But it was not where Ahna was headed. Not yet, at least. Because right now, Ahna only had her heart set on the city located beyond this forest of cedars and southern pines.
Going to the Dwellunder was the most foolish of things she would do in a long while. Even going to the moon was less of a wretched idea. That is why she was not going to do it alone.
And it was about time she found her brother.
For one, she desperately needed to find him, and two, he was the Dragonborn. Convincing Dwellunder guards to let the Sharr renegade pass with a sword was far less of a realistic plan than with holy draconic fire.
Before leaving Jules and Luky at the gates of Bravoure City, Ahna had asked the shrike more about Sud’s Arena. Most of it being stories he had heard. He had not been to Sud himself in five years, for him. Two hundred years ago, Sud was known as the city of bright colors and endless flavors. Markets with fruits and jewels from all over the world. The Grand Theatre, Terra’s holy grounds of entertainment. Countless temples built in the antique style and preserved to this day. And there was the Colosseum, the Arena of Sud.
Nothing had changed in two hundred years. Sud was still the bustling place of fervor that it used to be. Even more so today, now that the city had a golden dragon as her main act.
Ahna’s mind buzzed with tens of questions. How had Thamias made it through all of this? What had happened to him? Why lock himself in an arena and become this twisted entertainment for the crowds?
What had he become?
But she would ask him the following first: how was he? How did he feel?
Did he hate her for going missing for so long?
Ahna dodged a few branches as Coal entered the forest. The wind quickly lessened, and Coal slowed down to a trot. It was quiet in this part of the woods. Nature was more prosperous closer to Gurdal. As they were so close to the Chasm, wildlife deemed it best to stay away.
Except for a few distant finches and chiffchaffs, there was no other sound. The thick foliage above her head almost entirely veiled the sky. Ahna looked up, searching for some light. It was not eternal night here, but the fact that the sun was gone turned this trot into a nocturnal stroll. Ahna had long rid herself of the hood that covered her silver hair. There was no City Watch. At least she was safe from that. A few more hours and she would reach Sud. The next step of her quest: find a place where she could finally get some sleep.
Maybe there was no City Watch, but there was definitely something. Ahna suddenly felt watched. It was hard to sneak up on a dark elf—unless a sindur tried their luck. Whoever lurked a hundred feet above her was not the best rogue of Terra. Ahna raised a flickering ear to listen better. She closed her eyes to open her hearing to the source of the sound.
It was not one person. There were at least four.
Ahna opened her eyes and kept them open, the hair on her neck standing on end. She was observed and followed. Whoever these were, they had long seen the dark elf that she was on a black horse in the middle of the dark forest.
For the next few minutes, Ahna kept a pointy ear on the sounds above her. She had already made theories on who was following her. Perhaps bandits that lurked in the woods, although bandits usually did not climb trees. But wood elves did. Rangers. The Fae.
And then it hit her. Literally and figuratively. A greenish shadow sprung out of the darkness and bashed her off her horse. Ahna stumbled over on her side, almost knocking her head against a stone on the ground. Coal darted forward, leaving a trail of remnant hoofprints behind.
The Fae, the wood elves of Bravoure. Those who guarded the forests bordering Tazman. This place was too northern for them.
Ahna crawled back on her knees then raised her head to her assailant who stood before her. It was a woman. She had short red hair and a golden skin that gleamed even in the dark. She held a cutlass so curved, it looked like a large sickle, and she pointed it under Ahna’s chin. Her nostrils folded upward to show she was not playing games.
“Move, dryaa, and I will cut you,” she warned.
Three loud thumps echoed behind Ahna. Footsteps approached her, and three men came to a standstill beside the armed woman. All four—wood elves.
Ahna maintained her gaze on the woman. “I’m just passing through,” she said.
She knew her life was not threatened. The Fae were known for their talent at intimidation, but they never killed for the thrill. At least, not according to what she remembered.
“How do you even still exist?” the woman asked. Her voice was high and mildly annoying.
Ahna ignored her question. She raised her hands in the air as a sign of peace. “Like I said, I’m just passing through.”
The woman did not budge. Ahna noticed how two of the men were slowly readying their weapons. The third one had taken a step back.
Now, it was fight or flee. Ahna shifted her weight back and pushed herself up, simultaneously swinging her shortsword out of its sheath. The woman instantly went for the strike. The two blades clashed with a loud din. One of the men tried to tackle Ahna, but she was fast enough to pull out her pistol and aim it at his head. Everyone froze.
“I’m not here to fight,” Ahna declared, the pulse of her pistol amplifying. She turned to the woman and locked eyes with her. Ahna relaxed her features to show candor. “I’m really not,” she murmured.
“Let go of that...weapon,” the woman called.
Ahna strengthened her grasp around the pistol’s grip. “Not until you lower yours,” she raised.
“You know that’s not going to happen.”
Ahna could see the elven woman before her better in the light emanating from her pistol. Not only did her skin look like it was made of gold dust, but the faint green tattoos that covered her face aligned beautifully with her complexion, in branches of Bravan oaks that extended from her nose to her ears.
Nobody moved for a few seconds until Ahna saw a flicker of fury inside the woman’s yellow eyes. The woman went for another, more powerful strike. Ahna parried it with all she had, but the force of the blow destabilized her. The man facing the arcane pistol got a hold of Ahna’s arm and tried to force the weapon out of her hand. The other man rushed from behind her and locked his body against hers. His arm slithered under her neck and held her head in place.
Ahna struggled to stay standing. She tried to get herself free, but her real struggle was against that dormant energy inside her and keeping it at bay. She did not want to use it, not here. She feared that she would harm them, and they did not deserve it. Finally, she was able to anchor her feet. She took numerous steps back, pushing back the man who held her, until he caught his heels in the ground and fell on his back. Ahna rolled to get herself standing again. She had lost grip of the pistol, but she still held her sword firmly.
But before she could make any decision, Ahna caught the sound of a fifth pair of footsteps. A man, much taller, appeared from out of the foliage, and he knocked her head with the pommel of his sword. Ahna only saw the glow of his pure blond hair before falling to the ground again. A phantom ring lingered between her ears. The man forced her up and dragged her away. Ahna had no choice but to comply.
8
Wolfsbane
It was not until she reached a secluded glade that Ahna regained enough energy to scan her surroundings. Night had fallen. She had been dragged to a large clearing with huts made of wood and roofs of packed dried weed. She caught sight of a well, even in this darkness, where a few people stood. Most of them, especially those who had witnessed her arrival and now cautiously observed, were wood elves. But the man who held her was definitely ljosalfar.
It was unusual for the two races to collaborate. Not that they disliked each other, no, but they had different ways. When it came to opposing dark elves, though, that is when they united. High elves were exclusive to Fallvale. Those who lived in various places across Terra never truly forgot their home. The vidthralfar, on the other hand, were scattered among woodland settlements. The Bravan wood elves were known as t
he Gyll’ne Fae in full, for Bravoure was the Kingdom of Gold.
This man was not Fae, and there was something critically familiar about the way he moved. He led Ahna to one of the larger huts, where two men in ranger leathers stood posted by the entrance. They each stared her down with wary glares. The ljosalfar pushed her inside and followed. The four other wood elves did not.
There was a crude wooden chair at the center of the room. The man forced Ahna to sit down, and he motioned for the two guards outside to help him bind her hands behind her back. He obviously had some kind of leadership position in this village, but why was a ljosalfar even here?
Ahna did not move or struggle anymore. She figured it was a smart idea not to contest whatever was happening, out of fear for her own life. It certainly did not look like they were joking.
The man motioned for the two guards to leave and closed the door once they were back outside. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door, his eyes fixated on Ahna. He remained silent, attentive, as he inspected her. Ahna could only feel the light of his green eyes engulfing her.
Ahna swallowed. The silence was unbearable.
“This isn’t necessary,” she eventually said, using her chin to point over her shoulders at her bound hands.
The man had long pure blond hair, half of it tied in a high knot at the crown of his head. He had a slim figure but broad shoulders. He wore the green leathers of rangers, just like the guards outside. His sculpted cheekbones were sharp, and the dimple that complemented his crooked smile was quite irresistible. Ahna only noticed now that the man was smiling, and she noticed how attractive he actually was.
“What is an elf like you doing in a nice forest like this?” he asked.
Ahna compulsively chuckled. She looked at him incredulously, puzzled by the way he had just posed this question. There was something else—a familiar note in the sound of his voice and in the curve of his smile.
Ahna recovered some of her senses and countered with a question in the same tone: “What is a high elf like you doing in a Fae village?”
The man uncrossed his arms and took a few steps forward. He leaned in, coming down to Ahna’s level, and stared into her purple eyes. Ahna could see him better. The golden flickers in his emerald green eyes flashed an image out of her memory.
Luthan’s eyes. Exactly the same. Ahna’s heart leapt.
Before she could say anything, the man stood up straight. “You’re more beautiful than I remember, dryaa.”
Ahna was speechless. This man, the out-of-place high elf in this glade, was Luthan’s son.
How was this even possible? What was he doing here, dressed like a ranger of the Fae? Ahna had a thousand more questions but could not ask any of them.
“So, you’re...what? Number seventy-something?” the man asked, but Ahna did not answer. “You should be the last one of the Missing.”
“Ti...be...rius?” Ahna finally articulated, piecing both her memory and voice back together.
“Berius for short,” he answered, stretching a hand as invitation for Ahna to shake it, then acting like he had just remembered that her hands were bound. “So, off to Sud, are we?”
Ahna nodded slowly, still puzzled by his odd behavior.
“Trade caravans usually take the coast,” Berius said. “Everybody knows the forest is not the safest of places.”
Okay? What an exciting story... Ahna did not comment more than the sarcastic thoughts in her mind.
“Sorry about the capture,” he added, interrupting Ahna’s musings, his apologetic tone right between fake and genuine. “But I bet you know Fae-folk aren’t the most welcoming.”
“Why am I still here?” Ahna asked this perfectly valid question.
Berius answered with a silent chuckle first. “You held an arcane pistol to my friend’s head.”
“Your friends held swords to my neck.”
“Certainly not the most welcoming of friends.”
“Obviously.”
Berius held his smile. “Just tell me what your business is in Sud, and I’ll let you go.”
Ahna raised an eyebrow. Why did that even matter? Berius’s attitude was a cross between Luthan’s arrogance and Jules’s cheeky sense of humor. It was an odd combination—quite unsettling. Ahna was utterly clueless what to make of this.
“You want the short or long version?” she asked, trying to match his uneven tone.
“Short will do.”
Ahna took a deep breath. She had about two seconds to compress her story before her response time would become abnormal. “I’m going to find my brother so he can help me fight off some cultists while the Wolf Pack tries to stop the general from declaring war on Galies.” Remarkable. She did not even have to breathe halfway through.
Berius relaxed his shoulders. It was apparent that Ahna’s short summary of why she was here had rung with him. His smile faded, and the flickers in his eyes turned to something more serious.
“Bravoure is going to war? Again?” he asked.
Ahna gave him a nod of confirmation.
“They’re never going to stand against an enemy like Galies,” he said.
Another nod.
Berius sighed. “I heard about the cultists. From Cayne.”
“You know Cayne?”
“Yeah, for a long time now. She came by about a week ago, asking for our help with this...uprising of hers. But the Fae aren’t folks that mingle well with politics.”
Pause. Ahna looked to Berius’s feet, pondering. For one, Berius seemed unconvinced at best of Cayne’s grandiose plans. But there was a glow in his eyes, one that disclosed a kind of devotion akin to his father’s—some sort of will to change things. Like one part of him was bound to this forest and the other to a better future.
“What about you?” Ahna asked, hoping to spark something in him.
Berius inhaled deeply before answering. “I like my forest.” After a pause, he added, “But I also like my peace and quiet, so, there’s that.”
More questions popped into Ahna’s mind. Did Berius possess magic? It did not seem like it. Had he chosen a life among the Fae to stay away from the city? Had he been here ever since his return? Did he know Luthan, his father, was here?
“Did you ever speak to your father?” Ahna figured she might as well ask.
Her question touched a weaker spot because Berius’s body stiffened. “Not in eight years.”
Yet another pause. “You know,” Berius began again, his brows curved into a slight frown. “I came here with my mother over a hundred and fifty years ago. I had the memory of a perfect life in Skyshrine, then you came into the picture, and everything collapsed. I don’t blame you per se, but I’m not an Academy-elf with the logic over emotions mantra, so I blame my father, and I don’t want to see him.”
Four questions answered with one reply. Berius obviously carried resentment with him. Part of it repressed, the other part fueling his attitude.
“Luthan is trying to find a way to solve this mess,” Ahna offered.
“Good for him.”
It was obvious that this part of the conversation was over. Ahna reclined in her seat as best as she could, despite her hands being bound. Berius exhaled a little too loud. Maybe he was nervous. He approached her and undid the rope around her wrists.
“You may go, dryaa,” Berius said. His lips curved into the semblance of a smile. “Come to me the next time you venture down these woods.” He gave her a wink and a sly smirk.
Ahna blushed, but she was confused again. What did that mean? She chose to ignore his offer and rose to her feet instead to escape the awkwardness. Berius led her through the door. He took her to the side of the hut where her horse Coal stood, guarded by the woman with red hair and giant sickle. Coal had been retrieved and brought here.
Berius waved at the woman to step aside. She mumbled something and trod away. Berius seized Coal’s reins and handed them to Ahna, then he pointed to a trail by the well. “You’ll reach Sud in less than an hour if you tak
e this path. There’s a tavern where...your appearance...won’t matter. You can stay there. It’s called Song Cicada. Give them my name, they owe me a favor.”
Ahna gave him a small smile. “Thank you,” she said. She was happy she was let free. And she was glad she would have a place to sleep in Sud.
Ahna realized how exhausted she was. Two long days of travel with barely any sleep came crashing on her shoulders. She mounted Coal with the bit of energy she had left, then realized one more thing. One piece of information she needed.
“Where is the inn?” she asked Berius.
“Right by the Arena. You can’t miss it.”
The Arena—exactly where she needed to be. Ahna was about to trot away when a thought crossed her mind. She turned her head to look over her shoulder at Berius, who watched her go.
“Maybe the Fae don’t like to mingle with politics now,” she began. “But I remember the Antlers, the rangers who fought with the Resistance. They were good people.”
Berius did not answer, but Ahna saw the twitch of his eyebrows that came with his understanding blink. Maybe her words had rung with him once more. Berius gave her a nod goodbye. Ahna had made this comment not in the hopes of igniting a sort of righteous flame. Cayne had come to the Fae to ask for their help. That flame was already there. It merely needed fanning, and Ahna had done just that.
Azera Condor collapsed in her chair upon hearing the news from her informant. He was young, had messy red hair and freckles, blue eyes the color of the Azul. Despite the curfew, he had taken every risk. He had come to find her in the Chamber of Choices in the middle of the night with news that came as a dreaded shock.
“You told me I should report back if any of the general’s men showed up in Mokvar,” he explained.
Azera hushed him with a flick of the hand. “When did this happen?”
Tempest of Bravoure Page 10
