Have you located her?” He grunted.

Garrik scowled, turning back to the table of liquors and pressing his fingers into the bridge of his nose and eyes. Desperately wishing to have that image burned from his mind forever. “I am inclined to believe that she has protection magic surrounding her as the last few. They are growing resourceful. I cannot break through it, yet.” He set a glass of ale on the map and leaned on it. “However, I sense that she has fled east.”

His fingers traced the map, running over the eastern cities. He knew exactly what he was doing. Sending the High King’sarmy in the opposite direction, away from his legion. From her. He also schemed, for the sake of Zyllyryon, how little towns remained there for Brennus to destroy.

Brennus shuffled his robe on, sauntering to Garrik to loom over the map. His face twisted as if he considered Garrik’s words. “There is vast territory that we have not searched in the east.” He paused, chewing on his cheek. “I will send my Ravens to find her. Your little band of misfits will continue north as the High King commanded.”

Garrik buried words of displeasure and only nodded. “If that will be all then”—he turned away to leave—“I will return to my camp and press forward?—”

“Sit.Down. You may leave when I grant it.” His tone lazy, expectant. A male who was not disobeyed.

You are lucky I amgrantingyou the gift of breath.Garrik’s shadows threatened to explode before he shoved his anger down.

The evening dredged on.

The females served them wine, careful to stay away from Garrik’s death glares. He sat and was forced to reminisce about past raids, laughing at the bloodshed, basking in the glory of bringing Marked Ones to the High King and watching him enact disillusioned justice.

Garrik endured what he deemed as punishment for two more hours while Brennus drank his wine and boasted of his horrendous accomplishments.

When the general had his fill of misery and pain, he drunkenly rose, half stumbling from his throne. “Be off with you. I have had enough for today.” Brennus leisurely waved his hand through the air.

Garrik stood in silence, face unreadable as he toweled his cloak over his shoulders. He knew they were there, the dark circles under his eyes, felt the blinding headache behind them,reminding him of how exhausted he was. Tired of the energy it took to fake the illusion that he actually was enjoying himself. The stories plagued his mind while his boots knew the way to the door and his mind, in a daze, simply allowed them to lead.

“To the High King.” Garrik glimpsed Brennus raising a shaken glass and continued walking.

He would have said anything in return … if it were not for his breath knocked from him as something tore through his magic at that very moment.

Someone had broken through his shield around camp.

He stopped.

Inches from the entrance.

His vision blurred as he focused on his camp.

And there … white hair … riding a night-dark horse…

Racing through the shield and into the woods.

No.Panic struck his heart and pulsed through him.

Alora, stop. Go back.He blinked rapidly, pulling himself out of that darkened forest and back to the tent, where he nodded at Brennus in acknowledgment and goodbye.

The tent flaps burst open, spitting out his armored form. Garrik stormed past the guards, motioning for Thalon and Jade, who had Ghost saddled and ready, to follow behind his quickened pace. Before his Shadow Order could jump onto their horses, Garrik had already taken off.

They caught up to him outside the camp.

“Garrik? What’s wrong?” Jade called to him.

“Return to camp,now.” Ghost picked up her pace as he nudged with his heels.

When they found refuge in a meadow far beyond the Ravens’ camp, certain that they were not followed, Garrik ordered, “Thalon,” and pointed in front of them.