“Perfect. An entitled elite has been my contact.” He threw his hands up, slamming them down on the table.
“Thatentitled elitehas been scouting and hunting wraiths with the informationyousent him. So, I would watch your tone, Bear,” she snapped, absently feeling for her dagger in case she needed to rid him of his tongue before he said anything else that vexed her.
His fingers curled inward into fists, his knuckles white as he clenched his hands.
“Easy. We don’t want trouble. We just want information,” Draven interjected, glancing between her and Arcas. “Six wraiths riding Nyrekh were found on a scouting mission a few days back. Four of them were killed. But we still do not know where they are coming from and where they disappear to. When your correspondence stopped coming, we set out in hopes of finding you to see what else you knew.”
Arcas paused, staring at the table, then he blinked and looked directly at Astraia. His dark eyes were foreboding, eerily similarto the starless skies that blanketed the realm every night. “My correspondence stopped arriving?”
“Yes…we assumed it was because you did not have more new information,” she replied.
He cursed, rubbing a hand over his face, dried blood still caked his knuckles. “I’ve been sending falcon correspondence. They must have been intercepted along their route. Someone who does not want me to share what I have discovered…” He trailed off, muttering to himself.
“What do you know?” Astraia lowered her voice, leaning closer to him.
The crowd behind her at the pit drowned out any other sounds from the hall, and she hoped it was loud enough to muffle their conversation as well.
“The wraiths are multiplying. I do not know how. But more are pouring into Virellia, the Peaks, everywhere.” His voice was just above a whisper, only loud enough for the three of them to hear above the commotion. “They are coming from the Celestial Wastes.”
Astraia’s heart sank.
The Wastes were uninhabitable, a destroyed forest from the aftershock of the Shattering, burned to ash. There were petrified trees and stumps that served as tombstones for the Starwood groves, but nothing else remained. The only place that fared worse was the Shardlands, the point of direct impact when the Stars collided with the realm.
It would be nearly impossible to find the horde’s hive.
She could see Draven’s mind working out the same issue that she had, his brows furrowed in concentration. They would have to find another way to intercept the wraiths and destroy the horde. Infiltrating the Wastes was not an option—it was a death march.
“How do you know?” Draven asked.
“I’ve been following them. Tracking their movements. They’re attacking small outlying villages, probing the protection of the different provinces for weaknesses. They never linger long, disappearing into shadow, but they reappear right along the northwest border of the Wastes and Skyforge Peaks. That’s when I’ll see them ride across the border and disappear again.”
Arcas took a long swig of ale, sighing as he set his mug down. It was quiet for several moments, each of them mulling over what they had discovered. Then Draven stood, sticking out his hand toward Arcas. Arcas rose to meet him, grasping his arm at the elbow in a sacred embrace of warriors.
“My thanks, Arcas,” Draven said, nodding.
“Kom heill, bróðir,” Arcas replied, a softness to his tone.
Draven only stared and sighed.
“Langt megi yðar reykja.” Arcas shook his head and released his grip.
“Heilsa þér,” Draven responded and gestured for Astraia to follow him.
She paused when she rose from her seat, grappling with what to say to the warrior.
“My thanks, Arcas.” She smiled, nodding.
He dipped his head back at her, his face expressionless.
She turned and followed Draven out of the pandemonium of the mead hall without a second glance back. As she mounted Orion and they made their way out of the town, she could not help but feel they were leaving more than just the Bear behind.
Chapter 36
Thus, stewards are gifted with abilities and far longer years, to protect the Starborne and oversee the realm, as commanded by the Constellations.
The Empyrean Scrolls (Remnants of the holy text)
THE SILENT RIDE OUT OF Asynjur smothered Astraia with unspoken half-truths, which was quickly becoming the bounty hunter’s modus operandi. She had labored under the illusion that one day he would open his mouth and every single truth, whether evil or good, would spill out. But she knew better than to expect the extraordinary. There was one fact she had learned from her years of pain and torment: trust was not earned; it was sharpened into a blade—then buried in your back.
