But then, she was no longer a Knight of the Last Dawn. She was an apostate and a pariah, as wanted by the Dawn as by the Crell. And if Alric ever summoned the courage to confront her face-to-face, she would run him through without a second thought. Or so she liked to tell herself.
Elade shook her head as she knelt down and began to set up camp. She couldn’t actually hear Alric’s voice, of course. After the battle at Garos, she had severed her link to Maeleon’s godstone within the Citadel, and as a result the other knights could no longer reach her telepathically. But that hadn’t stopped her from imagining the chiding voices of the Conclave scolding her for the grave transgression of being born Unbound. They wanted nothing more than to clap her in irons and drag her back to the Citadel.
The worst part, however, was that some days she found herself agreeing with them.
“Not today,” she whispered to herself as she reached into her pack and retrieved a few strips of preserved meat. Her supplies were running dangerously low, and regrettably she was an even worse huntress than she was a tracker. She had no idea how to clean game, let alone cook or preserve it properly. The underground caverns of Sulinor weren’t exactly rife with prey, after all, and most vaeyn survived on mushrooms and lichen. The next time she met up with Sarina, she really needed to ask the other woman for some tips on basic wilderness survival…
A few hours later, after the sun had finally vanished and the quarter moon had risen in its place, Elade picked up her makeshift camp and continued her search across the fjord. She spent the better part of an hour combing the ridgeline in the hopes of finding a path down to the river, but she didn’t spot any obvious footprints or trails. She was just about ready to give up and search the northern side instead when she finally caught a glimpse of a green uniform several hundred feet from her position.
Elade immediately dropped into a crouch and waited. Initially, she thought it might have been a Crell lookout squatting in a thatch of bushes, but after a few minutes of intense observation it became clear the figure wasn’t moving. She crept forward, and once she closed within about fifty feet she realized the uniform was actually just a single scrap of cloth.
Frowning, she reached out to the Aether and shadow-walked over to the bushes to investigate. Up close, the scrap was instantly recognizable as a piece from a Zarul agent’s uniform—the “Green Coats,” as many Torsians had taken to calling them. The fabric was encrusted with dried blood, and there were still several visible footprints on the ground beneath her. The conclusion was obvious: someone had been running through the bushes quickly enough that the thorns had shredded his outfit.
But the most obvious conclusion wasn’t always the correct one, especially when the Zarul were involved. For one, this scrap was suspiciously large. A smaller piece would have been almost impossible to pick out against the dark green of the forest, especially for a human. For two, the placement was almost too perfect. Anyone walking along the edge of the ridge would have noticed it eventually. Off-hand, Elade saw two distinct possibilities: either the Zarul agent had been more concerned with survival than hiding his trail…
Or she was walking into a trap.
Elade remained still for a few seconds, waiting and listening for any indication that she’d been spotted. She half-expected a battalion of Crell soldiers to leap out from the trees and swarm over her…but when no arrows whistled past her ear and no fireballs detonated the bushes around her, she decided she was probably being paranoid. As far as she knew, the Alliance had stopped sending ground patrols into Lirisfal months ago, and there was no reason for the Zarul to waste their time trying to ambush a few hapless scouts anyway. It was also unlikely that they’d bother setting a trap for her specifically—they had no way of knowing where she was or where she was going.
Nevertheless, the hairs on the back of her neck wouldn’t stop tingling. Something definitely felt wrong here. The question, as always, was what she planned to do about it.
Shaking her head, Elade slipped out of the bushes and carefully followed the footprints. It wasn’t a trivial task, given the thick foliage and her limited skill, but the trail’s trajectory was obvious enough: the Zarul agent had followed a rocky path down the ridge and closer to the actual river below. There were probably dozens of small caves and crevices along the inside of the ridge, any of which could have served as a potential base camp for a small squad of soldiers. The trail itself eventually vanished, but she decided to keep searching for a while anyway…and less than an hour later, she found what she was looking for.
As she curled around a sharp bend in the river, she spotted another set of footprints similar to the ones she’d seen above. She was only able to follow them briefly—perhaps ten yards at most—but they still pointed her directly towards the mouth of a cave. The opening was wide but unassuming, and she almost certainly would have missed it without the trail.
Smiling tightly to herself, Elade quickly dashed up the river bank and then shadow-walked atop the sturdiest-looking tree branch nearby. Dropping into a tight crouch, she watched the entrance for several minutes just in case the Crell had left a sentry outside. Once she was convinced the area was clear, she teleported back to the ground, unsheathed her sword, and encased herself in a protective mantle of Aetheric energy. Hopefully, she could persuade the Crell to talk—any information about their invasion plans for this region would be useful. But her experience with Zarul agents thus far had taught her to prepare for the worst.
Elade sucked in a final deep breath and then crept into the cave. It was considerably deeper than it had appeared from the outside; the glow-stone wasn’t even visible from the entrance. It appeared to be at least thirty feet inside and around a corner, and the residual light reflecting off the gray walls was probably dimmer than a candle. She didn’t hear anything—no breathing, no whispering, no sign at all that anyone was actually alive down here—and she started to wonder if the entire squad was out on patrol somewhere. Bracing her back against the wall, she slowly peered around the corner, once again expecting the Crell to spring an ambush…
But aside from the lone glow-stone nestled into a crack near the ceiling, the alcove was empty. There were no bedrolls or backpacks; there were no signs that anyone had been here at all. She did notice another passage deeper in, however, so she gingerly slinked along the wall until she reached the next corner. Once again she peeked her head around the corner…and once again she saw an empty chamber.
Mostly empty, anyway. This alcove was much larger than the first—it was probably sixty feet wide and eighty feet deep, though the floor was littered with chunks of debris from a recent collapse. The interesting part, however, was the half-buried campfire on the opposite wall. Evidently the Crell hadn’t been content to pick up their camp and move on—they had decided to cause a cave-in and bury all evidence of their passing. The odds that she would find anything useful beneath the rubble were slim, she knew, but the odds that she would be able to pick up another trail outside were even slimmer. She might as well have a look around, and if she didn’t find anything then she would scrap this whole foray and head back south.
Sighing, Elade sheathed her sword and began navigating through the rubble. She was almost exactly halfway to the buried campfire when a loud click echoed off the walls, and suddenly an old-fashioned bear trap sprung beneath her boot.
She should have lost her foot. The trap’s teeth were long and wickedly sharp, and her boots were designed for comfort and support rather than protection. But a lifetime of battle had honed her reflexes to nearly supernatural levels, and somehow she managed to dive forward and out of the gaping metal maw before it devoured her ankle. Even as the teeth clamped shut and she regained her balance, however, she realized that additional traps were no longer her greatest concern: the instant she finished her roll, a trio of crossbowmen leapt out from behind the debris in the corners of the room. They dropped to a knee, tossed a newly-activated glow-stone into the center of the room, and fired.
Acting o
n pure instinct, Elade dropped into a crouch and summoned her shield onto her arm. She successfully deflected most of the barrage, but one of the bolts slipped past her defenses. She yelped as the quarrel dug deeply into her left calf, but through sheer force of will she held her ground and hunkered down into an even tighter crouch. Another volley showered the room, and this time nothing got through. Grimacing in pain, she peered over the edge of her shield and caught a glimpse of the Crell marksmen crank-loading their crossbows and lining up a third salvo.
Elade had precious few options. The Crell weapons required only a second or two to reload, and they were obviously enchanted—no regular crossbow could penetrate her armor and protective mantle, not even from point-blank range. At best, she might be able to charge one of them while the other two unloaded into her flank, and shadow-walking up to them wasn’t an option, either—the new glow-stone had banished nearly every shadow from the room. These Crell had obviously done their research; they knew all her tricks and had planned accordingly.
Or rather, they thought they knew all her tricks.
Dismissing her shield, Elade reached into the Aether and focused all her energy into the thin, nearly imperceptible mantle sheathing her body like a second suit of armor. The empowered barrier repelled the third Crell volley and then the fourth shortly thereafter, and the marksmen paused in confusion—they clearly hadn’t expected her to survive such an onslaught. They recovered quickly, however, and a split-second later a fifth and hopefully final volley battered against her.
This time the shots finally struck home: one bolt pierced through her left shoulder, while another jabbed into her stomach. The mantle vanished as her concentration finally failed, and she keeled forward in pain. Wounded and defenseless, Elade should have been an easy target. But just like she’d hoped, the fifth volley had been their last in the cartridge, which meant they had to completely reload.
And in that instant, she struck.
Sweeping up her fallen sword, Elade lunged towards the marksman inside the cubby on the northern wall. He died in a soundless flurry of blood and steel, and before his corpse even hit the ground she braced her boot against the rocks and vaulted towards his closest partner. The man screamed in anticipation, and he even managed to drop his crossbow and unsheathe a wicked-looking dagger before she skewered him straight through the heart. Elade didn’t bother to jerk her weapon free; instead she grabbed the dead man’s dagger and hurled it towards the last remaining marksman’s chest.
The man tried to dodge. He really did. But between the speed of the flying dagger and the unexpected nature of her attack, he didn’t have a chance. He ducked away just enough that the blade pierced his shoulder instead of his gut, but by the time he finished reeling and dragged himself back to his feet, it was already too late. Elade stepped over him, bloody sword in hand, and cleaved his head from his shoulders.
“Gre’as wun oloth,” she whispered the vaeyn prayer as she staggered back against the wall and panted for breath. Her left leg burned like it had been dipped in molten lava, and she leaned down and wrapped her fingers around the bolt sticking out of her calf. Gritting her teeth, she wrenched it free and quickly channeled healing energy into the wound. The bleeding stopped almost immediately, but the pain remained constant.
“I’m told that many Knights of the Last Dawn are skilled healers,” a deep, heavily-accented voice said from back near the chamber entryway. “But in this case, I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do.”
Before she had even identified the speaker, Elade summoned her shield back to her arm and leapt back to her feet—or tried, anyway. But her leg was so weak she couldn’t actually stand, so instead she braced herself against the wall as a tall, dark figure appeared in the passageway between the chambers.
“The toxin works quickly, and very few healers in the world can counteract its effects,” the figure said. At a glance, he was a thirty-something Crell male with the build and musculature of a soldier. “We prefer not to leave anything to chance.”
The pain began to knife through her chest, and Elade forced herself to stay calm as she channeled a technique designed to purify her bloodstream and slow the spread of poison. It didn’t have any noticeable effect.
“Throw down your weapon, or you’ll join your men in the Void,” she said, wondering if her voice sounded as feeble to him as it did to her.
The man grunted in amusement. “You really are every bit as dangerous as the mistress warned,” he whispered. “The perfect union of light and darkness, paladin and shadow knight. It’s a pity you’ve chosen to fight for the people that loathe you.”
Elade tried to charge towards him, but her legs gave out before she made it halfway across the room. Her Aetheric shield flickered and vanished, and her protective mantle dissipated shortly thereafter. It felt like someone was physically squeezing her heart right inside her chest…
“There’s no need to worry,” the man said, stepping forward over her body and retrieving manacles from inside his pack. “The mistress has no interest in killing you despite all the death you’ve wrought. In fact, she’s even more interested in you because of it. With time, she hopes you’ll come to understand that we’re all on the same side.”
He smiled even as he leaned down and fastened her arms together behind her back. “We are Unbound, after all. This world belongs to us.”
***
Midnight had long since come and gone by the time a knock rattled Supreme Commander Onar Tenel’s door, but he was only dozing. Restful sleep was a rare commodity these days; even when he wasn’t actively involved with planning, he could rarely get his mind to switch off for more than a few hours at a time.
“What is it?”
“Imperator Mirrel has requested your presence in the war room, sir,” a nervous male voice said from the other side. The adjutants had probably drawn straws to decide who got to wake up their commander in the middle of the night. “She insists it is vital.”
“No doubt,” Tenel murmured. “Tell her I’ll be there in a few minutes. You might as well wake up Colonel Horsch as well.”
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”
Rubbing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Tenel propped himself up on his bed and grabbed his jacket from the nearby chair. He hadn’t even taken the time to remove his boots tonight; he’d nodded off while reading through some new reports. After splashing some water in his face and gulping down a shot of vodka, he strode out of his chamber and made his way to the war room.
Horsch was waiting for him when he arrived, and so was Mirrel. Both were smiling so widely they almost looked delirious.
“We got her, Onar,” Horsch said, grinning. “Your plan actually worked.”
Tenel raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Mirrel. “Lieutenant?”
“The Zarul squad commander in the Lirisfal Fjord just subdued the dark elf paladin,” she confirmed. “He is ready to bring her to Drakendaar on your order.”
“I see,” Tenel said, calmly folding his hands behind his back. He certainly hadn’t seen this coming. “What’s the status of his team?”
Mirrel’s cheek twitched. “Dead, sir. Only the commander survived.”
“Three more lives she’ll answer for,” Horsch said gravelly. “Do you think we can convince Ishthare to let us flog the bitch before we hand her over?”
“The High Sovereign’s orders are very clear,” Tenel said. “We’re to deliver the elf directly to Drakendaar for reeducation. I suspect that will be a worse fate than anything we could concoct…”
Horsch grunted. “You really think we can ‘convert’ a Knight of the Last Dawn?”
“What I think is irrelevant. The High Sovereign wants the vaeyn alive, and that’s the only thing that matters.” Tenel shifted his gaze towards Mirrel. “Order the squad leader back home, and contact our forces at the nearest outpost. Send a small unit to aid him just in case.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tenel could feel his friend’s eyes on the side of his head. �
��You don’t seem all that enthused,” Horsch said after a moment. “I figured you would be celebrating. This whole trap was your idea, and she swallowed the bait whole.”
“Yes, but we lost a lot of men in the process,” Tenel replied soberly.
“Less than we would have if she’d been allowed to roam free. This is a great victory, Onar. Without that bloody elf in the way, our Breakers will have free rein across the whole western front.”
Tenel nodded. In principle, Horsch was completely right: this was a significant victory, and the loss of three Green Coat operatives was a small price to pay for the capture of the enemy’s most dangerous asset. Tenel also knew he should have been proud that his plan had worked. He had been the one who’d decided to lure the paladin to Lirisfal by planting false reports on Captain Fuhr and several other Breakers in the region. Any other officer would have been beaming and boasting of his accomplishments.
But Tenel had never particularly cared about who got credit for what. All he really wanted was victory…and the peace and security that would finally come with a united Torsia.
“You look exhausted,” Horsch said after a moment. “You might as well head back to bed—I can take care of things from here.”
Tenel rubbed his forehead and let out a long, tired sigh. “You’re probably right,” he conceded. “I hadn’t even fallen asleep yet.”
“Then take tomorrow off. There’s nothing immediately on the table. Maybe you should even go take a quick trip to see Chalandra and the kids.”
“Maybe,” Tenel whispered, wondering why in the Void the thought of seeing his wife and children made him feel even more exhausted. “I’ve considered bringing them—” He cut himself off when Mirrel twitched unexpectedly. “Is something wrong, Lieutenant?”
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