Page 18 of The Dark Mage

“Who leads you?” she dema nded.

“I speak for us,” a male voice answered, rich with so rrow.

A tall figure stepped forward—a shade with long black hair bound by a twisted leather cord. His faintly gleaming armor shimmered in her second sight, and a broadsword hung sheathed along his back.

“We have been prisoners of dark magic, held captive since we died on this land,” the shade intoned. “We were slaughtered here, long before the trees grew. A dark mage cursed us after we betrayed her, binding us to this place for eternity. We cannot rest until our debt is paid.

“We felt your presence the moment you entered the forest. Each day, you drew nearer, and we felt him as well—the fire that burns behind you.” The shade inclined his head respectfully toward Fael. Fael remained impassive, his breathing slow and steady as he held his ready st ance.

“We deserve our fate,” the shade continued. “Yet we ask for rest. So long have we been punished in darkness and pain. Will you free us from this curse, Dark One? Will you let us pay our debt to you?”

The clearing fell silent as Ren’wyn considered his request. Her knees shook from the strain of maintaining her magic. It wasn’t wise to linger here, but she needed to hear the shade’s story before making any decis ions.

She kept her gaze locked on the leader of the dead.

“I need to know the terms of an agreement,” she replied evenly, “and how you plan to fulfill them.”

“We owe a debt of service.” The shade’s voice softened. “May I show you why?”

He extended a thin, ghostly hand toward Fael’s shield, but Ren’wyn hesitated. She had shared memories with the dead before, but never in a place so steeped in ha tred.

There was no time to delay; her magic wouldn’t last forever. Steadying herself with a deep breath, she reached out. Her fingertips brushed the warmth of Fael’s shield before passing through. The Void enveloped her with icy air, shocking after the heat of Fael’s protec tion.

Her outstretched fingers met the shade’s, and the world dissolved into me mory.

Screaming and the coppery tang of blood filled her senses as a vast grassy field stretched into the distance. Men clashed across it, fighting and dying. Their screams—rage and fear intertwined—rose in a chaotic ch orus.

Through the shade’s eyes, Ren’wyn saw an army of 5,000 farmers and cattlemen, restless and terrified, assembled after the dark mage had come to him a month prior. They were untrained and unequipped for war. Crows circled above, waiting to feast on the cor pses.

The enemy outnumbered them, with two dozen berserkers leading the charge. Ren’wyn felt the shade’s terror as he watched one berserker cut down eight men at once, his sword blazing with fire.

The shade turned, looking uphill. The mage stood on a ledge, her form tense under the weight of the failing battle. Shadows poured down the slope as she paced. She was distra cted.

Now was their chance. Leaning back to his captains, the shade issued the order for a silent retreat. The battle was lost, but they could still es cape.

The order spread. They turned from the carnage and began a quiet withdrawal. The shade’s heart pounded with the hope of fre edom.

The mage’s power hit the shade’s body like a falling s tone.

Shadows erupted from the ground, jagged, skeletal arms clutching his legs. The cold burned his skin and muscles as it climbed upward. His bones ached under the unrelenting pres sure.

“Cowards,” her voice rasped, venomous and relentless, carried into his mind through the Void.

Around him, his men froze where they stood. Some clawed at their legs, fighting the shadows; others vomited or wept.

“You could have died heroes,” the mage’s voice continued, echoing through him. “Now, you will die where you s tand.”

His men began to fall, and the shade could only watch as his army was unmade. Their bodies crumbled into ash and mold as darkness consumed them. Her final words came as a personal damna tion.

“You and your men are cursed. I seal your fate with my blood vow. You will remain bound to this land and the Void until you can serve a righteous c ause.”

Pain coursed through his stomach and chest, and he couldn’t breathe. The world dimmed as his spirit faded. The last thing he heard was his men begging for mercy and cursing his name…

Ren’wyn gasped and staggered back as the connection severed, her breath coming in great gulps. Her body bore the agony of the shade’s death, her chest gripped in the memory of suffocation. Fighting the urge to retch, she met the shade’s eyes.

“In exchange for freedom, we will serve you,” the shade said, its voice low and solemn. “When you call, we will answer. In return, you will give a blood vow to break our shac kles.”

A blood vow. Ren’wyn’s eyebrows rose. Blood vows were binding, even in death. If she died before its fulfillment, her spirit would remain tethered to it. Master Lilith’s warning sounded in her mind: Consider a blood vow as you would consider a blade—carefully and only if you must.

She glanced at Fael. His brow was slick with sweat, his sword arm shaking. The strength of his power radiated like forged steel, holding the shades at bay. He was strong—but even he had limits. She could retreat, rest, and bind the shades later—or she could accept their bargain now and end this.

A breath passed. She c hose.

Snatching the small knife from her hip pouch, she slit a line across her forearm. Pain flared as blood welled and trickled toward her hand. Fael’s eyes widened, and he broke his stance, stumbling toward her.

“Ren’wyn!” he sho uted.

She squeezed her hand, making the blood run faster. Three crimson drops fell from her first knuckle as Fael’s movement broke his shield. The shades surged forward, their fury a tidal wave of cold. The iron pull of the Void nearly tore her apart, and Ren’wyn screamed as she held her con trol.

The blood met the dark soil at her feet.

“Serve me and be free,” she whisp ered.

As the first of the damned grabbed her hair and dress with desperate, clawing fingers, the shade at the front nodded once.

And they vani shed.

The Void ripped away with such force that Ren’wyn clutched her chest, falling to her knees. Her face hit the pine needles, and she tasted blood, earth, and r esin.

“Ren’wyn!” Fael’s voice sounded distant, fra ntic.

She barely registered the thud of his sword as it hit the ground. Heavy footsteps pounded toward her as he sprinted into the clearing. It must have been terrifying for him to enter this space. Then, his arms encircled her, lifting he r up.

“Ren’wyn, Ren’wyn,” he choked, gripping her fier cely.

She turned into him, eyes streaming, and weakly clutched his s hirt.

“Fael,” she groaned, “I’m… out of s hape.”

A startled laugh escaped him—half relief, half sob. He tucked her against his chest, his heartbeat thundering beneath his sweat-soaked shirt, and gently brushed needles from her hair.

“Gods, I hate this place,” he muttered darkly. “Let’s get back under the heml ocks.”

He carried her from the clearing, strength unwavering. She clung to him until they reached the shelter of the trees, where he finally stumbled before kneeling to set her down gently. He grabbed the water skin and handed it to her, his hands still sha king.

Ren’wyn drank deeply, letting the cool water wash away the taste of grave mold. Fael sipped some as well, then leaned back, pale and breath less.

Taking hold of his shirt again, Ren’wyn croaked, “Thank you.”

It wasn’t enough, but it was all she could manage before exhaustion dragged her under. Fael nodded silently and gathered her close. She sank into the warmth of his arms as together they lay down on the forest floor and s lept.

Birdsong pierced the air, jarringly loud after the suffocating silence of the cursed glade. The air was lighter, fresher—a world renewed after the lifted curse. On the soft needles, the smell of stone and smoke overpowered everything. It was warm and safe. She was warm and safe.

Opening her eyes, Ren’wyn found her face buried in Fael’s shirt, his arms wrapped securely around her, his chin resting on top of her head.

Her head throbbed, her stomach rumbled, her arm stung, and her power was drained, but they had survived.

Together, their combined strength had been their salvation.

Deep gratitude and unexpected pride swelled in her chest. She’d held her gr ound.

Fael stirred and blinked awake. His sleepy, lazy smile softened his features—the fierce lines of rage and tension from the day before replaced by something gentler. His hair, growing in dark and thick, almost masked the imperial tat toos.

When recognition cleared the haze from his eyes, he jolted upright, disentangling himself too quickly.

He pressed a hand to his head, groaning as dizziness overtook him, and reached blindly for the water skin.

Ren’wyn watched as he drank deeply before crawling toward his pack.

Her stomach growled loudly at the s ight.

“Fael… thank you,” she rasped, her throat raw. “Thank you for saving my life. I’m sorry I went into the clearing. I was careless, and you risked everything to hel p me.”

He paused, two small apples in hand. “I’ve never seen anything like what you did yesterday,” he said, passing one over to her. “It was like a tidal wave rushing over the dead, breaking their curse. You save d us.”

He reached for her arm and gently turned it, examining the cut. His long fingers pressed lightly over the wound, a mixture of tenderness and something fiercer—a restrained a nger.

“You made a blood vow,” he said, his voice low. “Tell me what they asked for.”

She kept her wrist still in his long, strong fingers. “They were cursed for cowardice by a dark mage after betraying her in battle. They’ve been trapped here ever since. I promised to release them in return for their service t o me.”

Fael ran a hand over his short hair, exhaling slowly as he processed her words. Blood vows were sacred—and unbreak able.

“I didn’t know berserkers could create shields,” Ren’wyn added. “It kept the dead from touching me, kept the Void from taking me. I felt it pulling… insisting that I die. Without the shield, I might have.”

A self-conscious smile curved Fael’s lips. “I’ve only seen it done once—by a Master shielding his student in battle. I remembered the form and acted on instinct.” His grin deepened. “Now I know what I’m capabl e of.”

The cool evergreen breeze stirred Ren’wyn’s hair.

A strange jolt of energy coursed between them, electric and sharp.

Something fundamental had shifted. An intimate bond of trust, forged in fire and death, now bound them.

Fael’s thumb brushed absently across her forearm before he reached for his pack.

“I have more linen strips in here,” he said. “I’ll wrap your arm. Any herbs I should add?”

She shook her head, wishing she had shinleaf to speed the healing. The cut stung, but Fael’s concentration and tenderness soothed the burn. With the injury covered, they sat close, quietly eating their apples, as if their proximity assured them they were still a live.

Fael decided to rest for the morning. They walked to the spring they’d crossed the day before, washed their faces, and dipped their limbs into the cold water. Ren’wyn drifted off among the wild garlic on the bank and eventually woke to the familiar sound of Fael exerci sing.

With sleepy eyes, she watched him move through a new pattern. His graceful fluidity reminded her of the weeping willow behind her dorm at Spyre—bending but never breaking, even in the fiercest st orms.

Since her time with Peria and Esrin, she hadn’t let anyone see so much of her power. Fael had seen everything—her strength, her weakness, and the darkness she commanded—and still, he’d defended her at the risk of his own life.

Perhaps sensing her watching, Fael turned. Their eyes met, and they shared an unguarded smile. They were alive, and they were victor ious.

Fael climbed down to the spring and splashed his face with cold water. Then, lightning fast, he flung a handful at her, hitting her square in the face.

She gasped in shock, then burst out laug hing.

Fael’s grin was bright as the sun. He held out his hand to help he r up.

“Ready?” he a sked.

Ren’wyn took his hand, her fingers lacing through his. “R eady.”

They gathered their belongings, still smiling, and turned to face the glade a gain.