The trees of Shera Woods rose high above them, the emerald canopies dotted with the occasional tinge of yellow. The thick undergrowth compelled the trio to weave their way through. Birds called out overhead, the earthy scent of soil and wood in Selriph’s nostrils.

  His eyes scanned through his open pack as he trekked behind Hagan and Relia, the weight of his belongings hung heavier compared to how it started the day: Two golden-red flasks of healing weighed it down, along with a vial containing a silvery substance; a liquid that, if applied, would render them undetectable to the naked eye. These formed a part of the supplies Hagan had procured—they were to be used to get Vick out.

  They had a framework for a plan: emerge near the prison complex, guided by the map provided by the merchant. Locate a means to enter the prison and find their way to Vick’s block and cell under the guise of invisibility and somehow escape undetected.

  As Selriph trailed behind the muscular figure ahead of him, he could not help but feel a slight knot in his stomach. This time, the unease stemmed from a different source than ambient malevolence.

  Instead, it had everything to do with the endeavour they were embarking on.

  Selriph’s jaw tightened as his thoughts raced through the risks and potential folly. While he was certain they could get into the city undetected via the sewers, there would come a point where they would have to surface. Yes, he thought, the crowds celebrating Mikus’s Feast would allow them to blend in. His face was the problem, no doubt plastered in mess halls and district squares. He could attempt to conceal it, but it would likely make him even more conspicuous in the crowd.

  Either way, if guards recognised his face, it would not take long for the entire apparatus of Caer Eldralis’s justice to fall upon them.

  Despite their partially mended relationship, he had restrained himself from voicing his reservations to the Woodsman. After all, he seemed hell-bent on rescuing Vick, or Vickthar as he knew him. He was not privy to the full extent of supplies Hagan had procured; the woodsman claimed that he had some ‘surprises’ that would help them.

  Relia’s presence further complicated this endeavour; having to escort the young woman through the sewers and finding an appropriate exit into the middle ring to bring her to her family contact, Shaylee. The complicated logistics of doing both the break-in and getting Relia to her contact in two days, all while avoiding detection, gave him much to ponder on their trek to the capital.

  Relia paced behind the youth to his right. She noticed the head tilted down, indicating that he was deep in thought, not quite paying attention to the path ahead, and delegated the responsibility of navigating to Hagan.

  The trio walked in silence for some time as they crossed over a moss-covered log, thick and sturdy despite its age. It served as a makeshift bridge over a small offshoot from the River Valdorea. The water below gurgled softly through the rocky stream, a calming hum through the forest’s ambience.

  Soon, Selriph broke the silence among the trio. “Hagan, I have to be sure. Are we certain that Vick is being held in that block and cell? It seemed oddly convenient that Tamros knew the exact location in the prison.”

  Hagan’s expression darkened into a serious gaze as he glanced back at Selriph. “Vick’s capture would have been noteworthy—Templars had been looking for him for some time, since it all started...” His voice drifted away, lost for a moment to the fleeting images in his mind, then he continued. “As for Tamros. Has always been reliable; his information aided the resistance operating about here.”

  The Resistance.

  Selriph’s mind flashed with echoes of rhetoric—he remembered the sermons, the stern voices proclaiming how resistance fighters were nothing more than barbaric savages before the radiance of the church. They were agents of chaos, puppets of heretical forces. In reality, it was likely hyperbole. They were probably just like him, disillusioned or oppressed under the heel of the empire.

  Instead of choosing to run, they fought.

  And fight they did. Even in the lonesome corner of the mess hall, he overheard the undercurrent of rumours and whispers circulating among soldiers: family members or acquaintances that supposedly ran off to join the resistance, attacks on military and civilian infrastructure, convoys raided. Tamros and his associates were almost certainly part of a larger network of information, one that allowed the resistance to carry out their acts of defiance.

  But it was just that — defiance. A pointless endeavour. Such figures could not topple Eldeitia’s vast apparatus. There would be no storybook legend. This wasn’t a tale where the oppressed triumphed over the tyrants. Long drilled into his head under lantern light, in the relative sanctuary of the library.

  The only sane choice was to leave, to procure a life of freedom beyond Eldeitian reach. Any other choice? Idealistic hogwash—for dreamers and for fools.

  Selriph’s mind shifted back to the conversation, although what parted his lips was unnervingly flat—factual. “We should count ourselves lucky. Vick would be kept alive at least until after the Feast. No doubt there is information they want from him; the inner workings of the Tunnel Rats, his status as a practitioner of non-divine magic.”

  Hagan’s posture tensed subtly at the absentminded statements. “You’re right, lad. They’ve been hunting folks like him for years. Vickthar would be a goldmine of intelligence. They would not off him. Not yet at least…”

  His voice faded into the forest hush, as though processing a thought that cut through him, however fleeting.

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  The memory of last night’s conversation flashed in his mind.

  The defunct Eldeitian Mages Guild, branded heretical during the Venthar-Eldeitian war.

  Selriph’s jaw tightened. His focus recalibrated to the conversation. “Then we need to act quickly. It will not be long before they exhaust the information he could provide. We must extract him before Mikus’s feast ends.

  Relia’s voice came soft, hesitant, but laced with curiosity. “Hagan, you said you had a summoning charm. Do you think Vickthar would have the other half, even in captivity?”

  Hagan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his tunic and retrieved a wooden pendant strung on a chain of silver. The pendant was etched with runes that shimmered faintly as it was held up between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Aye, I have it, lass. Vick should have the twin of this one. No matter where we are in Aerathyn, it can always guide us to each other.”

  Selriph couldn’t be certain, but he remembered seeing Vick messing with a similar trinket during training, though he wasn’t sure if it was an illusion brought about by false recall.

  He frowned slightly, concentrating as the charm pulsed gently between his fingers.

  “Right now, it’s pointing… there.”

  Selriph followed the direction where Hagan’s gaze landed. Sure enough. Northwest—towards Caer Eldralis.

  He tucked the pendant back under his tunic with a sigh. “We need to act quickly. Every moment we delay is another moment they have to interrogate—and torment—Vick.” As he noticeably picked up his pace, although still measured.

  Selriph turned to the Relia who walked beside them. “Are you sure you want to follow us all the way through the tunnels? You can still separate from us once we are out of the woods. Join up with the caravans coming in for the feast. “

  Relia met his gaze, her face set in quiet determination. “Yes, I am coming with you all the way. It will be safer with you and Hagan.” Her hands clenched tightly, while a hint of a smile just touched her lips. “Call me crazy, but it feels safer wading through a rat-infested sewer with two capable people than to find myself amongst strangers.”

  She turned toward Hagan, her expression softening.

  He met her gaze with a nod of approval, though his face was partially sunk with worry. “Aye, lass. We’ll keep you safe until you get to this Shaylee person. Just keep close to us in the tunnels and do as you are told if danger comes.”

  He glanced toward Selriph with a rare note of respect in his tone. “Your friend here will be your protective knight, but you need to keep your eyes sharp.”

  Selriph tensed slightly at the remark, although it was meant as a passing jest, perhaps even as subtle praise. The label of knight did not sit well with him.

  Relia didn’t seem to share his discomfort. She seemed almost consoled by it, by the notion that this youth, this boy, a few years her junior, could adequately defend her from danger.

  As they continued northward toward the capital, the warmth began to fade with the descent of the Sun. The forest’s liveliness quieted to a cautious hum, the birdsong thinning to sparse chirps and rustling undergrowth.

  “How much further, Hagan? Feels like we have been walking for hours.” Relia’s pace slowing clearly brought about difficulties in navigating the underbrush.

  Hagan glanced back at Relia, noting her yielding stride.

  “I understand your discomfort, lass, but we have to keep moving. The forest should thin soon,” as his gaze returned to the front.

  Selriph slowed to match the woman’s pace.

  They rounded past a cluster of trees when Hagan suddenly raised his hand, signalling for them to halt. He crouched, his eyes scanning the ground ahead.

  “Tracks.”

  He knelt beside the impressions in the dirt, his fingers hovering over the disturbed soil. They were large, deep and broad—firmly pressed into the earth. The impression of a large paw gouged into the ground.

  Selriph walked up behind the kneeling woodsman and examined it. “They’re not human. Looks like a large animal… probably a bear?”

  He leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. “But why are there drag marks…? An injured bear, perhaps?”

  Hagan studied the spacing and depth of the prints. “You are right; they are deep, close together.” He pointed to the parallel lines scored faintly through the dirt and leaf litter. “Whatever made them, it’s not in good shape.”

  “Spacing is all unnatural… look,” voice brief, as Selriph pointed further into the underbrush.

  “Aye, the prints are too close together. No healthy beast makes these.”

  Selriph traced the prints before turning back to Hagan and Relia, the faint flicker of golden-blue energy in his fingers. “As much as I’d like to help the poor creature, I doubt it will take kindly to our presence,” as he subtly waved his hand, dissipating the magical energy.

  He turned and looked out into the brush. “Not to mention whatever injured it in the first place might be out there. It’s best we not tarry.”

  Hagan nodded grimly, rising with a glance at the surrounding woods. “Aye. Whatever it is, we’d best keep moving.” A faint note of hesitancy coloured his voice.

  Selriph offered Relia a hand as she stepped carefully around the tracks. Her eyes flicked toward the shadows between the trees, as if expecting something to lash out.

  They resumed their northwesterly path, the forest closing in once more, the brush thick on all sides.

  Selriph moved to reassure Relia—attempted to, rather—as his words emerged taut. “Let’s try to pick up the pace, Relia. We still have a couple of hours before we emerge from the forest, and we should put some distance between whatever creature—”

  A guttural snarl cleaved through the woods.

  Selriph instinctively shoved Relia behind him as his estoc flashed free in a fluid motion. He framed himself in a protective stance as a massive figure burst from the thick brush to their right. It slumped lethargically as it crashed through the foliage like a drunken battering ram. Its form contorted with pain, one leg dragged uselessly behind it, its muscles torn.

  But what froze them in place wasn’t the bulk of the beast. It was the gruesome portrait painted on its body.

  A jagged gouge tore down its flank, skin peeled back like old paint. Entrails swayed in its staggered motion, the exposed skeletal structure in full view of its humanoid witnesses. Exposed organs heaved with the beast’s growls.

  Relia gasped and turned from the gruesome sight, with a hand over her mouth.

  Hagan and Selriph locked onto the beast, their weapons at the ready.

  “Well….” the boy muttered grimly. “Looks like we found our injured ursine....”

  But he knew the sluggish beast would be the least of their worries, for there was something out there—possibly nearby—that had caused the bear to end up in this sorry state.