At last, he did. A small, nearly forgotten village was nestled in the valley below.
“That’s it,” Alaric said, pulling his horse to a stop and gesturing toward the distant settlement. “That’s the village of Wrenford.”
Evelyne followed his gaze. The village was nothing like Cindermoor. It was smaller and quieter, its streets empty save for a few wisps of smoke curling from chimneys. It looked abandoned in some parts and barely hanging on in others.
“A trade route must have once run through here,” Alaric continued, turning in the saddle to face Kaldrek. “It was supposed to connect the eastern villages to Nerathar before it was abandoned. If we’re seeing Wrenford now, then we’re close.”
Kaldrek nodded, his expression unreadable. “Then we keep moving. No stops. We can’t risk being seen.”
They rode on, leaving the village behind. The ground sloped downward, the terrain shifting subtly as they followed Alaric’s path. Eventually, they reached an area where the land broke apart into jagged stones scattered haphazardly around a narrow stream. Some of the rocks were massive, standing like ancient sentinels, their surfaces worn smooth by time and water.
Alaric dismounted first, moving toward the largest of the stones. He traced his fingers over the surface, eyes narrowing in thought. “This is it,” he murmured. “The trade route ran through here. If I’m right, the entrance should be…” He scanned the ground, then pointed toward a small opening where the stones clustered together.
Kaldrek moved forward, sniffing the air.
“You think it’s underground?”
Alaric nodded. “It makes sense. If this route was forgotten, it was either swallowed by the land or hidden on purpose.” He knelt near the opening, brushing aside dirt and debris until a deeper passage was revealed. “This was once an entryway.”
Obren stepped forward, now in human form, his cloak draped around him as he peered into the darkness. “How far down do you think it stretches?”
“Deep enough to keep us hidden,” Evelyne said, a hint of hope rising through the cloud of doubt. “But what about the horses?”
One by one, the pack began shoving the loose rocks aside, revealing a large, gaping hole in the earth. The entrance yawned wide and dark, a hidden passage swallowed by time, but as Evelyne peered inside, reality settled over her. There was no way the horses would fit.
Kaldrek stepped forward, slipping into the tunnel’s shadowed mouth. He disappeared for a moment, surveying the space, before emerging again.
“We’ll have to leave the horses,” he said. “We can pull you both on sleds while we travel or move on foot if necessary.”
“Won’t that slow us down?” Evelyne asked, though she already knew there was no alternative.
But Alaric only smiled. “This route cuts straight under the mountain ridge into Nerathar. We won’t have to deal with the rough terrain above. This path was hidden for a reason—because it trims our journey by days, weeks even.”
Evelyne’s breath caught. “What?”
Alaric’s grin widened. “I told you. I memorized the maps. I figured this little secret would be more fun to reveal at the right moment.”
And there it was: that telltale wink, the playful arrogance he wielded so easily when he felt particularly pleased with himself. She let out a breathless laugh and wrapped her arms around him in a brief, grateful hug.
“Well, don’t celebrate just yet,” he teased. “I have no idea what awaits us in that tunnel. You might end up cursing my name before this is over.”
His voice was light, but he wasn’t wrong. The tunnel stretched before them, dark and full of unseen dangers. But a sense of relief settled over Evelyne for the first time since leaving Cindermoor.
Alaric had been right. They had found their path.
***
At least they didn’t have to worry about the weather down here. It was cold, damp, and eerily silent, but there was no rain or wind. The deeper they went, the further the temperature dropped, a creeping chill that settled in Evelyne’s bones. Luckily, they had prepared well for the journey. Packs were stocked with dried meat, fruit, nuts, and dense loaves of bread, ensuring they had enough sustenance for the weeks ahead. In their shifter forms, the wolves required far less food than the humans, but even they carried provisions, knowing that hunting would be impossible in the darkness of the tunnels.
Water would have been a concern, but to their relief, a small underground stream ran along parts of the tunnel, its crystal-clear waters trickling over smooth stone. Holden had tested it first, sniffing the liquid, then tasting it cautiously.
“Fresh,” he confirmed. They still rationed their filled canteens just in case the water ran dry, but it was a steady source of hydration for now.
As they ventured further along the tunnel, a sharp metallic scent hung in the air, thick and clinging to Evelyne’s senses like a warning. Strangely, none of the shifters had said a word about it—only Alaric had mentioned it, which was odd, given the shifters’ heightened sense of smell. Finally, unable to shake the unease, she turned to Heidara, hoping for confirmation.
“Please tell me you smell that.”
Heidara frowned. “I do. It’s the stench of dark magic.”
