Cade’s dragon Voth angled down first, landing in a wide clearing just off the road, stirring dirt and dry leaves into the air. The rest of us followed, boots hitting the packed ground with solid thuds as we dismounted.
“This is the last place the wagons were seen,” Cade said, nodding toward the road. His eyes swept the area, acute and calculating.
I followed his gaze.
Wagon tracks marred the dirt up to a point, and then, nothing. No deep grooves. No broken branches. No trail leading away.
It was like the wagons had simply vanished into thin air.
Jax crouched low, brushing his fingers along the edge of one of the ruts. “Tracks end here. No drag marks. No splintered wood. Same as last time.”
Ferrula frowned. “Could’ve lifted the goods and left the wagons behind, but then where the hell are the wagons?”
I turned, scanning the tree line. Human boot prints. Dozens of them, leading away from the road and into the dense forest beyond.
“Cade,” I said, motioning him over. “Tracks heading east. Maybe a mile in.”
He jogged up beside me, squinting at the prints. “Light loads. Moving fast.”
We were still discussing when the first arrow whistled past my ear.
Kaelith roared, her massive body surging forward instinctively as men in tattered tunics erupted from the forest.
More than twenty of them. Dirty, desperate-looking, armed with rusted blades and battered axes.
I drew my short sword just as the first wave hit, steel clashing against steel.
They weren’t skilled—most of their strikes were wild, reckless—but there were too many.
Ferrula swung her sword, sending two attackers sprawling. Jax planted himself between Naia and a group of three men, using his bulk like a living shield.
Riven moved like a shadow, fast and lethal, her blade flashing in quick, efficient thrusts.
Cade unleashed a short burst of wind magic that sent a handful of them sprawling backward, buying us a moment’s breathing room.
I ducked a sloppy sword swing and countered hard, driving the hilt of my blade into a man’s jaw. He crumpled with a grunt.
And then I saw him.
Charging through the chaos, straight toward me.
Luther.
Once a Fourth Guild member, now wearing the battered remains of a First Guild tunic, the sigil torn. No dragon had chosen him.
His face twisted with hate as he raised his sword and lunged for me.
“Luther,” I hissed under my breath, fury igniting my veins.
I parried his blow, the clash of our blades reverberating up my arms.
He grinned, a feral, broken thing. “You should’ve stayed in your place, rider.”
I shoved him back with a snarl, the fire rising in my chest.
Luther’s blade moved fast.
He wasn’t like the other rebels flailing around the clearing with rusted swords and broken pride.
