The barn was quiet but bustling with preparation as Alaric and Lysandra entered through the side door. The Shadow Blades and a small contingent of Voltarian royal knights were scattered throughout the space, their hushed voices and efficient movements a testament to their shared experience. The unlikely alliance between the two groups had proven invaluable, though tensions occasionally simmered beneath the surface. Tonight, they would need to work as one.
Commander Roderic stood at the center of the barn, his broad frame unmistakable even in the dim lantern light. He was leaning over a makeshift table, deep in discussion with one of Alaric's knights, Sir Edran. The two men straightened as Alaric and Lysandra approached, their faces hardening with purpose.
"Your Highness," Roderic greeted, his gruff voice steady but edged with familiarity. "You've been gone longer than I expected. I trust you've brought back something useful?"
Alaric nodded, his expression grim as he pulled the letter from his coat. "We did." He placed it on the table. "This was in Lord Halvard's possession."
Roderic broke the seal and scanned the letter quickly. His sharp eyes flicked to Lysandra, then back to Alaric. "The royal crest of Eldren," he said, his voice low. "This changes things."
"It confirms Halvard's ties to someone in the Eldren court," Alaric replied. "Possibly even the crown itself. He's moving supplies for the necromancer at first light. We have to stop him."
Sir Edran stepped closer, his brow furrowed. "Do we know what the supplies are?"
"Food, weapons, possibly even men," Lysandra answered. "But the specifics don't matter. If these supplies reach their destination, it could turn the tide in the necromancer's favor."
Roderic's jaw tightened as he placed the letter back on the table. "We can't let that happen. You have a plan?"
Alaric glanced between the two men, his tone firm. "We set an ambush. The convoy will be lightly guarded compared to their usual forces. If we hit them hard and fast, we can neutralize the threat and capture Halvard's lieutenant for questioning."
Roderic folded his arms, a faint smirk tugging at his scarred lips. "Straightforward. I like it. My Blades will set the traps and handle the advance positions. What about your knights?"
"I've already selected the ones I trust," Alaric said. "They'll handle the rear flank and secure the wagons once we've taken out the guards."
"Good," Roderic said with a nod. He turned to the gathered Shadow Blades and knights, his commanding voice cutting through the quiet. "Listen up. At dawn, we hit the convoy hard. Blades, you know your roles—archers in the trees, ground teams in place to trigger the traps. Knights, work with your prince to secure the wagons. No mistakes, no hesitation."
The room buzzed with quiet affirmations as the two groups began coordinating their roles.
As the first rays of dawn broke over the horizon, the ambush was set. The Shadow Blades had taken up concealed positions along the narrow forest path where the convoy was expected to pass. Archers perched in the trees, their dark cloaks blending with the canopy. Ground teams hid among the brush, ready to spring the traps that had been carefully laid—spiked pits, tripwires, and caltrops designed to immobilize the wagons and their guards.
Further back, Alaric stood with his knights, their armor muted to avoid catching the light. He glanced toward Lysandra, who crouched near the edge of the path with Roderic. Her twin daggers gleamed faintly in the dim light, her sharp eyes scanning the path for any sign of movement.
"You ready for this?" he asked, his voice low.
Lysandra turned her head slightly, her smirk faint but confident. "Always."
Roderic gave a subtle hand signal, and the ambush began.
The sound of wheels and hooves broke the stillness as the convoy appeared—a pair of heavy wagons flanked by a dozen armed guards. At the center of the group rode Halvard's lieutenant, his fine armor catching the faint morning light.
The first volley of arrows rained down from the trees, striking several guards before they could react. Chaos erupted as horses reared, wagons ground to a halt, and shouts filled the air. One wheel shattered as it hit a hidden pit, while the second wagon was immobilized by caltrops scattered across the path.
Roderic's ground teams surged forward, cutting through the disoriented guards with ruthless efficiency. Lysandra moved like a shadow, her blades flashing as she dispatched her targets with precision. Alaric and his knights joined the fray moments later, their coordinated strikes driving the remaining guards back.
The fight was over quickly. The Shadow Blades and knights overwhelmed the convoy, leaving only Halvard's lieutenant standing. The man was disarmed and dragged to the center of the path, his defiance faltering as Roderic and Alaric approached.
"You're finished," Roderic growled. "Who are you working for?"
The lieutenant sneered but remained silent. Alaric stepped forward, his voice cold and commanding. "You can talk now, or you'll be dragged back to Voltaria in chains. I promise, our dungeons are far less forgiving."
The man's resolve wavered, and his gaze flicked to Lysandra. "You… you're..."
Her dagger was at his throat in an instant. "Don't think that means I'll show you mercy," she hissed. "Start talking."
The man swallowed hard, his eyes darting to Alaric, desperation creeping into his voice. "I—I was only following orders! Please, Your Highness, I swear I had no choice!"
Alaric's sharp gaze bore down on him, his expression as unyielding as iron. "Start with the names," he commanded, his voice calm but cold. "Who are you working with?"
The lieutenant's breathing grew erratic, his words spilling out in a rush. "It's Lord Halvard! He's working with someone in Eldren—Lord Selric of Ashvale! He's the one providing the gold, the men, and the supplies. Halvard just moves them. He's nothing more than the middleman!"
Lysandra's eyes narrowed, her grip on the dagger unwavering. "Selric," she said, her voice laced with venom. "Why would an Eldren lord work with a necromancer?"
The man flinched, his voice trembling. "Selric… Selric wants power. He's always been ambitious, but the Eldren court keeps him on the fringes. He thinks the necromancer's rise will help destabilize Voltaria and bring back the Bastard of Eldren."
Lysandra's grip on the dagger tightened, her eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "Bring back the Bastard of Eldren?" she hissed, her voice as sharp as her blade. "What does that mean?"
The man's face paled, his gaze darting nervously between Lysandra's dagger and her eyes, which burned with fury. "It's not what you think," he stammered, his voice trembling. "Selric… he believes you're the key to his plans."
"Explain," Lysandra demanded, her voice low and venomous. The blade pressed a fraction harder against his throat, forcing him to swallow audibly.
"He… he thinks delivering you to the Eldren court will solidify his position," the man sputtered. "You're leverage."
Lysandra's jaw tightened, her dagger unwavering as she fixed the man with a cold, penetrating glare. "Leverage," she repeated, her voice dripping with disdain. "And how exactly does Selric plan to use me?"
The man hesitated, sweat trickling down his temple. "Selric believes the king of Eldren—your grandfather—wants you back," he stammered. "The court knows he's old, and his health is failing. Without a clear line of succession, there's… there's talk."
Lysandra's eyes narrowed, her voice sharp as a blade. "Talk of what?"
The man's eyes flicked nervously between her and Alaric. "Your father, the prince, is still unmarried and has no true heir nor any other children," he said cautiously, as though the words themselves might provoke her wrath. "You're his only heir, even if the court doesn't officially recognize you. Selric has been whispering in their ears, stirring up the idea that you could be legitimized. Some believe it's the king's wish—his way of ensuring the bloodline continues."
Lysandra's grip on the dagger faltered for the briefest moment, but her voice remained steady. "And why would Selric care about the succession?"
"Because it gives him power," the man blurted, desperate to justify his answer. "If Selric delivers you to the court, to the king himself, he believes it will solidify his influence. He's painted you as a solution—someone who could stabilize the line of succession."
Lysandra's jaw tightened, fury simmering behind her cold expression. "And he thinks dragging me back to the court will make him a hero?"
"Yes," the man stammered, his words tumbling out. "To the nobles who worry about the future of the kingdom, Selric positions you as the answer. But he's also feeding the other side of the court—the ones who see you as a threat. He's painted you as volatile, unfit, someone who could bring Voltaria's influence into Eldren if your ties to their court are exploited."
Alaric stepped forward, his presence towering as his voice cut through the tension. "So, he's playing both sides of the court," he said coldly. "And if the king legitimizes Lysandra?"
The man shuddered. "Then Selric takes credit for restoring stability. He becomes indispensable to the new royal order."
"And if the court rejects her?" Alaric pressed, his tone sharp.
The man hesitated, his gaze darting nervously. "If they reject her, Selric still wins. He can use her as proof that the royal line is fractured, that your father's rule is weak. It would further destabilize the kingdom—and if chaos erupts, Selric steps in as the voice of reason. He positions himself to take control, whether it's through the court or by aligning with the necromancer."
Lysandra's dagger pressed harder, her voice dangerously quiet. "And my father? What does Selric plan to do with him?"
The man swallowed audibly. "He doesn't plan to confront the prince directly. Selric's strategy is to undermine him—to make him seem incapable of ruling. The court is already whispering about his inaction on marriage, his failure to secure a clear heir. Selric's plan is to erode his power piece by piece until he's nothing more than a figurehead."
Lysandra's voice dropped even lower, her fury barely contained. "And if my father fights back?"
"Then Selric will side with whoever benefits him most," the man admitted. "If he can convince the necromancer to support his claim, he'll let the chaos consume the kingdom and reshape it under his influence."
Alaric's fists clenched at his sides, his voice hard as steel. "And you? What's your role in all of this?"
The man shook his head frantically. "I swear, I'm only following orders! I was assigned to oversee the shipments and maintain the logistics under Halvard's direction. Selric promised safety and power for anyone who cooperated, but if I resisted—" His voice cracked. "He threatened my family. I had no choice!"
"There's always a choice," Lysandra hissed, her dagger slicing just enough to draw a thin line of blood. "And you chose treason."
"Please!" the man cried. "I told you everything I know! Selric is manipulating the court, but the necromancer is using him, too! They've built a stronghold near the northern border—everything Halvard and Selric have sent is going there. That's where they're consolidating their forces."
Lysandra stepped back, lowering her dagger but not sheathing it. Her voice was cold and deliberate. "You've told us what we need to know, but that doesn't erase what you've done."
Alaric's gaze bore into the man, his words laced with unyielding authority. "You'll be taken to Voltaria and stand before the court to answer for your treason," he said, his voice carrying a deadly finality. "If you cooperate fully, there may be a chance for mercy—but don't count on it."
He motioned to Roderic, who stepped forward with two of his Shadow Blades. "Secure him. If he tries to escape or withhold anything further, you know what to do."
Roderic gave a short nod, gesturing to his men. The Shadow Blades moved quickly, binding the man's hands as they pulled him to his feet. His protests died in his throat as one of the Blades gave him a hard shove toward the barn's shadows.
As the man was dragged away, Lysandra sheathed her dagger with a sharp motion, her expression still hard. "You think the court will give him mercy?" she asked, her voice low, though the disdain in her tone was clear.
Alaric turned to her, his gaze steady. "That depends on how much more he gives us—and how useful he is in dismantling Selric's plans."
Lysandra and Alaric's eyes locked, the weight of their shared determination settling in the space between them. For a brief moment, the tension of the situation seemed to fade, replaced by the unspoken bond they had forged. Her lips parted as if to say something, but Alaric turned sharply toward the assembled royal knights and Shadow Blades before the moment could stretch further.
His voice rang out, commanding and steady, cutting through the tension like steel. "We have enough evidence to place Lord Halvard under arrest. His treachery is undeniable—he's betrayed Voltaria, aided a necromancer, and conspired with Eldren's enemies. This ends now."