Page 47

47

Mighty Friend

Idris

I dris stood atop a rocky crag overlooking the barren plains. From the rise, he watched Oderin and Anya—their distant figures no larger than the tip of his thumb from this vantage—disappear into the fog bank that clung to the edge of the western forest. It was not lost on him that the last time he followed someone he loved into the foothills of the Bone Mountains, they’d died.

But Anya was not Grinnick, Idris reminded himself, and Idris was not the boy he’d been fifteen years ago. Oderin had ridden hard and fast, and Anya was no-doubt exhausted by the journey. Even well-slept and at her best, she didn’t stand a chance inside those woods alone. No one without the magic of an Order would. She needed him in a way Grinnick hadn’t. That difference had to matter.

After scrambling down the back of the crag, Idris returned to Briar, whom he’d tethered to the gnarled stump. His ribs ached acutely as he climbed into the saddle and urged Briar into a trot. The empty shackles he’d found two days ago clanked with the persistent bounce of Briar’s gait. The horse had been a faithful companion; Idris regretted bringing him here, where the land was harsh and the dangers plentiful.

He regretted it even more as they entered the fog, the world going soft and gauzy around them. Briar whinnied nervously into the mist, blowing any cover Idris had hoped to maintain. Idris stroked the horse’s neck, shushing him even though it was too late. A horse up ahead—completely obscured by white—returned Briar’s call.

Idris swallowed the sensation of a stone lodged in his throat. He rested his palm on Halgren’s pommel and urged Briar onward.

Minutes later, the dark streak of the forest came into view, as did the smudges of two horses. It was nearly midday, the sun high, but the fog here had not yet been burned off. A brightly illuminated wall of opacity surrounded them. It made Idris uneasy. So, too, was the sight of only one person seated at the base of a tree not far from the tethered mounts.

“You’re a Fates-damned fool, you know that?” Oderin called.

Idris swung out of the saddle, tied Briar with the other horses, and dropped the shackles at Oderin’s feet. They landed with a clatter in the sparse grass.

“Care to tell me where Heris went?”

Oderin was halfway through whittling a small figurine of some kind. He set down his knife and peered up at Idris. “How did you know it was him?”

Idris tapped his nose.

Oderin sat forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Do I look like I know where Heris went?”

Idris had been panicked when he saw the remnants of a hastily abandoned camp. The blood. The curled, charred leather cover of the book, with a hole in the middle and an arrow tip buried in the ash. The empty shackles with the key still stuck in the lock. The scent of Heris clinging to the bark of a nearby tree.

For two days, the lack of bodies and the tracks of Anya and Oderin heading west had been his only proof that they’d both survived whatever scuffle with Heris had occurred. That, and the drag-marks that suggested Oderin had shackled Heris to a tree before they rode off. He’d been impossibly relieved this morning when Anya and Oderin came into view across the plains.

“You should’ve killed him,” Idris said.

“Please tell me you’re here looking for Heris, and not because you plan to go after Anya,” Oderin said blandly.

Idris was here on both counts, but he wanted his question answered first. “Why didn’t you kill him?”

“How many tracks were there?”

“Two must’ve freed him,” Idris answered. “The trio diverted south.”

Oderin nodded as if he’d been expecting that news. “He looked surprised to find a Mighty Knight with her. I left him as a mercy and a warning to the others to back off.”

“Heris deserves no mercy, and he will heed no warning. They’re regrouping.”

Oderin rose to his feet. “For what? Do you have any idea?”

Idris grumbled and shook his head. “I really don’t,” he answered honestly. “Two of his goons jumped me in an alley the night you left Fenrir. Spoke of an uprising of some sort, but I didn’t stick around to torture more answers out of them.”

“You should have.”

“Why didn’t you press Heris for answers? He’s their leader.”

Oderin folded his arms across his breastplate and arched a haughty brow—a reminder of his noble upbringing. “Quibbles between Valiant Knights are beneath me, you know that.”

The statement was meant in jest, but Idris saw through the veneer. “You don’t want to know what they’re planning.”

Oderin took great pains to manage the information he knew and did not know. The Oath of the Order of the Mighty was powerful, demanding transparency with the Lord. Of all Oaths, it was one that required complete loyalty to even utter. Those with nefarious intentions could die trying to take such an Oath—its bond to Fenrir was that strong.

Which meant that Idris wouldn’t get more answers out of Oderin about why he did not wish to know about Heris’s machinations. The fact that his closest friend wished to turn a blind eye to the situation intrigued him, though. Did Oderin know about the uprising Mariana had mentioned? Oderin despised Heris, but he didn’t much care for Lord Haron, either—his loyalty was to Fenrir, and perhaps he wanted to see a clash. Sometimes a disease had to be cut out, even if the blade was dirty.

Oderin did not allow for more questions. His expression softened. “You would’ve been proud of Anya, she handled Heris well. She’s lucky she had sound magic to counteract his stealth.”

Idris hated the thought of Heris watching her, stalking her, determined to kill her. But the thought of Anya thwarting Heris made him smile.

“She’s bold, I’ll give her that,” Oderin added.

Idris flicked his gaze to the woods. “Too bold.”

“Do you know why Heris targeted her?” Oderin asked.

“My guess is he’d been tailing us since the incident in Brine. I thought he was after me , but turns out, Anya was the bigger threat—probably since she isn’t Oath-bound.” He wiped a weary palm over his stubbled cheek.

“What incident in Brine?” Oderin asked. “You told me nothing of Brine.”

Idris lowered his hand from his jaw. “Heris warned me not to divulge to the Lord just how badly the abominations have encroached.”

“And you heeded his warning?”

If the Order of the Valiant fails, so, too, does the order of Fenrir itself , Heris had said. Idris didn’t trust Heris—but he didn’t trust the Lord, either, especially in light of the ongoing failure of the Valiant. Idris didn’t quite know why he still clung to his Order, when Grinnick was gone, and all his Oath did now was make him miserable. Keep him from Anya.

But something didn’t sit right about the Order’s possible demise. The landscape of Fenrir’s secret Orders was shifting, like groundwater melting and flowing underneath his feet. Thinking practically, if the Order was dissolved, knights would be reassigned. That was the best case. Worst case, the Lord would reset sentences or dispose of well-established knights altogether—and who knows what would happen to retired knights. To dissolve an Order was to dissolve an Oath—and in the face of losing control, it was not a leap to assume the Lord would do something rash.

Knowing the truth that Oderin’s role demanded—Idris wasn’t sure how much to say. Though Oderin was Idris’s closest friend, this was the wedge between them. Oderin would always be a Mighty Knight first and foremost, and though Idris trusted Oderin with his life, he wasn’t sure he trusted his friend with all his information.

Oaths tended to get in the way of relationships. Just like what had happened between Idris and Anya.

“Idris, what happened in Brine?” Oderin prompted, taking a subtle step closer.

“Do you truly want to know?” Idris asked slowly, giving his friend a choice in the matter.

Oderin pondered that question for a moment—then a serious line formed between his eyebrows, and he nodded.

“I did my duty and was witnessed,” Idris said.

“Witnessed?”

Idris lifted his palms in a small shrug.

“Wait—you’re not—” It was Oderin’s turn to wipe his face with a palm. “You’re not the Hero of Brine? I thought those rumors were hyperbole. A lone traveler killing a rabid…” He trailed off, eyes widening. “What in the Fates was an abomination doing in a town ?”

“Heris was tracking it. Let it get away. I cleaned up his mess.”

“By making a bigger mess?”

“Oderin,” Idris said, hoping his honesty might compel his friend to listen with his heart as much as his duty. “Something is afoot among my ranks. Something I am not privy to. The abominations are spreading, and—”

“Something is afoot with you , my friend,” Oderin said—not threateningly, but with a haste that told Idris, I don’t want to hear the rest . “What are you doing here, exactly? I thought I made it clear that my Oath will not permit me to let you go after her.”

So, they’d reached their inevitable impasse.

Idris’s palm tightened around Halgren’s hilt. “I am aware.”

“You would fight me?” Oderin sounded vaguely amused. “When I so often best you in the sparring ring?” He brandished his axe, Feldon, the double-blades glinting red with the sparks of his power.

“Our Oaths are at odds,” Idris said cooly.

“No,” Oderin said. “Not our Oaths. It is the will of my Oath against the will of your heart. An uneven match if you ask me.”

“Which side do you reckon is favorable?”

Oderin simply chuckled. “You really are a brokenhearted fool, aren’t you?”

“I do not wish to fight you, my friend.”

“Nor I, you.”

“Heart against Oath, you say?” Idris murmured.

He didn’t wait for Oderin’s reply. Idris swung Halgren—alight with blue flame—toward his Mighty friend.