A dream. It had been a dream.
A coolness grazed her face, and she stilled. Brushing her fingertips along her cheeks, she felt tears. Perhaps it had been a dream, but her body betrayed her. It had only been two days since Draven had left, but it felt like a lifetime.
She cursed under her breath, grabbing her bow before she marched to the tree line near their camp. She needed to clear her mind before the trials ahead, and sleep clearly was not the solution.
Stepping forty faces back from an oak tree, she picked her target, a small knot in the tree at eye level. Rolling her neck, she loosened the tension in her shoulders before pulling back on the bow string, the fletching skimming her cheek. She took a deep breath, letting the cool morning air fill her lungs, then released.
A soft twang was followed by a thump as the arrow embedded in the tree’s bark, a finger’s length away from her mark. Cursing, she drew another arrow from her quiver, forcing her mind to clear and focus solely on the oak tree.
Another deep breath, and her arrow was flying.
This time, the knot was marked, dead center.
She smiled, relaxing her stance, just as a clap sounded behind her.
“I knew it was a good idea to bring you.” Caelan stepped up next to her, elbowing her gently in jest.
Astraia nudged him back before walking over to retrieve her arrows. Her heartbeat skipped at the thought that she might release every single arrow she carried before the sun fell.
“Did you sleep?” he asked her as she walked back to him, concern etched on his face.
“Restlessly,” she muttered, unable to make eye contact with him.
“Same,” he huffed, walking beside her back toward the camp.
The Empyrean were awake, readying their horses for the remainder of the journey to the Njord River near Ásynjur. The horses also seemed restless, pacing and neighing at their riders, itching to be on the move again.
Orion nudged her hand when she came up next to him, the image of calm before a storm. Patting his neck, she put one boot in a stirrup and mounted, settling into the saddle for what would likely be a long ride.
They set out again, heading northeast, with the hopes of reaching the Njord River and following it the rest of the journey east. They would stop along the way, inquiring at any of the river villages for sightings of the wraiths or even whispers of the shadows and unholy fires left in their wake. There had been no word of new wraith sightings or village fires from falconry correspondence sent from Volpes or the Skyforge Peaks since they had set out on their quest, but the lack of news was not surprising. The wraiths were being stealthy and random in their attacks from what Caelan had gleaned—being alert for any possibility was their best chance of survival.
By midday, the group came to the first village on the edges of the Njord River. It was a small fishing settlement, with perhaps twenty wooden buildings scattered along the bank and up the hill from the river’s edge. Some boats were moored, small vessels for transporting goods and fish down the river. As they entered, people stared wide-eyed at the soldiers clad in black. Truthfully, to those unfamiliar with the Guard, they would make any man quake in his boots.
Caelan halted the group in the center of the village, dismounting from his horse and inspecting their surroundings. The village was quaint, with grassy fields around the homes and a single dirt road that ran along the river between some of the buildings. A few children ran across the road, giggling as they spotted the horses and armored men.
A little girl caught Astraia’s eye, dressed in a pale blue dress with ribbon in her hair. The girl gaped at her as she stood beside an older woman, presumably her mother. Astraia winked, and the girl giggled, hiding behind her mother’s skirts. The mother looked up, fear in her eyes, assessing the band of mounted soldiers.
Astraia tied Orion to a hitching post and walked over to the woman and little girl. Their faces paled with panic as she approached. She held up a hand in greeting, smiling as she spoke first to the mother.
“Stars keep you. I am Traia,” she said softly, trying her best to ease their worry.
“And you. I am Liva, and this is my daughter Revna.” The mother’s voice was strong, her shoulders squared as she faced Astraia.
“We are members of the Empyrean Guard. We do not mean to frighten anyone. We come seeking answers.”
“The Empyrean Guard? Why are you so far north?” Liva spoke firmly, but there was doubt in her tone.
“We are investigating reports of strange fires and smoke from some of the neighboring villages. Have you heard of them?” Astraia smiled, trying to convey their noble intentions, rather than evoke fear.
“There was a fire. Near Ásynjur. The village there caught flame and burned for days. My aunt lived there and escaped. She said it was unlike anything she had ever seen. A fire that burned,though no wood was left to feed it.” Liva’s voice was hushed, her hand resting on top of Revna’s curly hair, guarding her.
“Is your aunt here? May I speak with her?”
“No, she went to live with her sister in the Hollow Cities. We have not seen her in a fortnight. But there are some trying to rebuild the village who were witnesses to the fire. They could help you.”
Astraia smiled, nodding. “My thanks. Good day.” She winked again at Revna and rejoined the scouting party. She found Caelan speaking to another villager, an older man, then he shook the man’s hand and walked over to Astraia.
“There was a fire a fortnight ago, near the outpost.” He lowered his voice as he spoke, untying his horse and gesturing for his men to do the same.
