Three riders thundered down the valley path, horses lathered and wide-eyed with fear. Armor clattered with every jolt, and the stench of blood clung to them like smoke after a fire.
Thornak reined in his mount. They had just reached the edge of the vale of thorns. He recognized the men, scouts he'd sent to Ashmoor. But they were only three now. Just three. He had sent over fifty men.
Dain moved first, intercepting them as they staggered from their saddles, half falling to their knees.
"Sire," one choked out, blood drying in thick smears down his cheek.
Thornak stepped forward, his shadow long and sharp in the morning light. "Tell me."
The man swallowed hard. "When we arrived... There was no sign of an enemy. But then… it started. We began hearing things. Seeing things. Orders from men who weren't there. Faces from the dead. Whispers in our ears, telling us we'd been betrayed."
The other scout looked up at Thornak, desperation in his eyes. "They made us see things. Made us believe things. And then we turned on each other."
"They fought like madmen, sire," the first added. "Swords drawn in panic. Men we knew all our lives, cut down. We couldn't stop it. Couldn't tell what was real."
Only the wind answered for a long moment.
Then Thornak nodded once, slowly. "How many escaped?"
"Just us," said the second scout. "And barely."
Dain exhaled sharply, jaw tight. "Ashmoor was a trap."
Ruvan muttered a curse under his breath.
Thornak's eyes narrowed as he turned toward the east, towards Ashmoor. Lara was right.
Then he mounted his horse again and gave the only command that mattered.
"We ride for the Vale."
The Vale of Thorns was a sunless hollow, nestled between jagged ridgelines like a wound in the land. Twisted trees lined the edges, leafless things whose branches arched like claws. The ground was black with rot and ash, choked by brambles that pulsed faintly, as if alive.
No birds sang here. No wind stirred. The very air seemed thick with an ancient wrongness, as though the earth itself remembered pain. It was a place long abandoned by light, whispered of in fear, where curses lingered like fog and the living did not dare tread.
They rode quietly, It was silent. Too silent...
Mist clung low to the earth. Thornak's horse pawed the ground uneasily, and even the wind seemed to hesitate at the valley's edge. Jax felt uneasy beneath his skin.
Then they saw them.
Rogues. Hundreds of them.
Scattered across the vale like statues, motionless, but armed. Swords and axes gripped in white-knuckled fists. Eyes wide, unfocused. Some bled from the mouth, others trembled faintly, their bodies straining as though held back by invisible chains.
Not a snarl. Not a growl.
Just the sound of breathing. Shallow. Synchronized. Wrong.
Ruvan whispered, "They're not… I think they are asleep."
"No," Thornak muttered, dismounting slowly, his voice a quiet blade. "They're waiting."
Dain knelt beside one, watching the rogue's lips twitch, as if reciting something unheard.
"They are in a trance."
These were not wild beasts. These were weapons. Ready, but not yet unleashed.
"Blood magic," Ruvan said grimly, pointing to a nearby tree. The bark was carved in winding runes that pulsed faintly, red as a dying ember.
Thornak looked over the haunted vale, jaw set like stone.
"They're not guarding this place," he said. "They're gathering for an attack."
Dain's jaw clenched. "We should break the spell. Study the runes. Learn what holds them."
"No," Thornak said, voice like flint. "We don't study vipers lying in wait. We crush them."
Ruvan's brows knit. "Sire, what if they're linked...."
"They are linked," Thornak cut in. "That's why we burn them. Before whatever holds them snaps."
He turned to his commanders, gaze like a drawn blade.
"We don't give the sorcerer his war, we destroy his army."
With swift commands, oil casks were dragged to the ridge. Archers lit their arrows, the flames painting their faces in gold and red.
Across the vale, the rogues stood silent and still.
Thornak raised his arm.
"For Vargorath."
He let it fall.
The arrows flew.
And the Vale of Thorns ignited like a funeral pyre.
They burned, every last one of them.
Thornak watched the flames climb high into the sky, unblinking.
Suddenly the sky darkened, not from smoke, but from something colder.
The wind dropped dead.
Then it came.
A ripple in the air, like heat over stone, but colder than any winter wind. And from the heart of the smoke, it slipped through. Not walked, slipped. Like it didn't belong to the world it stood in.
The sorcerer's familiar.
Its limbs were too long. Its body too lean, too silent. Cloaked in a shadow that flickered like firelight, yet cast no heat. Clawed feet touched the scorched earth with reverence, as if it liked the ash.
Its head turned once. Slowly. It had no eyes. Just hollow slits that knew exactly where they were.
The sound of blades being drawn filled the air.
Dain exclaimed. "What in the Goddess's name..."
Ruvan didn't speak. He couldn't.
The creature opened its mouth, not to speak, but to scream. Not loud. Not wide. Just a small, piercing sound like bone cracking in a tomb.
Thornak didn't flinch.
"Tell your master this," he said coldly, "he'll die before the end."
The familiar tilted its head, as if amused.
Then it vanished, melted backward into the smoke like water into sand, leaving nothing behind but scorched prints and a whisper that wasn't wind.
"I see you."
The creature's scream echoed long after the flames had swallowed the vale, a sound that sank into bone and left the men pale beneath their helms.
None of them spoke as they mounted.
They were warriors, hardened, blooded, but what they'd seen was something else. Unnatural.
Still, it was a win. The rogues were gone. The threat, for now, burned to ash.
And so they rode, swiftly, silently, toward home.
No songs. No cheers.
Just the thrum of hooves on hard earth, and the unspoken truth heavy in their hearts.
Whatever had stirred in the Vale of Thorns… it would rise again.
....
The moon hung cold and watchful above the palace, casting silver lines across the stone corridors.
The corridor was silent. Dorian had been sent away with a fabricated summons, news of Thornak's movement that demanded the guard's attention. Mira had retired to the kitchens on a small errand.
Corin had no business being near the guest wing this late, but the old stone corridor held one secret he couldn't resist, a narrow alcove with a perfect view of the moonlit gardens. He claimed it as his own some years ago, a hidden perch where the world fell quiet and the sky poured silver across the earth.
He leaned against the pillar just outside it now, dagger in hand, idly turning it between his fingers, pretending boredom had brought him here, when in truth, it was the pull of moonlight and the solace it offered.
That's when he heard footsteps.
A robed man appeared around the corner. Not a guard. Not a servant. Corin straightened slightly, curiosity sharpening to suspicion.
The man paused at Lady Lara's chamber door, glancing down the hall, clearly thinking himself alone.
Corin didn't move. He melted back into the shadows instead, watching through the thin sliver between stone and torchlight.
The man drew something from his sleeve. A letter.
Corin's eyes narrowed.
The stranger opened the door with surprising ease, slipped inside, and disappeared.
Moments passed. Too many.
When he emerged again, he no longer had the letter. His hands were empty. His face unreadable.
Corin said nothing. Just watched him go, eyes like flint.
But just as the stranger turned the corner,he saw Lara and Mira walk by and enter the room.
Suddenly hushed voices drifted down the corridor from the opposite end. Corin froze, still as stone, heart beginning to race again.
Soldiers.
He saw them clearly now, his father at the front, flanked by two guards, their faces grim as they entered Lara's room and begun the search.
He could here voices.
"By order of Queen Maravelle, this chamber is to be searched immediately. Step aside."
"They are tearing through everything without any explanation." Mira was explaining to Dorian who had just arrived outside. Corin saw him rush in.
"What's happening here?"
"That doesn't belong to me. I've never seen that letter before." Lara was saying.
Dorian arrived in the doorway, eyes flashing. "You don't have the right to accuse her based on a rumor and a planted note."
"I'm not accusing," Aedric said without raising his voice. "I'm obeying orders. The Queen will decide what comes next."
Corin watched as they left the room one of the guards was saying to his father in a low tone, "…the letter proves her guilt, she's been working with the enemy all along."
His father didn't respond, but his silence was heavier than words.
Corin's blood ran cold.
Something twisted in his gut, an uneasy coil of dread and disbelief. That letter, it had been planted. He'd seen it with his own eyes.
He waited until they passed, then ran. Fast.
Down the hall, past cold stone and flickering sconces, into the quiet part of the palace where the world forgot about him. He didn't stop until he reached his room. The door clicked shut behind him, and he leaned against it, breathing hard, as if the truth might pound its way out of his chest.
His mind reeled.
He was just thirteen. No one would believe him. Not the guards. Not the council. Not even his own father. His life could even be at risk...
But he'd seen it.
He knew what he saw.
Corin sat on the edge of his bed, clutching the dagger he forgot he was still holding. The metal was warm in his palm. He stared at the floor, jaw clenched.
He didn't know what he'd do next. But one thing was certain.
He couldn't stay silent forever.
....
Lara said nothing as the guards led her down the narrow stairwell beneath the palace. The air grew colder with every step, heavy with damp and silence. Her hands were bound, though she hadn't resisted.
They reached the bottom. One of the guards pulled open the iron door. It groaned loudly, echoing through the corridor.
The cell was small. Bare stone walls, a single bench of old wood, a bit of straw in the corner that looked like it hadn't been changed in weeks.
"Inside," the guard said.
Lara stepped in. The door shut behind her with a dull clang, the lock sliding into place.
She didn't move at first. The air was stale and cool. A rat rustled in the corner, but she ignored it.
They hadn't even let Dorian speak.
Furious, demanded an explanation. When he tried to block their path, two soldiers restrained him. He was taken, and despite his rank, he was thrown into a separate cell without ceremony.
All for standing up for her.
Eventually, Lara sat on the floor, slow and quiet. Her wrists ached, but she welcomed the stillness.
No one had told her what would happen next. Only that a letter had been found. That it pointed to treason. That the Queen had ordered her confined until Thornak returned and the council convened.
She rested her elbows on her knees and stared at the floor. It was clean enough, but the smell of mildew clung to everything. Her mind was oddly blank, no anger, no fear, just a steady awareness that something had shifted, and not for the better.
She had no way to prove her innocence. Not yet. And Thornak… would he believe her.
Lara exhaled through her nose, steadying herself.
There was nothing to do now but wait.