Page 37 of The Dark Mage

“We always begin with introductions,” Esrin continued. “Zev is a wight, which makes him an ideal spy. His abilities have allowed us to rob imperial transports blind. He’s originally from Kareht, and he and I started this g roup.”

He glanced affectionately at the people gathered around him. “As for the rest of us, our stories are our own. We share them as we choose—sometimes in pieces, sometimes not at all. Each person will tell you what they wish.”

His smile was warm and genuine as he looked at his companions, his affection for them shining in his eyes.

Will he tell his own story? she wond ered.

But Esrin turned to the first people in the group and gave a nod for them to b egin.

Two middle-aged women stepped forward—identical twins with dark skin and long, braided hair. They moved with synchronized grace, and Ren’wyn felt their druidic power humming in the air.

“We are Sorya and Relya,” the one on the left said, gesturing first to herself, then to her sister.

“We’re from Libuli. Our parents raised us in hiding until we reached marriageable age.

Our father wanted to arrange matches for us, but our mother sent us to Anduan instead.

There, we learned to wield our magic under an exiled Master.

When we returned to the mainland six months ago, Esrin found us traveling covertly, unsure of where to settle.

He offered us a place, and we acce pted. ”

Next to them, a broad-shouldered man stood with his hands in his pockets.

“My name is Wilenrut. I’m from Krynvallen—the Northern Forests to the empire.

” His accent was thick, familiar—like the northern classmates Ren’wyn remembered from the Academy.

“I have no magic, but I would see the Ashkrens and their followers burn for murdering my younger sister—a lovely young w ight.”

Between him and the next man stood a small woman with pale, fragile skin—almost paper-thin—and platinum hair so light it was nearly silver.

She hadn’t looked at Ren’wyn or Fael since their arrival, her gaze fixed downward beneath thin brows.

Wilenrut gestured toward her with slow, careful movements, as though she might startle at sudden mo tion.

“This is Avonlee, from the Territo ries.”

That was apparently all they would hear of her.

The next person was wiry and muscular, a Luremalan man with the honeyed accent Ren’wyn had come to recognize from the shopkeepers ne arby.

“Miguel,” he said si mply.

Ren’wyn schooled her expression. Three parallel scars ran from his forehead to his chin, distorting his upper lip, and a black patch covered his left eye. He wore a sword on each hip and stood in a fighter’s stance, balanced and ready. Beside her, Fael surveyed him with inte rest.

“I was trained as a sailor after being sold into slavery in Riva at seven,” Miguel said.

“I bought my freedom at twenty and purchased my first ship at twenty-five. I captained for seven years until imperial soldiers attacked my crew at port. They accused me of sheltering a berserker among my men. They held me, tortured me, and plundered my ship.” Miguel’s voice hardened.

“Zev freed me—poisoned their ale and wiped them out. I’ve been with him and Esrin ever since, determined to bring down the empire however I can. ”

The second-to-last was a striking woman in her mid-thirties, armed with both sword and bow. Her red hair was braided sensibly down her back.

“My name is Leta,” she said. “I was once an imperial sol dier.”

The group tensed at the admission, but she continued stea dily.

“I left after my fellow soldiers stripped me bare, raped me, and left me for dead in the woods during my first patrol.” Leta paused, her voice calm despite the horror of her story.

“I suppose I did die that day, in a way. Esrin found me along the road the next morning—by chance or fate.” She glanced at Esrin with quiet gratitude.

“We’ve traveled together for eight months.

I’ve been here longer than anyone except Zev. ”

“I’m Irik,” the last man said. “My brother Alen and sister Lia are patrolling the forest. We’re from Krynvallen, like Wilenrut.

Our father was a druid with a gift for water magic and a love of ancient Vallori ways.

When he was identified by an informant, the imperials came for him.

They killed our parents, hoping to find and execute us too.

We met Esrin, Leta, and Zev near the forest’s edge.

The six of us started this endeavor toge ther. ”

The group smiled at each other—except Avonlee, whose eyes remained downcast, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Ren’wyn mourned whatever suffering had left her like this and hoped she might comfort her in time.

The attention shifted to Ren’wyn and Fael. They exchanged a brief gl ance.

Fael went first. “My name is Fael,” he said. “I was trained as an imperial guard—but I’m also a berserker. I’ve been on the run for a year and a half since my captain discovered my magic. I’ve been searching for ways to dismantle the empire for nearly seven y ears.”

Ren’wyn took a breath and stepped forward. “My name is Ren’wyn, and I am a dark mage.”

A ripple of gasps spread through the group. Ren’wyn thought it was the mention of dark magic—until she saw their eyes shifting to Esrin with questioning l ooks.

“The Ren’wyn?” Sorya asked Esrin, incredulous. “Your woman from the Territories? How did you find her?”

Esrin shrugged. “By chance.” His tone sharpened. “And she’s not my woman. Ren’wyn and Fael have been traveling toge ther.”

She hated the way he said it—the sneer behind that single word: together. His judgment settled heavily in the air. Several people pointedly looked away.

“A dark mage?” Avonlee’s whisper broke the silence. She stared at Ren’wyn—not with fear, but with curiosity. Maybe even hope.

“Yes,” Ren’wyn continued, grateful for the diversion.

“From the Territories. My power was passed from my grandfather to my mother. When my father tried to marry me off, I ran. Fael helped me escape. He protected me, and we’ve supported each other ever since.

We’ve traveled through the Dark Forest and Terrepin.

I’m also an herbalist with some skill in northern pl ants. ”

Avonlee’s expression didn’t change, though her pale fingers unclenched slightly. Wilenrut placed a hand on her shoulder, and she blinked before lowering her eyes a gain.

Esrin stepped forward, his voice measured, like a speech he’d rehea rsed.

“We’d like to extend an invitation to work with us—to fight for the freedom of those with magic and to free our world from the empire’s grip.”

Ren’wyn and Fael shared another glance. The tension between them was heavy—the unspoken question of who they were to each other and whether they fit in here.

Esrin’s half-smile returned. “We’re planning to ambush a tax caravan. Come along. Miguel, Alen, Lia, and I will lead the mission while Leta stays to guard the camp. Watch what we do, and then make your deci sion.”

Fael’s warm fingers brushed lightly against Ren’wyn’s leg through her pants—a quiet reassur ance.

“All right,” he said. “We’ll come and see what yo u do.”