Page 52

Chapter Twenty-Two

SACHA

“A companion may serve as witness or weapon. Often both.”

Wisdom of the Wandering Sages

The entrance to Stonehaven lies ahead, a masterpiece of ancient craft.

Stone folded into stone, seamlessly integrated with the mountain face, visible only from this precise angle.

The setting sun catches on the hidden seams, a momentary glint that would be missed by untrained eyes.

Tisera leads us toward it with quiet confidence, her footsteps barely disturbing the loose scree.

This was the last stronghold I helped reinforce before the fight against the Authority turned desperate. I remember the curvature of the wards beneath the stone, how deep we buried them. Some of them are still there, pulsing quiet warnings no one hears anymore.

That raises the question I’ve been ignoring since we left our overnight shelter. How did Ellie describe this place before she ever saw it? A coincidence, maybe. Instinct says no.

I extend my awareness through my familiar, the raven's consciousness merging with mine as it soars high above.

Through its eyes, the world transforms. Shadows deepen, edges sharpen, movement stands out against stillness.

We're returning to areas where Authority patrols regularly sweep, and our silhouettes break the mountain's natural lines, exposing us against the skyline.

Tisera tenses, raising a hand for us to stop.

“Authority patrol,” she whispers just as my familiar sends me the same warning. She points toward the eastern ridge.

Through the raven’s eyes, I watch as six Authority soldiers move along a path that will intersect with ours in minutes. They haven’t seen us yet, but it’s not going to stay that way for long.

“This way.” Tisera changes direction. “We’ll circle around once they’ve passed.”

I touch Ellie’s arm, and lean close to tell her what’s happening. “They haven’t spotted us yet, but they will if we remain in the open.”

We angle away from Stonehaven’s entrance, taking a northern path that appears to be a natural route through the mountains. Better to appear as ordinary travelers than draw attention to our actual destination.

As we move, a loose stone dislodges beneath Ellie’s foot, clattering down the mountainside. The sound carries in the clear mountain air.

The patrol stops. Orders are barked. They change direction, moving to investigate.

“Come. We need to be seen moving away from here.”

We start along another path, ensuring the stronghold’s entrance isn’t visible, and time our movements so the patrol spots us just as we disappear around a bend, giving the impression we’ve been traveling this route all along .

The sharp command to halt comes exactly as anticipated.

“You there! Stop in the name of the Authority!”

We stop, and turn to face the patrol now visible on the ridge below us. Six soldiers in standard mountain gear, weapons ready but not aimed at us. The officer in charge studies us through a viewing scope.

“Identify yourselves.” His voice carries clearly. “This region is restricted to Authority patrols only.”

“Merchants,” Tisera calls back. “Traveling to Northpass Settlement.”

“Approach slowly. Present your documentation.”

Ellie’s breathing speeds up beside me. “What are they saying?”

“They want to see proof of who we are,” I murmur. “Stay close. Stay quiet.”

We move toward them, slow and cautious, precisely what innocent but nervous travelers would do when faced with Authority soldiers. I keep my head angled downward, face partially hidden by my hood. Being recognized is unlikely after so long, but unnecessary risk of exposure serves no purpose.

“Documentation,” the officer snaps when we reach them.

Tisera produces papers worn along the edges. “Trade permit and regional access authorization.”

The officer examines her documents carefully, comparing the seals against something in a small handbook. He nods once, apparently satisfied, then turns his attention to Ellie and me.

“Theirs?”

“My companions’ papers were lost when our pack animal fell during the storm yesterday.” Tisera doesn’t hesitate. “We’ve been trying to make up for lost time ever since.”

The officer’s eyes narrow. “Names?”

“Marten,” I offer, picking out a name that used to be common, and hoping it still is. “This is Elaria. We’re cloth traders from Southwatch.”

He studies us, eyes narrowed. “Southwatch traders typically travel with larger caravans. Why are you in this region with no caravan and only three of you?”

“Special commission. Quality rather than quantity. Less profit in bulk trading these days with the new tariffs.”

He stares at me for a moment longer, then waves a hand. “There have been reports of bandits near Flare Valley. Be cautious.”

“Thank you.”

“Wait.” One of the patrol steps forward, a shorter man with a lieutenant’s mark on his collar. “Let me see him.”

I hold still as the lieutenant approaches. His gaze is focused, one hand resting on his weapon.

“Face up,” he orders.

I tilt my head slightly, allowing light to fall across my features, while attempting to keep a deferential posture appropriate for a merchant being questioned by Authority officials.

The lieutenant’s eyes widen. His hand tightens on his weapon.

“Sir.” His voice is tight. “This man matches the description of the recent alert. Dark eyes, angular features, approximately thirty years of age. ”

The officer frowns. “There are thousands who match that vague description, Merren.”

“Sir, the dispatch from Ashenvale was specific.” The lieutenant lowers his voice, but I catch every word. “Watch for a man matching this description around Ravencross, the Sunfire Dunes or the mountain passes between. They believe someone dangerous has escaped.”

He removes a folded slip of parchment from the inner pocket of his coat. The seal is already broken. He unfolds it and hands it to the officer.

I glimpse the likeness as it passes between them. Crude. But recognizably mine.

The officer studies it, then looks at me again. This time, his uncertainty is gone.

“You’ll come with us back to the nearest outpost.”

“Is that really necessary?”

The officer’s demeanor changes immediately. His hand moves to his weapon as he addresses the other patrol members. “Full security protocol. Now .”

Weapons are leveled at us as they spread into an offensive formation. Two crossbows are trained directly on me, another on Ellie, while another draws his sword and points it at Tisera.

They move well. Disciplined. One step to fan. Two to anchor. A formation built for containment, not warning.

Not that it’ll save them.

“Stand still,” the officer commands. “Any movement you make will be considered hostile. ”

Time slows around me, stretching into a familiar clarity that always comes before violence.

The world narrows, sharpens. My heartbeat steadies as I catalog every detail.

The patrol's impeccable formation, the way they’ve positioned themselves to eliminate escape routes, each man positioned to cover another's vulnerable areas. Their weapons don’t waver.

Their eyes are hard and focused. They move with the confidence of predators who’ve never become prey.

Professional. Thorough. Doomed .

A cold satisfaction settles in my chest. These men with their crossbows and Authority insignia, so confident in their power stand before me, so utterly blind to what they’re facing. They think they've trapped a rabbit when they've cornered a wolf. The void thrums, eager and hungry.

I smile.

“It is him!” Realization and fear crystalizes in the lieutenant’s eyes. His pupils contract to pinpoints. “It’s the Shadowvein abomination. We need to?—”

I move.

“ Drenith .” I release the word like a pulse. Loosen the body. Split the space .

Darkness doesn’t merely flow out of my body, it erupts from my core like a starved beast finally unleashed.

Veins run black beneath the surface of my skin as shadows pour between my fingers.

Not summoned, but released. The darkness flows viscous as oil but colder than the void between stars, carrying with it the scent of iron and ozone.

Light doesn’t just dim. It collapses, consumed.

The officer’s voice shatters mid-command, the sound swallowed by the churning dark. Crossbow bolts whistle through the black haze, cutting paths that seal themselves behind the projectiles. The soldiers’ breathing turns ragged, panicked. I taste their fear in the air, sharp and acrid.

They fire at nothing, because I’m already among them.

My blade materializes in my hand, flowing from its scabbard without me ever touching it. Void-born. Bone-hungry. The weight settles into my palm with the familiarity of a lover’s touch. The edge gleams with an inverted light, painful to perceive, impossible to ignore.

The first soldier doesn’t even see me. One moment he stands ready, the next my face is inches from his, close enough to count the beads of sweat on his upper lip, to see my reflection in his widening pupils.

“ Kharis .” Unmake the structure .

My blade drives through his chest with a sound like wet canvas tearing.

His spine bows backward, bones splintering around the sword’s edge with audible cracks.

His mouth gapes in silent agony as his ribcage collapses inward, folding like paper.

Hot blood sprays across my face, metallic and sweet. I pull my sword free, and pivot.

The second stares, jaw slack. Recognition dawns in his eyes.

Stories made flesh, nightmares given form.

His throat works convulsively. I don’t wait for him to find his voice.

The blade tears across his chest, parting armor, skin and bone with equal ease.

The breastbone splits with a sound like green wood breaking.

“ Zareth .” Silence the voice .