Lindarion's voice carried easily over the assembly, calm but edged with command. "Two days south. That's how long we travel before we stop. No noise, no fires, no magic that bleeds beyond your veins. We move like wind through reeds."
Vareth stepped forward. "If we're walking into whatever did this… what's our plan, Your Highness?"
Lindarion looked toward the mist, his gaze cutting through the haze as though he could already see what waited there. "We learn. We observe. We listen. If the land is dying, it will tell us how."
"And if it's not dying?" Nysha asked.
"Then we find what's feeding on it."
Ashwing fluttered up to his shoulder, tail flicking irritably. "Why do I feel like that's going to end with explosions and screaming?"
"Because it usually does," Lindarion replied without missing a beat.
A ripple of uneasy laughter moved through the soldiers. It was small, fragile, but it lightened the tension enough for them to breathe.
They departed an hour later.
