Rist's breath misted before him as he walked, the morning sun cutting through the thin clouds overhead. Earlywinter had long made way for spring, and summer was fast approaching, but the morning air still held a slight chill.
He looked at Neera, who walked to his right, giving her a soft smile. Most of her wounds had healed or scabbed over, but he could still see the bandages poking through her shirt around the right side of her chest and shoulder. She'd not talked about it, but he hadn't seen the crinkles of her nose or heard her snort with laughter since that day in the triage tent.
"What do you want?"
"Nothing." Rist tried not to sound defensive, but he was pretty sure he failed.
"Then why are you looking at me like that?"
"Looking at you like what?"
"Like a puppy who's found its mother."
"Ahh," Magnus boomed, turning from where he walked in front of them, fresh scars marring his arms and neck. Even though the right side of Magnus's beard had been burned to nothing during the battle at The Three Sisters, the man had decided to keep the left side covered in thick black hair. It was more than a little disconcerting to look at and somehow made Magnus seem even more unhinged. "Young love. Like I said, Uraksplitter, that could be us if you just give it a chance."
"With a beard like that, Magnus, the only thing you'll be bedding is a blind wolf."
"Ain't nothing wrong with a little danger, Uraksplitter."
Anila gave Magnus a cold stare, then shook her head.
"So, Garramon. They've not been able to get a word out of the girl?"
Garramon shook his head but didn't speak. He hadn't spoken since Taya Tambrel had sent for him to come to the tent where they were keeping the girl they had captured during the fires the other night. Rist didn't know much except that after the alarm was raised to warn of an elven attack, a group of rebels had untethered the horses and set fire to the wagons and tents. Many of the sick and injured had died in the flames, left behind and unable to crawl from the blazing tents. Hundreds had lost their lives.
Rist wasn't sure how he felt about that word: rebels. He'd heard of the fighting in the South – some of it in Illyanara, though mostly in the east. He'd heard of the factions rising across the province, each warring against one another, but all raising their banners in opposition to the Lorians. Even the High Lord, Castor Kai, had not re-affirmed his allegiance, which was not being taken well in the North. Rist reckoned that if the Uraks hadn't been attacking so savagely, and now the elves, more soldiers would have been sent south. But that word echoed in Rist's mind. Rebels. Would that be what the people of The Glade would be called if they rose up? Nothing more than rebels. The thought set his skin crawling.
"She must be strong as an ox," Magnus said. "There's no Inquisitors here, but there's some who would be more than happy to cause pain to another. I'd like to meet the girl with balls of steel. But I suppose that's why Taya sent for you, Arbiter."
Garramon stopped in his tracks.
"I didn't mean anything by it, Brother." Magnus frowned, showing his open palms. "We both know it's true. She didn't ask for Exarch Garramon, she asked for the Arbiter."
Garramon drew in a long breath through his nose, his eyes fixed on Magnus. Magnus towered over Garramon, his shoulders half again as broad, his neck thick and muscled, his hands as large as shovels. And yet, somehow it was the look in Garramon's eyes that set Rist on edge.
"Let's get this over with." Garramon turned and walked off towards the centre of the camp – or what was left of it after the charred tents had been removed. The Craftsmages had been able to weave replacements from the supplies that survived but only enough to force the soldiers to sleep double, like birds packed into a nest.
Six guards stood watch over the front of the tent, four in the black and red of Loria, steel breastplates strapped across their chests, and two in the black plate of Taya Tambrel's Blackwatch. The two Blackwatch guards stood almost a head taller than the other, helmets and pauldrons wrought in the shape of roaring lion heads.
"She's waiting for you," one of the Blackwatch said, dipping his head only slightly as Garramon approached.
Garramon nodded in answer, stepping past the guards and into the tent, Rist and the others following after.
The tent was square and twice as large as the one Rist, Neera, Garramon, Anila, and ten other mages of the First Army shared. Taya Tambrel, along with a short, squat man with bandages wrapped around his left forearm and another who Rist recognised immediately as Eltoar Daethana, stood to the right, beside a long wooden table. The captive stood at the back, her hands bound by shackles chained to a post.
"What in Efialtír's name is that beast?"
At the sound of Magnus's voice, a hulking shape lifted to its feet on the left side of the tent, a deep growl resonating in its throat. It was a wolfpine – Rist would have recognised it anywhere – but it was far larger than any wolfpine Rist had ever laid eyes on. Its fur was matted with blood and dried dirt, patches missing where scars had been raked through flesh. There was something familiar about it – something that niggled in the back of his mind. The wolfpine snarled and snapped its jaws, howling. An iron collar wrapped around its neck chained it in place, but with each creak of iron, Rist became more and more uncertain as to whether the chain would hold.
"Ehm… are we sure that chain will hold?" Magnus asked, scratching at the bearded side of his chin.
"No." Taya Tambrel turned to acknowledge the tent's new entrants. "It broke free already and killed four men. If it weren't for the commander," Taya said, gesturing towards Eltoar, "it would have been much worse than it was. I've had Craftsmages forge thicker chains and double them up. Hopefully that'll hold the beast." Taya reached out her hand and clasped Garramon's forearm. "Exarch Garramon, it's good you're here."
"Why not kill it?" The coldness in Magnus's voice surprised Rist. The man was usually so full of laughter, but cold moments like that reminded Rist that Magnus was far more than just a joke teller.
"Because the Justicars believe she is a druid and the wolf some kind of… bonded animal."
Eltoar Daethana lifted his gaze from whatever he was reading at the long table. Standing without his plate armour, in a simple white tunic and black trousers, Rist could see just how broad shouldered and muscled the commander of the Dragonguard truly was. Somehow, Eltoar seemed even more intimidating without his armour. His snow-white hair was tied up, and a sword with a black dragonhead pommel hung at his hip. "Ilyain has encountered druids before," Eltoar said with a shrug. "If he says this is a druid, she is a druid. Besides, you have seen her eyes and teeth."
"You questioned her?" Garramon looked past Taya and Eltoar, to the squat man at the end of the table who wore a brown leather apron, a unfurled wrap of sharp steel tools laid out before him.
"Aye, it was me, Exarch. The name's Lerol Holts, of the Blackwatch." The man wiped his hands with a cloth, then stepped clear of the table, stuffing the cloth in one of the apron's pockets. "She's a feisty bitch – bites more than the wolf." The man lifted his bandaged arm. "Here, see for yourself."
The man reached his hand towards the captive woman, yanking it back as she came alive, thrashing, pulling at her chains, jaws snapping shut.
"Down, bitch." Lerol drove his fist hard into the woman's jaw, blood spraying across the dirt and grass upon which the tent had been pitched. She lunged forwards, her chains clinking as they caught behind her, and Lerol slammed his fist into her jaw once more, which sent her back a pace or two but didn't knock her down. She stood there, breathing heavy, sweat and blood dripping from her hair.
"What has she said?" Rist could tell by the curl at the edge of Garramon's lips that he was dissatisfied with Lerol's methods. It was the same look he'd given Rist on a number of occasions; Rist had made sure to memorise it.
"Nothing." The man made a guttural hocking noise, then spat a lump of phlegm into the dirt. "She's more feral than the wolf. Be better to see if it'll talk."
"You might not be wrong." Eltoar looked to Garramon.
"You want me to talk to the wolf?" Lerol asked, perplexed.
Rist could see Garramon's jaw clenching. "If she is a druid," he said, letting out a sigh, "then she will bear a deeper connection to the animal than is natural. We've seen it before, only the once. A man and his hawk. He was being questioned by the Inquisition. Not a word left his lips for six days."
"What happened on the seventh day?" Magnus asked.
"On the seventh day, the Inquisitor in charge of questioning ripped off the hawk's wings, and the man broke down into incoherent babbling."
"Did he talk?"
"No." Garramon shook his head. "He broke free of his bonds and tore the Inquisitor's arms off. We only even heard of the account through the account of the Inquisitor's apprentice."
"Well," the squat man, Lerol, said. "Perhaps we don't kill the wolf, just hurt it until she talks."
The woman's head twitched, lifting to look towards Lerol. "If you touch a hair on his head, I'll rip out your throat."
The voice was a more growl than anything else, but something about it sounded familiar. He leaned his head down, trying to see the woman's face, but it was covered by sweat-soaked hair.
"Well," Lerol said. "Looks like we have a plan then. That's the first thing she's said she was dragged in here."
"I meant it." The woman jerked her head, flicking her hair to the side so she could see. "I will rip your throat out. I…"
Her voice trailed off, her stare turning to Rist. It was all Rist could do to stifle the gasp that rose in his throat. The woman's face was covered in dried blood, marked where the sweat had streaked through, and her nose was recently broken – judging by the fresh swelling – but he had absolutely no doubt who it was chained to the post.
Ella… What in the gods are you doing here?
Rist saw the recognition in her eyes, and he knew she was likely asking the same question: what was Rist doing amongst the Lorian armies? The pair of them were in places the other never would have imagined them being, but Rist had even more reason to be surprised: Ella was dead. She had died in the fire that had killed Freis. Unless she hadn't been sleeping there that night… Unless she had already been gone. The only place Rist could have imagined her being was with Rhett Fjorn. Her and Rhett's relationship was The Glade's worst-kept secret. A hundred more possibilities flitted across Rist's mind, but in the end he decided one thing: it didn't matter how, it only mattered that she was alive. And if that was Ella, was the wolfpine… Faenir? It can't be. Can it?Ella turned her head back towards Lerol, a growl rising in her throat.
What happened to you?
Out of the corner of his eye, Rist saw Garramon looking at him with a narrowed gaze. The man didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. It was clear he'd seen Ella's hesitation when she saw Rist. Had he seen the recognition? Would it matter if he had? All of a sudden Rist felt alone in a foreign place. Simply being from The Glade made him vulnerable in this situation, and that was something he'd not had to face.
Garramon's gaze shifted to something behind Rist, and he heard the sound of dirt crunching beneath boots.
Rist turned to see Farda Kyrana, the Justicar who was leading the Battlemages of the Fourth Army and the man who had carried Neera from the battlefield at The Three Sisters – the man who had saved her life. He was as tall as Calen with shoulders even broader. A scar ran across his right eye. His dark hair fell down near his jaw, and a beard covered the lower half of his face.
"You called?" The man slowed as he entered the tent, looking about, taking stock of the tent's occupants.
"Yes, Justicar Kyrana, thank you for coming." Taya moved away from the table and grabbed Farda's forearm. "We are due to move out by sunrise a day from now," she said, turning towards Ella. "We already have the elves at our back, but I would prefer to know we don't have a horde of rebels waiting at our front. Questioning has been slow, despite Lerol's best efforts, and I assure you he is quite adept at this particular skillset. I have asked Exarch Garramon to aid in the interrogation, but your fellow Justicar, Ilyain Altair, says that you have experience with druids. He himself refused to aid."
"I do. Though not as much as Ilyain himself." Farda stepped further into the tent, passing Rist. His face was almost unreadable, except for his eyes, which widened as though he'd just seen a ghost. It was then that Rist realised Ella had lifted her head and was staring at the Justicar, an intensity in her gaze.
"Oh, I see she likes you already." Lerol let out a throaty laugh, coughing up another ball of phlegm.
Farda ignored the man. He pulled a small gold coin from his trouser pocket, running his thumb across its surface as he stared at Ella.
"Lions or crowns to see who goes first?" Lerol pulled a cloth from his pocket and rubbed Ella's blood from his fist. "The real question is do you start on the girl or the wolf?"
"It's a wolfpine." Farda didn't move his gaze from Ella as he spoke. A moment passed, and then he flicked the coin into the air.
Farda sat on a stack of crates at the southern edge of the camp, where the mages had set up. He'd been in that same position ever since leaving the interrogation tent. He'd refused to aid and simply left instead. There'd be questions – from Eltoar, from Taya – but he cared little.
He flicked the coin into the air with a clink that rang out in the night, piercing the din of insects, then let it drop into his palm without bothering to look at the result.
Soldiers had passed by every quarter-hour or so, swords at their belts, eyes wide and alert. There had been no more drunken wallowing since the night of the attack – the rebels really had chosen their timing perfectly.
Farda let out a heavy sigh, repeatedly flicking the coin. He had not expected to see Ella in that tent. He had always hoped she'd found a way to escape Berona, but he'd never have expected she'd join with the northern rebels – he didn't even want to know the odds of that. If he were to put his money on it, he would have guessed Tanner Fjorn was responsible. Farda had not previously seen any reason to connect the man to the rebels, but Tanner certainly had the constitution for it. He was a man Farda respected, the kind of man who would fight for something.
On top of it all, she was a druid now. How in the name of all the gods had that happened? It was clearly in her blood. What that meant for the Draleid, Farda was unsure, but he cared little for what happened with the Draleid anymore.
The question was, what did he do now? He flicked the coin again. Clink. Farda held his palm outstretched, but the metallic ringing stopped dead and the coin never landed in his palm.
"She is gone, Brother." Ilyain stood beside Farda, his hand closed in a fist, the coin within. Only the faintest scar marred his face from where the owl had clawed him. The Healers had done a good job. He stared off into the distance, his sightless eyes staring at nothing in particular. The elf might never have been blinded, for all it impeded him. Even then, Farda could not feel any threads of the Spark augmenting Ilyain's perception. "You need to stop punishing yourself."
"You know I can't do that." Farda looked up at the cold moon etched into the night sky, pale white clouds dispersing its light. He held out his hand, and Ilyain dropped the coin onto his palm.
"No," Ilyain agreed. "But whatever it is you're debating now, trust yourself again. Do not let the fates decide. What is the point in living on with half a soul if we do not follow our hearts? They're all we have left."
Farda turned to look at Ilyain, who still stared off into nothingness.
"Don't look at me like that." The elf raised his eyebrows, his lips curling at the edges.
Farda could do nothing but laugh. He bit his lip and shook his head, letting out a puff of air.
"Whatever it is, Hala and I are with you."
"You say that without knowing?"
Ilyain shrugged. "We've both recently decided there's little point in the knowing of things. We'd rather trust in the knowing of people."
"And what brought about this thinking?" Farda asked. "There's something that's changed in you, old friend."
"A bad decision, followed by centuries of contemplation, followed by a sign from the gods. As I told you before the battle – if we're to die, we'd rather do it with our own kind."
Farda nodded softly. He looked at the coin in his palm and flicked it into the air. "I don't think you're going to like what my heart is telling me to do."
The coin landed.
"It's the druid, isn't it?"
"What makes you say that?"
"You've been in the same spot since you got back from the tent." Ilyain blew out a puff of air. "I don't think she's going to like me very much. I wasn't particularly gentle with her."
Farda closed his fingers around the coin. He squeezed tighter until he could feel the pressure of the metal pushing against the bones of his hand. He let out a long breath, then slid the coin back into his pocket.
"I'll go wake Hala."
Farda ran his thumb over and back across the coin as he approached the interrogation tent. The two Blackwatch guards who had been posted there earlier were now gone, but four new soldiers in the black and red of Loria stood watch.
The soldiers' backs straightened as Farda approached – they knew him. Good.
"Justicar." The nearest soldier on the left of the tent's entrance nodded. "Supreme Commander Tambrel is no longer here, Sir. She has retired for the night."
"And she's left you standing out here?" Farda allowed a smile to creep across his lips.
The man laughed but shuffled his shoulders, standing straighter. "Happy to do it, sir. That wench in there killed good men and women."
"That she did," Farda said with a nod. "I was in earlier, assisting Exarch Garramon with the questioning. I have a few more 'questions' to ask of our new guest."
The guard gave Farda a grin. "Ask all the 'questions' you want, Justicar. She deserves all the 'questions' she can get."
"I'll see to it…?"
"Pardem, sir. Tal Pardem."
"I'll see to it, Tal Pardem." Farda stepped past the guards and through the tent's entrance, allowing the smile to fade from his face. Insufferable twit.
"Ah, Justicar Kyrana. What a pleasant surprise."
Farda snapped his gaze upwards, finding himself staring at the smiling face of Commander Talvare. Two of the commander's generals stood to her left – General Hanat and General Fulker, both younger women with dark hair – while Guthrin Vandimire stood by her right, his oily black hair glistening in the light of the freshly lit lanterns that hung from posts about the tent.
"Commander Talvare." Farda gave a quick nod. He didn't bother to acknowledge Guthrin. The man wasn't worth the energy it wasted for Farda to move his neck. "What brings you here at this hour?"
"I've never seen a druid before. When Supreme Commander Tambrel told me we had one in chains, I had to come and see for myself. I have to say, she and the wolf are rather impressive." Talvare turned back towards Ella, who knelt on the ground with the chains lifting her arms into the air. "Though she seems so young for one who has caused so much chaos." Talvare looked at Farda, eyes narrowing. "I could ask the same of you, Justicar Kyrana. What has you here at this hour?"
"There's a few more questions I'd like to ask her."
"And you come back now?" Guthrin's voice oozed with disapproval, his beady eyes fixed on Farda. "At this hour?"
"There is an art to interrogation, Guthrin." Farda stepped towards the table at the right side of the room, where Lerol had left his interrogation instruments. He reached over to the leather wrap that rested on the table, pulled at the strings and unfurled it. The polished steel implements glinted in the lantern-light. "You see, the key is to never let them sleep."
Farda picked up a particularly gruesome-looking tool shaped like a shears but with sharp teeth instead of cutting edges. He had no idea what the thing was called or what it was used for, but by the looks of it, it could only have been used to tear pieces of flesh from someone. He turned to Guthrin, snapping the jaws of the toothed-shears closed. "You break them slowly. You never stop. Stopping lets them rebuild."
He placed the shears back on the table and picked up a small, scythe-like tool that looked as though it would have been more at home in a surgeon's hands. "Now, if you would excuse me, there are questions to be asked and answers to be gleaned. I wouldn't think you'd have the constitution for it, Guthrin."
"Come." Talvare looked back at Ella, who knelt on the ground. She gestured to Guthrin and the other two generals. "I have no fear of blood, but I've had my fill of it for now."
For a moment, Farda saw the man's resolve waver, but then a surprising hardness set into his eyes. "You said you wanted to see a druid, Commander. Better an awake one than a sleeping one. We should stay, at least for a while. Let us hear her speak."
Talvare let out a long sigh, looking from Farda to Guthrin, rolling her eyes. "All right."
Footsteps sounded behind Farda, and he turned to see Garramon's young acolyte, Rist Havel walking into the tent, his eyes wide when he took in the tent's occupants. What in the gods is he doing here?
"And who the fuck are you?" Guthrin rolled his eyes. "I think you're lost. How did you get past the guards?"
"Because he's an acolyte of the Battlemages, Guthrin." Talvare shook her head. "Your powers of observation are too often lacking." Talvare fixed her gaze on the young man. "I am Commander Talvare of the Fourth Army. What is your name and why you here?"
"I'm Acolyte Rist Havel," the young man said. There was an awkwardness to him. He held his arms tight to his body, his fingers fidgeting, and he looked as though all he wanted to do was run from the tent, but he also met Talvare's gaze without hesitation. "I've met you before, Commander Talvare." Rist bowed deeply at the waist. "And also you, General Vandimire, General Hanat, General Fulker, Justicar Kyrana. It was an honour."
The young man had a remarkable memory for names. Farda looked from Rist to Guthrin, whose face now bore a self-important grin. Flattery will get you everywhere, Rist Havel.
"And what, in the emperor's name, are you doing here?" Guthrin pulled at the end of his moustache, glaring at Rist.
"Exarch Garramon is my Sponsor. He's asked me to check on the druid. I'm to give her water." The young acolyte pulled a waterskin from a satchel that hung at his side.
Well. He's clearly lying. But why?
"Have at it then, boy. Then make yourself scarce."
The situation was getting more out of control by the minute. There were too many variables.
"Farda?"
The gruff voice caused Farda to clench his jaws.
"Kyrana, is she calling you by name?"
Fuck. Farda turned away from the young acolyte and looked from Guthrin to Ella. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the wolfpine, Faenir, shift, heard a slight jingle of his chains.
"Farda… please, help me."
Guthrin dropped his hand to the pommel of his sword, widening his stance. "Why would she think you would help her, Kyrana? Something you wish to confess?"
"Stop being such an idiot, Guthrin. Keep your dick in its sheath. It's not like you know how to use it." Talvare looked to Farda. "Farda, what is going on?"
Farda looked from Talvare, to Rist Havel, to Guthrin, accepting that this wasn't going to happen the easy way. He drew in a breath, then gave a sharp whistle.
"What in the void was that?" Guthrin didn't move his hand from the pommel of his sword. He took a step closer to Farda, eyes narrowing. "I've always thought you were…"
They had all heard it: the sound of four bodies hitting the ground outside the tent.
Guthrin ripped his sword from his scabbard, holding it like a child would a stick. How the man had ever attained his position as general was beyond Farda. Though from what Talvare had told him before, it likely had something to do with his bloodline. Whatever it was, incompetence always tended to float upwards. The other two generals shifted their stances and dropped their hands to their sword pommels but didn't draw steel.
"Farda." The tone in Commander Talvare's voice changed, growing softer. Her hands stayed away from her sword. "Whatever you are about to do, don't. It's not too late."
"In the void it's not too late." Guthrin extended his sword. "Lay your weapon down and come peacefully or—"
"Or what?" Farda asked, cutting across the man. "Or you'll skewer yourself on my sword?" Farda sighed. The young acolyte, Rist, hadn't moved. He stood with his feet glued to the ground. Anyone else might have thought he was scared, but that was not the case; he was watching. "I'm taking the druid, and I'm leaving. I don't want to kill you – well, I'll happily kill you," he said, gesturing to Guthrin. "But Ayura—" he found himself using Commander Talvare's first name "—I would rather not have this go down that path. Drop your weapons belt to the ground and stand by the table. You too," he said, nodding to the other two generals.
"Use your head, Farda. None of this makes sense." Talvare's voice remained level as she spoke, but Farda also noticed she didn't reach to undo her weapons belt.
Guthrin stepped forwards, sword raised. "I'll make sure they take your head for this, Kyrana. Boy." He gestured towards Rist. "You're a Battlemage. Make sure he doesn't try anything."
Rist raised a curious eyebrow but didn't reach for the Spark, nor did he answer Guthrin.
Farda pulled the coin from his pocket, holding it in front of Guthrin. "Do you remember what I said this coin was for, Guthrin? I don't suppose you do. I don't suppose you remember much beyond how to eat, sleep, shit, and be a fucking idiot." With the words leaving his lips, Farda realised he hadn't appreciated just quite how much he despised the weasel of a man. "I said this coin is for deciding whether you live or die."
Guthrin's eyes narrowed at the coin, and Farda could see the man swallow, see the tremble of his sword. It would have been easy to use the Spark, but doing so would alert every mage in the camp. He looked to the acolyte. "Think quickly, or this will be you."
He flicked the coin in the air.
The beginnings of a war cry left Guthrin's throat as he lunged forwards, but it was cut short as Farda side stepped and swung the blade of the scythe-like torture implement into the soft flesh at the side of Guthrin's neck. Blood spilled over the steel as Farda yanked the man closer, using the small scythe like a hook. Guthrin dropped his sword to the ground, reaching his hands up to clasp at the steel in his neck.
Farda snatched the coin from the air, not bothering to look. He pulled harder on the small scythe, dragging Guthrin closer. The man choked and spluttered, blood pouring from his neck and mouth like a fountain. "You did well to live this long."
With the coin still held in his free hand, Farda gripped Guthrin's shirt. He held the man in place as he ripped the scythe forward, tearing it through Guthrin's throat and pulling it free. He released his grip, letting Guthrin fall, limp, blood pouring freely.
Farda stood over Guthrin, drawing in a slow breath. He threw the small scythe to the ground. "Step aside, Ayura. I don't want to kill you."
He was telling the truth. Of all the commanders Farda had met in his time, Ayura Talvare and Taya Tambrel were up there with those who truly held his respect.
Talvare looked down at Guthrin's body, her gaze holding for a few moments before she looked back at Farda. Her stare was hard as steel. He could see the fear in her, but she dominated it. Yet another reason to respect you. "I can't do that, Farda."
"Don't be stupid. Leave now. Nobody will ever know you or your generals were here. I killed the guards, found Guthrin here, and killed him too. Then I took the druid and left." He looked at Rist. "Does that sound right to you?"
Farda saw the glint of acknowledgement in the young man's eyes. "It does, Justicar."
"Good. You see, Talvare, you live, your generals live, the acolyte lives, and I go on my merry way. We all win."
"Not Guthrin."
"Guthrin was a prick."
"Fair assessment." Talvare swallowed hard, drew in a long breath, and slid her sword from its scabbard. "I can't let you take her, Farda. If she has information about a rebel attack, I need to know."
"Step out of the way, Ayura."
"No."
Farda gritted his teeth. They didn't have much time. Ilyain and Hala were watching the entrance, but they still needed to get out as quickly as they could and put as much difference between them and the camp as possible. "Don't make me do this, Ayura."
"I'm not making you do anything. This is your choice, Farda. If you're going to kill me to get to her, then take accountability for it. Don't hide behind me or that coin." Talvare shifted her stance, moving into Raging Wind. Unlike Guthrin, Talvare knew how to handle a blade.
"So be it. For what it's worth, this does not make me happy."
"Nothing could ever make you happy, Justicar Kyrana."
With that, Talvare lunged, immediately taking the offensive. General Hanat and General Fulker drew their swords and moved by Talvare's side. Farda pulled his blade from its scabbard, turning away Talvare's swing. She moved like a woman of half her years and hit with the force of a wild bull. But still, Farda knew the inevitability of what was to come.
Hanat struck at Farda's head, but he dropped, swinging his blade and opening her belly. As Farda came up, Fulker stabbed at his torso. He twisted, the blade sliding past his chest. She overextended. He placed the flat of his hand on her back and pushed as he drove his sword through her neck from the other direction.
He yanked the blade free in time to deflect a swing from Talvare. She came at him three more times, her swings measured, her stance wide. She almost caught him with a stab to the chest, but Farda twisted, meeting her blade with his, then turning it to the side before bringing his own steel back around and slicing through the skin and bone of her left forearm. Talvare let out a scream as the steel cleaved through bone. Farda kicked at the inside of her knee, feeling a crunch. She fell to her good knee, howling, and Farda plunged his blade into her throat.
Talvare looked up at him, her eyes wide, blood sprinkling her lip.
Farda pulled the blade free, kneeling beside Talvare and catching the back of her head before she fell backwards.
"I'm sorry," he whispered as he lay her down gently. She tried to speak, but blood filled her throat and mouth. "I truly am."
Farda knelt, his hand resting on Talvare's cheek, until he saw her last breath fill her lungs. And even then, he knelt for a moment longer. He couldn't remember the last time he regretted taking a life. With a long, remorseful sigh, he rose to his feet, drawing in a deep breath. He turned to the acolyte, readying himself. There was only so far he was willing to trust a stranger. "You—"
"I came to free her too."
"You what?" Farda stared at the young man, doing nothing to hide the look of confusion he knew adorned his face.
"I came to free Ella too."
"How… do you know her name?"
"How do you know her name?"
Farda made to answer but stopped himself. "You're not the one asking the questions here."
"I grew up with her," the acolyte said. Farda wouldn't have been inclined to believe him, but then the pieces he had been missing slipped into place. He knew why the young man had looked so familiar when he had accompanied Garramon to the command tent that day outside Fort Harken. Rist Havel – the Innkeeper's son. The one who escaped with Calen Bryer. What are the odds? Farda had heard little on the Draleid after he had gone to intercept Ella at Gisa, and the Fade had attacked Belduar. Did Garramon know who he had in his possession? Even as Farda asked himself the question, he knew the answer: of course Garramon knew. The Arbiter was not a man who made mistakes easily.
Farda stared at the young man for a moment longer, then grabbed a rag from the table to his right and wiped the blood from his sword.
"All right. I don't have time for a hundred questions." He slid his sword back into its scabbard. "What was your plan? Charge in here and then what?"
Rist looked back, an expression on his face as though Farda had asked a ridiculous question. "Open her shackles and set her free."
"And how were you planning to do that?" Farda himself had settled on using the Spark being the simplest available way. It would alert the others, but it was the quickest way.
The young man narrowed his eyes as though Farda had just asked him a trick question. He reached into his pocket and produced a set of small iron keys on an iron ring. "I stole the keys from the interrogator, Lerol, while we were here earlier. How were you planning to do it?"
Farda pursed his lips. Had he thought acquiring the keys would have been that simple, that is precisely what he would have done.
"Farda…" Ella's voice was harsh and dry. Her head still hung forwards, hair dangling. Dried blood covered her hands, wrists, and arms from where the manacles had sliced into her skin.
Farda snatched the key from Rist, then moved to Ella, unlocking the manacles and catching her as she collapsed into his arms. He pushed back her sweat-slicked hair, patting the side of her cheek. "Ella, Ella. Stay awake."
He peeled open her drooping right eyelid. Her eyes were glazed, almost vacant.
"Faenir," she mumbled, "Free him…"
Farda lay Ella on the ground, then turned to where Faenir had been collared to find the wolfpine standing at full height, glaring at him with amber eyes. The creature truly had grown enormous since Farda had last laid eyes on him. The crown of his head easily stood a match for Farda's chest, and his shoulders were dense and broad, muscle rippling. There was now absolutely no doubt in Farda's mind that Ella was a druid.
"Easy." Farda reached out an open palm, speaking in as calm a tone as he could. He glanced back at Rist. "Make sure she's all right. Give her some water." He heard the sound of shuffling feet as he turned back to meet the wolfpine's gaze.
A deep growl resonated in Faenir's throat, and the wolfpine's lips drew back in a snarl, saliva dripping from his long fangs.
"I'm pretty sure you don't like me," Farda whispered, taking another step closer to the wolfpine. "But if you promise not to eat me, I'll unlock that collar."
Negotiating with the animal seemed like a waste of time, but from Farda's experience with druids – which, admittedly wasn't too deep a well – any animal that bonded with an Aldruid grew keener of mind, and he could see that in Faenir.
The wolfpine's growl deepened, but then he stretched one grey paw forwards and bowed his head for Farda to unlock the collar. As Farda inserted the key and turned it, eliciting a click, a snarl sounded behind him.
The wolfpine's collar fell with a thud, and Farda turned to see Ella on top of Rist, her face contorted in rage, her eyes shimmering a molten gold, her teeth and fingernails longer and sharper than they had any right to be. The only reason the acolyte wasn't torn to the shreds was the barrier of Air he had hastily placed between them, holding Ella above him.
"How could you?" Ella snarled, her voice trembling with rage. "How could you fight for them?"
"Ella?" Farda placed his hand on Ella's shoulder.
"Don't touch me!" Ella drew in trembling breaths as she stared at Farda, her amber eyes gleaming in the firelight.
Faenir moved beside Farda, a slight whimper emanating from his throat as he looked at Ella.
"Ella, we need to go. Now. Other mages will have felt him touch the Spark."
Ella turned her glare from Farda back to Rist. To his credit, the young acolyte seemed more startled than scared, and the shield of Air he had constructed was solid.
"Ella, I'm sorry. I had no idea it was you. As soon as I did, I took the keys, I—"
"How could you?" Ella repeated, her lip curling back, exposing two pairs of elongated fangs – one at the top, one at the bottom. "You're meant to be his closest friend. How could you turn on him, Rist? How could you fight for them?"
"Turn on him? Turn on who?"
Farda rested his hand on Ella's shoulder. She snapped her head around, nose crinkling, eyes shimmering gold. "What?"
"We need to go, Ella. We don't have time for this."
Ella shook her head, looking from Rist to Farda, exhaustion clear in every motion. The burst of energy she had used to charge at Rist was fading, her eyes dropping. She staggered backwards off Rist, looking down at him. "I thought more of you. I thought you'd be with him. Your parents would be ashamed."
Ella stumbled, and Farda reached forward and caught her, wrapping his arm around the small of her back. She groaned as the pain from her wounds finally pushed through her adrenaline.
Within a second, the wolfpine was at his side, lips pulled back, razor-sharp teeth exposed.
"I'm trying to help her. You're getting in the way." Farda reached his right hand under the backs of Ella's knees and stood to his full height, lifting her and cradling her like a child.
The wolfpine backed away, his growl interspersed with low whines.
Footsteps sounded at the entrance to the tent, and Ilyain called in. "Farda, we must go. There's activity. Whoever used the Spark has alerted them."
Farda nodded, shifting Ella in his arms. He looked down at Rist, who still lay on the floor. "Tell them I killed Talvare and the others and that you got lucky. Understood?"
"Understood," the young man answered, his voice wavering as he looked up at Ella. "Where are you taking her?"
"That's a question you know I won't answer. And you don't seem like a stupid man. Mind your tongue."
"Mind my tongue?"
Farda lifted his boot and slammed it down into the acolyte's face, throwing his weight behind it. The young man's head bounced off the ground, and his nose split, spraying blood over his face. A quick glance told Farda Rist was still breathing.
"Ilyain, let's get Hala and go."