Page 14 of The Dark Mage

T he next time Ren’wyn woke, Fael stood over her, his hood pulled up to hide the imperial tattoos on his s calp.

“We have to move,” he said.

She sat up slowly, her head still aching from everything the previous night. In a low, detached voice, she briefly explained Erst’s abuse, recounting the story as though it belonged to someone else. No tears or pain came—just words, dry and ho llow.

Fael listened silently, his jaw tightened as he crouched to examine her ankle. His steady, practiced hands braced and wrapped the injury, while his furrowed brow betrayed his anger at what she had end ured.

“At least it’s not broken,” he mutt ered.

Ren’wyn let him help her limp to the riverbank to gather willow bark, which she boiled into a bitter tea. She forced it down, thankful it would ease the pain.

Fael supported her, and they traveled upstream. Each step was grueling, beads of sweat sticking her hair to her temples as she ground her teeth against the burning pain. Fael bore much of her weight with surprising ease, never once complaining about their excruciatingly slow pace.

When they reached two small inlets feeding into the Farro, he lifted her gently by the waist, placing her on each opposite bank. She couldn’t help admiring the undeniable strength in his firm but careful t ouch.

“You’re doing well,” he said encouragingly after the second st ream.

Her eyes rolled automatic ally.

Why is he helping me? I am a liability. I’m slow, injured, and no help to him. Why hasn’t he lef t me?

They reached the inlet of Mere Creek, a tributary of the Farro that passed Lord Vair’s es tate.

“We’ll follow the Mere,” Fael explained, his gaze traveling upstream as though he could see their destination.

“It leads to the Dark Forest. Once we’re inside, we’ll make our way to Terrepin.

The entire journey will take a couple of weeks—two or three days along the Mere to accommodate your injury, then ten days or so through the fo rest.”

“The opposite bank of the Mere has thick cover,” he continued, “which will work to our advantage. There’s no rush; rest as long as you need.”

Ren’wyn hesitated before asking, “How will we cross the Mere?” Though what she truly wanted to ask was why he hadn’t left her.

“There is a small ford a few miles south. I’ll carry you across,” he rep lied.

Curiosity finally won over caution. “Why?” she blurted. “Why are you helping me? I owe you my life already—or at least my freedom. What will you gain by dragging an injured woman with nothing to offer through the woods into Terr epin?”

The words hung between them, her heart constricting as she awaited his response. She wished she hadn’t asked. They owed each other nothing; what if her question encouraged him to abandon her, just like her mother and Esrin? The thought of being left alone and vulnerable was a raw, unhealed w ound.

Fael stood silently, staring through the trees before walking to sit beside her. She lifted her swollen ankle onto a fallen log, leaning back against an oak. When he finally spoke, his response was barely more than a whi sper.

“Would you believe me if I said I have to?” Those hazel eyes met hers, solemn and honest. “I felt you by the river, and everything in me says to protect you.”

He shifted to regard his hands. “I don’t remember the last time I spoke honestly with someone. My entire life has been lies and killing. I want redemption, to prove my power can be used for good—to protect, not des troy.”

His voice softened further, interlacing with the bubbling creek. “When I saw you tumble down that riverbank…” Ren’wyn blushed at the memory. “I felt like the world was offering me a chance. Why you? I don’t know, but I trust my m agic.”

His power rose, warm and golden, pulsing like a steady flame. Ren’wyn saw it when she blinked, glowing orange and bright. It beckoned to hers, and shadows crept across the fallen leaves, reaching back. The Void wakened, black tendrils of death intertwining with the wildfire of his en ergy.

For the first time since Esrin’s broken promise, hope ignited within her.

Blinking away her second sight, she simply said, “Thank you.”

Then, she stood, brushing off her skirts and reaching for his shoulders. Fael wrapped his arm around her, steadying her as they limped for ward.

They walked in silence for the morning, though calling her pace “walking” felt generous. She leaned heavily on Fael, and he bore it without concern or complaint. They stopped briefly for a meal from his pack—hard bread, nuts, and ap ples.

By early afternoon, they reached the ford. Fael lifted her onto his back with practiced ease, leaving swords and packs on the eastern shore. He stepped lightly from stone to stone through the ford, his oiled boots barely wet to the an kles.

Setting her gently on the far bank, he returned to retrieve their belongings. His effortless display of strength and balance silenced any lingering doubts about his ability to carry her.

Ren’wyn had never known a berserker personally. She had expected gruffness and stoic silence, but Fael surprised her with his quiet kindness. Even though he spoke sparingly, his words were kind and hinted at a warm sense of h umor.

If only she felt like talking, but guilt and sorrow hung around her neck, and her voice felt tethered to them. Silence reigned as they continued their journey, one slow, painful step at a time.

They covered a few miles through the afternoon, but as the sun dipped lower, Ren’wyn’s pain intensified. Fael stopped abruptly at her sharp in hale.

“There’s no need to delay your healing for an extra half mile,” he said fi rmly.

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “S orry.”

You’re so stupid. So weak, Ren’wyn. Try ha rder.

Fael ignored her apology, laying out his travel blanket while she hobbled to the edge of the Mere and dipped her leg into the cold water.

The fresh current soothed the throbbing ache in her ankle, and she stayed until the worst of the pain subsided.

When she was done, Fael helped her back up the bank to the small campsite, his hands bracing her comfort ably.

He handed her another hard roll and some salted, dried pork. She ate in silence, sipping from the water skin. Afterward, she lay back while Fael began his exer cise.

The berserkers at Spyre had practiced the Passage, and Fael’s movements mirrored the disciplined dance of breath and motion she remembered.

The routine built endurance and flexibility with sustained poses and precise transitions.

Fael’s shortened version took him half an hour, the golden light of the setting sun casting flickering shadows across his frame as he m oved.

His agility was mesmerizing. The deliberate way he controlled his breathing, the fluid grace of his poses, the coiled power of every muscle—it sucked the air from the g lade.

Who was this man? she wondered. When did he discover his powers? How was he recruited? How had he survived the imperial army without being exec uted?

Ren’wyn forced herself to look away. Tamping down her curiosity, she gathered her leftover willow bark and added fresh boneset collected from the riverbank, crushing them together with a stone.

Unwrapping her ankle, she braced the splint and wet a strip of linen.

Then, she rubbed the crushed bark and leaves into the cloth, rewrapped her ankle, and secured the tie.

The whisper of a sword being unsheathed startled her. Her stomach clenched as she jerked her head toward Fael.

In the gathering darkness, he held his short sword, moving through a series of blocks, parries, and slices. Sweat dripped down his face, soaking his shirt, but his movements were deliberate and unyielding. His power radiated, warming the already sultry summer air.

Ren’wyn found herself relaxing in spite of everything. The heat of his magic eased the tension that had clung to her since Vair’s estate. She lay back on the blanket, the scents of earth and sweat mingling around her, and drifted off to Fael’s sword whispering in the night air.

She woke suddenly, panting and weeping in the dead of night. The screams of the guards echoed in her ears, their clawed hands vivid in her mind.

They’re dead! she screamed in side.

But why did their anguished cries sound so real? Why did the smell of rot crawl into her nose, as if the Void itself were haunting her dr eams?

Fael rolled to his feet, dagger in hand, scanning for threats. His sharp gaze softened when he saw her panic, and he crossed to crouch beside her. Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding her as he pressed her feet and backside against the e arth.

Reality crept back in. Her breathing steadied, the screams fading into the sha dows.

“Do you have any siblings?” he asked casually, breaking the heavy sil ence.

Ren’wyn blinked at him, panic giving way to confusion. Was he… distracting her?

“No,” she replied. “I was an only child. My mother miscarried three times after me, trying to provide my father with an heir.”

She grimaced at the horrible memories, though she would not take them back. Those unborn siblings guided her in the Void, their presence a quiet so lace.

“Me too,” Fael said, his hand lingering on her shoulder, a steady reassurance. “My mother and father didn’t love each other. They married because my father wanted her. After she had me, they separated. I stayed with her until my tenth birthday, when my power eme rged.”

His gaze unfocused as he spoke. “He came for me then, and I never saw her again. She died while I trained with my fa ther.”

Ren’wyn hesitated, then asked, “Where did you train? I’ve seen other berserkers train in similar ways. Did you have a Ma ster?”

Fael nodded. “I did. My Master was exacting. I have both good and bad memories of those years, but I owe him for everything he taught me. Berserker power is brutal and violent. Poorly trained berserkers are dangerous, to others and themselves. I’m grateful I wasn’t one of them.”