The essence wars an envi.., p.39
The Essence Wars--An Envious God, page 39
‘What’s going on down here?’ one of them barked.
Kaedryn and Grantchu didn’t flinch. They knew better than to speak.
Maerwyn hesitated, forcing control over her breath, steadying the wild pace of her thoughts. She had one chance to sell the lie.
She shook her head, letting just the right amount of exasperation slip into her voice.
‘Someone broke into the house. I chased him down, but...’ She huffed through her nose, feigning frustration. ‘As you see, he got away.’
The lead guard frowned, scanning the alley. His gaze trailed along the empty street, the splintered doorframe, the deep claw marks left in the dirt where Vorruk had stormed through.
‘I don’t see anyone.’ His voice was sharp, probing.
Maerwyn’s pulse pounded in her skull. She didn’t blink.
‘No, I... never mind.’ She let the frustration linger, as if it was directed at herself rather than at them.
The guard narrowed his eyes, watching her closely, assessing and weighing.
Then, after a long moment, he waved them off.
‘You lot, get out of here. And take your scruffy animals with you. Go. Now.’
Maerwyn let out a slow breath, her shoulders easing as she nodded. This was the best outcome she could have hoped for.
And yet, it felt like a failure all the same.
She turned, stepping out of the alley. The others followed behind her in silence.
As they slipped into the city’s winding streets, Maerwyn felt it settle in. The weight of it was thick and suffocating.
There were no answers.
No proof.
Nothing for them here.
The truth of Garette Fort was slipping through her fingers like water, vanishing before she could grasp it.
She had wanted to unravel what had happened at the massacre, to understand why no one questioned the return of the fifteen missing Tripolists, to find something, anything, that would prove neither the East nor the West was responsible for the massacre at Garette Fort.
But with every step, that possibility faded further into the dark.
And now, she had nothing.
Nothing but the two Westerners and their Lumineers.
Her gaze flicked toward Kaedryn and Grantchu, their silent loyalty unshaken. Despite her initial feelings against the enemy, she now realized how much she needed them. They were the only other witnesses who could confirm what she had seen, the only ones who understood the truth.
They had stood by her, believed her, and she had failed them as much as she had failed herself. A bitter realization settled deep in her gut.
They needed to return to the West. And she would remain a traitor in her own land.
The path ahead was clear now, even if she loathed it.
She would go to Gusia. She would spin a version of the truth that was palatable, a story crafted not for justice but for necessity, something that would force the Eastern Union’s hand and push its cautious politicians into action.
They would have to reclaim Verdathisa’s fort. They would have to rebuild what had been lost.
And maybe, just maybe, they would spare her.
Perhaps she could salvage the life she had fought for, claw back the position that had once been hers.
Or perhaps that mercy had long since withered.
It didn’t matter. Not anymore.
First, she had to cross Kard’s River. She had to get the Westerners as far from Jonika as possible. She had considered taking them to Eryn at the settlers’ camp near the Verdathisian border. There, Eryn might help them find passage back to the West, or at least know someone who could. The settlers were where she had allies. They would not see her as a traitor.
And once she had secured safe passage for the Westerners, she would return to Gusia.
To judgment. To fate. To whatever end awaited her.
She drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders, steadied her breath, and stepped forward into the waiting dark. The others followed without question, silent shadows moving at her back.
The night swallowed them whole.
CHAPTER 24 – The Silence of the Forge
The night was dark, the sky thickening as clouds gathered over Jonika, casting the town in an ever-deepening gloom. It felt fitting. Maerwyn and Braegor were leaving the same way they had when they set out for Gusia some time ago. Yet this time, the air carried a different weight, the road ahead no longer one she walked alone.
She was leaving with two strangers, met under the most unusual of circumstances in the depths of a tunnel beneath Garette Fort. Strangers who, by all rights, should have been her enemies. And yet, somehow, they weren’t.
The unease that should have lingered between them had faded, replaced by something steadier, something unspoken. She had never feared they would harm her. In fact, she was certain they would protect her. They had already proven that much.
Kaedryn, with his keen instincts, had tracked the Camouflager, a skill she herself had lacked when they first crossed paths at Slip’s Outpost. She had lost sight of him then, watching as he disappeared into the trees, slipping back to Jonika as effortlessly as a shadow. But this time, she saw him. She saw the Camouflager because of Kaedryn’s skill and gift. And now, the two that walked beside her were not soldiers of the West, not enemies, but companions. Protectors of the truth.
And perhaps, that was the strangest thing of all.
‘We’ll head to the Kard’s River,’ Maerwyn announced. ‘We’ll keep heading west until we reach the cliffs. You’ll be safe to leave then. From what I gather, another army from Gusia is already descending upon the fort. We’ll have to avoid them as best we can. Low roads and forest paths will be our best chance to stay unseen.’
Grantchu gave a slight nod, agreeing with her plan. Yet his mind was elsewhere, the weight of the Camouflager’s words still pressing against his thoughts.
Maerwyn had killed three of the Chancellor’s Guard. That alone was a feat few could claim. The Chancellor’s Guard were renowned for their brutality and skill, men who struck fear into soldiers twice their number. And yet, somehow, she had survived. Not just survived. She had emerged victorious.
He wanted to ask her how, to demand answers. He knew she would not give them freely.
More troubling still was what the Camouflager had revealed: the Chancellor wanted Maerwyn. Not dead. Not hunted down as a fugitive. He wanted her.
The Chancellor of Lirioneth was, by title, second to Arlen Velthar, the High Steward of the Accord. To Lord Paramount Marcius Saylong, leader of Aurenvia Tollitch and the United North, he was the true power behind the Eastern Union. In the shadows of Haithe, it was whispered that any man who killed the Chancellor would be richly rewarded. And yet, this same man sought Maerwyn Sawngfli, not for crimes, even though she had slain his guards.
For what, then?
Grantchu glanced toward her, Maerwyn only pressed forward, her face unreadable. He clenched his jaw. There was more to her story.
And he was going to find out.
The group crossed Kard’s River on the cable ferry before continuing west, then southwest along the road. The horizon behind them had begun to lighten, the early morning sun creeping upward, casting the first hints of warmth across the land. Soon, the sun would be up in full.
Maerwyn led them off the road and into the dense forest flanking the river. They set up camp beneath its cover. Maerwyn said nothing, and neither did the others.
She had only caught glimpses of her mother and father through the press of bodies at the family inn. Her mother moved between tables, her father spoke with patrons, although neither of them had seen her.
And now, she was gone.
She hated that. Hated that the Sheriff had forced her from Jonika before she’d had the chance to speak with them. She hated that he had called her a traitor. She wasn’t. Not in her mind. She had followed orders, adapted, survived.
But the Camouflager’s words refused to leave her.
The Chancellor wants you.
Why? What could she possibly offer him? She had never met him. Not once, even in all her years at the Citadel. She had earned her place, risen quickly, proven herself through her gift and her resolve.
Now, it was all in ruins. Her career as a commander gone.
When she reached Gusia, she’d be lucky to serve as a foot soldier.
Still, she would rise again. She would prove herself.
All she needed was a story. A version of events her superiors could believe, one that cast her not as a deserter, but as a soldier ready to retake what had been lost.
And she would fight.
◇ ◇ ◇
The sun had just crested the horizon over Gusia City when Arlen Velthar, High Steward of the Accord, called an urgent meeting of the Accord members. Early-morning summons were not uncommon in the Eastern Union, where politics and war rarely slept. This meeting, however, carried a weight beyond the routine maneuvers of power. Because this time, word had arrived from Garette Fort.
Karad Torveth, the Chancellor’s Emissary, was the first to arrive. This time. He already knew what the meeting would hold. And he had no illusions about who would be blamed.
Lirioneth’s failures would be laid bare, and it would fall to him to contain the damage. He would have to talk up Lirioneth’s commitment, inflate its sacrifices, and frame its dwindling contributions as acts of necessity rather than weakness. Because the truth was far less impressive.
There would be no more men sent to Garette Fort.
No more soldiers dispatched to Verdathisa.
No reinforcements for Jonika.
Jonika would have to fend for itself.
Several long, uncomfortable minutes passed as Karad sat in silence, watching Arlen’s two whisperers murmur into his ear. The High Steward himself looked uneasy, his posture tense, his face shadowed with exhaustion. It was clear he had barely slept.
One by one, the rest of the Accord members arrived, filing into the Great Hall and taking their seats.
Still, no one spoke.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. An uneasy weight settled over the room, pressing against the gathered men and women of the Accord. They all knew why they were here. No words needed to be spoken to remind them.
In times of war, whispers carried like sound over an icy lake on a frosty morning: thin, sharp, and impossible to ignore.
At last, after what felt like an eternity, one of the whisperers leaned in at Arlen’s side. His lips moved, but not a word was audible. When he returned upright, stroking his beard back into place, the meeting began abruptly.
‘You’re all aware that Lirioneth and Jonika’s armies have succumbed to the Western plight?’ Arlen asked.
The Council members nodded solemnly.
‘We have fifteen hundred men arriving in the next day or two. There should have been at least twenty-five hundred at the fort, including cavalry. We had your word, Karad. What happened there? What happened at the fort?’
Karad, unfortunately, knew little. His own people had perished in battle, though he had not been told by what means.
‘From what I can tell, nine hundred are dead or missing, including cavalry. I have no further word from Aliztar on the matter,’ Karad stated, keeping his voice level, confident.
Once more, the whisperers at Arlen’s side leaned in. Their hushed voices filled the air. The silence that followed was long, sharp, and agonizing.
Then, Arlen’s voice cut through it.
‘The West has reinforced the fort? They have encroached upon our lands? And we are only now sending men to contain them? Is this how it is?’ His gaze swept the room. Accusatory. Unrelenting.
‘What will Lirioneth be doing to replace the men lost? Jonika and all of Verdathisa must be protected at all costs. We cannot afford to lose the South. If those lands suffer, we all starve. Every one of us.’
His attention snapped back to Karad.
‘And what of your Eastern Toils? I have seen no word of our men uncovering anything in the East. Nothing in the Great Desert. Nothing. What will Lirioneth do to fix the mess it brought upon our lands? These lies you are spreading must stop.’
The meeting dragged on, most of it scathing and fruitless. Karad answered what he could, endured what he couldn’t, and by the end, little had been resolved.
The members of the Order shifted, eager to be gone. Some left with hurried steps, others in silence. All except Lady Elyth Draemir, Envoy of the Northmarch, and Karad Torveth, the Chancellor’s Emissary. The two walked swiftly through the halls, Karad’s stride relentless, forcing Elyth to quicken her pace to keep up.
Neither spoke.
They wove through the corridors until they reached Karad’s quarters, where Captain Edran Valtir of the Shadow Guard lounged in the morning light, a goblet of wine in hand. Edran had always carried an air of arrogance, and the sight of him reclined, drinking at sunrise in Karad’s private chambers, was something else entirely. Of course, Edran was closer to the Chancellor than Karad had ever been. That much was undeniable. Still, Edran’s duty was to protect the Chancellor’s emissary. And, apparently, he took that duty seriously enough to be drinking Karad’s wine at dawn.
Edran lifted his cup in greeting, his voice smooth. ‘And what news of the Union?’
Lady Elyth scowled. ‘Edran, you are a disgrace to the service. Get up, clean up, and do your job for once.’
He only smirked, unfazed. ‘Yes, my lady. First, I need to get word to Rhaelmar about what the Union is demanding this time. We’ve already lost six hundred men, men I knew, men who died for a purpose we all understood.’
His tone hardened.
‘And, my lady,’ Edran began, swirling the wine in his goblet. ‘What of the Kingdom of Elanwyn? Will Elanwyn be holding up their end of the bargain?’
Lady Elyth scorned at him. ‘Elanwyn, dear Edran, has not faltered in its commitment to the Chancellor’s plans.
In fact, we have word from the alchemist. A new batch has been made.
Once secured, Elanwyn’s security will ensure its delivery. As planned.’
She turned to leave, her voice lingering in the air.
‘The second wave can begin...’
◇ ◇ ◇
The sunrise over the forest on the western shores of Kard’s River was less than spectacular. Low gray clouds hung over the canopy, and though the world had begun to stir, the usual morning chorus of birdsong was slow to rise, muffled beneath the weight of the overcast sky. Their small group, Maerwyn, Kaedryn, and Grantchu, along with their companions both human and beast, had rested only briefly. Now, a modest fire crackled between them, warming the morning air. Maerwyn had kept her promise to the Sheriff; Jonika was rid of the Westerners that accompanied her. She doubted the old drunkard would even remember their exchange. Perhaps, by now, he had already convinced himself the entire encounter had been a dream.
They ate well. Spring rabbits, caught with ease. Maerwyn knew where to look, knew exactly where to loose her arrows. The act was second nature to her.
But the meal had barely settled when she reached for one of the two daggers taken from the Camouflager they had run down in the night.
It was exquisite.
The golden hilt gleamed even in the dull morning light, its jewel work impossibly intricate, woven with masterful precision. The blade, unmistakably Syllanian metal. A dagger like this did not belong to a common soldier.
Her fingers traced the craftsmanship as a frown pulled at her lips.
Grantchu noticed. ‘Let me see it.’
She passed him the blade, and he turned it over in his hands, inspecting the craftsmanship with a careful eye.
‘This is something exquisite,’ he murmured. He rotated the weapon, studying the etching along the hilt, his thumb brushing over the embedded jewels. ‘Do all your soldiers carry weapons like this?’
Maerwyn narrowed her eyes. ‘No. This man was an assassin. Paid to do this job.’ Her grip tightened on the second dagger. ‘And I would wager he was sent by Chancellor Rhaelmar.’
The weight of her own words settled over her. Why? Why would the Chancellor want her? Why was he spying on her?
She had never met him.
Not once, even during her time at the Citadel.
It made no sense.
‘This weapon can tell you a lot about its owner,’ Grantchu said, turning the blade once more. ‘You could trace its maker. Someone in your region must know where weapons like this come from. It’s not impossible. You could get answers.’
Maerwyn’s breath caught.
Stormer.
Stormer!
She shot to her feet, clutching the second dagger.
‘I have to get back to Jonika. Now.’
Grantchu looked up, startled.
‘What? That’s insane—’
‘You need to stay here. None of you move. I will be back by tomorrow morning. Stay hidden. Understand?’ she barked at the westerners.
Grantchu exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face. ‘Maerwyn, it’s too dangerous. That assassin is still in Jonika. If he sees you, you’ll have no protection. Take Kaedryn with you.’
Kaedryn, who had been only half-listening despite his impressive gift, which somehow didn’t extend to conversations he wasn’t interested in, suddenly snapped to attention.
‘Wait. Hold on. Why am I going?’ His expression was caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief.
‘Because,’ Grantchu said flatly, ‘you can help protect her from a man who cannot be seen.’
Kaedryn’s brows lifted. ‘Right. Because that makes perfect sense. Protect her from someone I can barely see, unless he makes a sound and conveniently gives himself away. Which, let’s be honest, isn’t likely. He’ll be more ready for us this time.’
He scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. ‘And let’s not forget, I’m not exactly welcome in Jonika, am I? You heard the Sheriff. If they catch me in town, they’ll kill me. Seems like a bit of a flaw in your plan, doesn’t it?’
Grantchu ignored him. ‘I’ll stay here with Vorruk and Cyre. We need to gather everything we can, every detail about what happened at the fort. We need proof to take back home. That means you two need to secure that blade.’
