Let Umbraxis be warmer than this place, or I won’t survive long enough to even greet Kaelen Duskbane, let alone kill him.
At Cindral’s gesture, we span out, surrounding him in a semi-circle for the briefing. “The village is several miles west of here. Easy enough to reach through the forest. We approach slowly and assess, see what their reaction is. Iliria, you’re in charge of the perimeter. Keep it tight, in case anyone tries to break through.”
The female who argued with him before setting off nods, her expression wiped. Frowning, I look to the path he points out. “We’re a full unit of soldiers. Anything other than fear would be unexpected. Perhaps a softer approach might garner more—”
“Ride on.” The cold, sharp command tells me Cindral hasn’t forgotten my words as he gives me his back. “It’s not your place to question, soldier.”
Well, then.
The forest is sparse. Hundreds of trees attempt to block out the darkening sky but can’t quite succeed. Spindly dark branches, devoid of color or any sign of life, catch and snag at my cloak as we ride through. One whips against my cheek, the brief kiss of pain telling me the branches are sharper than they first appear.
The bitter, dark bite of cold in my nose slowly gives way beneath the faint scent of cooking meat. Ahead, smoke curls lazily through the trees, the soft glow of hearth fires giving away the village well before we get close. Laughter and joyful screams echo above the low drone of conversation, the chaotic, scrambling sounds of movement giving away the presence of children close by.
There are no scouts keeping watch. Nothing at all to give us away until we’re almost upon them. Perhaps they catch a flash of armor through the trees, but sudden shouts of alarm ring out, the scrambling of movement more panicked than a moment ago.
When we break through, a small group is waiting. A half-dozen men and women watch us approach, all of them swaddled in thick oilcloths to protect them from the cold air. Their eyes are barely visible beneath fur-lined hoods, but I sense their concern as they take in our numbers, whispering to each other. Behind them, several smaller fires circle a larger hearth, surrounded by more shelters, built from a mixture of wood and cloth. Ispot several sets of eyes watching from the doorways of those shelters.
Behind me, soldiers melt away, creating the perimeter ordered by Cindral as he approaches the group. After some further frantic mutters, one male steps forward. He pushes his hood back, revealing bushy gray hair and a beard to match, straggling down past his chin. Brown eyes flicker over our group, tightening at the corners, but he spreads out his hands. “Welcome. Are you in need of help?”
I shift, eyeing the group again. None of them look like fighters. They huddle together, as if seeking comfort from the cold or each other. There are no weapons to be seen. I spot several roughly hewn wooden spears propped against a shelter behind them, the tips crudely bound with rope to create a kind of oversized arrow that was likely used to kill whatever beast is cooking over the fire on a spit. None of them have reached for one.
“You speak the common tongue.” Cindral addresses the male. “Your name?”
“Well enough to get by.” The male shrugs. “I am Tharn. You are welcome to share our fire, if you need warmth. We have a little food.”
Cindral adjusts his seat, not dismounting. “I need information. Have you seen others close to here? Shadow-wielders?”
Tharn scowls. “We do not involve ourselves in the battles between light and dark. If travellers need aid, we will offer it, where we can. To all.”
Cindral gestures. “Where did you get that knife?”
Tharn looks down to the blade hanging from his belt. It’s a beautiful weapon. Carved and long, glittering onyx blending into a carved wooden handle.
A Darkwielder weapon. Tharn’s lips press together. “A gift. Offered freely in thanks for a warm meal.”
“You trade with them. Do you share our movements?”
Tharn pales beneath his beard. His head shakes once. Slowly, and then faster, until he’s tripping over the words that flow out. “No. Food only. Sometimes goods, or medicine. We offer the same to your light people. We do not take sides here. Our village is peaceful.”
Somewhere behind them, a child begins to cry. Cindral watches Tharn steadily, and I find myself holding my breath before he wheels his horse around. Tharn looks over his shoulder to the group behind. A woman breaks free, hurrying to a shelter nearby and almost stumbling. The shelter is close enough for us to hear the hushed murmurs.
“Cindral.” My gaze sweeps over them. “They’re just trying to survive. I see nothing of concern here.”
He doesn’t look at me. Instead, he looks over my shoulder, to the line of steel and light waiting within the line of trees.
At first, I think I misunderstand him. His lips move, finger pointing, but a buzzing noise erupts in my head. I shake it, slowly. “What?”
He says it again. Louder, this time. An order, to those waiting behind me, but not loud enough to reach Tharn where he waits beside the fire, anxiety lining his face in weathered creases as he watches, his brow furrowed.
This time, I hear Cindral loud and clear.
Burn it.
Disbelieving, I turn my head. “Wait. Cindral—wait.”
But the Lightbringer unit,myunit, is already pushing forward through the trees, emerging from the forest around us. The woman, Iliria, has her palms lifted, the familiar glow already building. The others follow her lead, and my heart begins to beat faster as their hands illuminate.
Cries erupt from behind me. Tharn’s voice rises above the rest, and I turn my head. He stands where Cindral left him, hisarms raised as he shouts, the broken common tongue laced with distress. “We are neutral—neutral!”
