He turned and faced the stairs. Going down was always worse. He focused on the familiar, painful mechanics of the movement: placing his bad leg down first onto the step below, his hand gripping the rough stone of the outer wall to brace his weight, then bringing his good leg down to meet it. Each step sent a protest through his thigh.Good, a bitter part of him thought.Focus on this.He knew how to manage pain. He kept his eyes on his feet, descending without looking back, one deliberate step at a time.
He found Taen alone in his office, standing over a large map of the northern territories spread across his desk. “Close the door,” Taen said, his voice a low growl. Ky obeyed. The latch clicked shut.
Taen finally looked up, his eyes hard. “We have a problem. Two more incidents since you arrived. Courier Pell on the Ashwood run and Wayfinder Rance out west. Both dropped clean out of their tunnels.”
Ky stared at him, the implications settling in. “Same method as the camp we found,” he said. “They’re using raw iron to create dead zones.”
“Worse,” Taen countered, pushing a leather-bound file across the desk. “They’re getting better. Pell’s report says the ambush was clumsy, disorganized. But Rance…”
Ky looked up. His gut tightened. He knew Rance. A tough, pragmatic young man from the southern holds who had graduated top of his class two years ago.
“They dropped him right into their arms,” Taen continued, his voice tight. “The only reason he’s alive is because his soul-beast, a damned tusk bear, went berserk and created enough chaos for him to break free. He’s back at the western garrison, but he’s in a bad way, Ky. Broken arm, three cracked ribs. And his beast is… damaged.”
Ky opened the file and scanned the reports and looked up, his face grim. “This isn’t just a series of raids. It’s a coordinated campaign. And they’re refining their tactics with each attack.”
“Exactly,” Taen agreed, running a hand over his tired face. “Too fast. But that’s not the part that’s keeping me up at night.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper. “How are they doing it, Ky? How are they finding the Lines?”
The question hung in the air. “Only Wayfinders can see them. The paths shift. You can’t just draw a line in the dirt and expect it to be there a week later.” Taen jabbed a finger at the map. “I believe your theory, Ky. This has Polan’s money and his hatred written all over it. But being a High Lord with deep pockets doesn’t make you a mage. So how does a non-magical politician from Cairsul pinpoint our routes with this kind of precision?”
“That,” Taen said, tapping the file, “is the real problem I need you to solve. This is the raw intelligence. Every bit of it,” He leaned forward, his gaze direct and serious. “Look, Ky... the instructors they have now are good, but they’re textbook. They’ve never had to deal with anything like this. No one has. But you... no one ever understood the deep Lines the way you did. You always saw things differently, saw the patterns no one else could.”
He tapped the file. “I can send this to the Academy, and it will get buried in analysis for a month. But you have a two-week ride ahead of you. It’s time to think. Time that no one else has. This is a problem that needs a mind like yours.” He gave a wry,humorless smile. “Frankly, I think you’re the only one left who could solve it.”
Ky looked down at the detailed reports, then back at his old friend. It wasn’t an order. It was a challenge. An appeal. It was Taen, in his own gruff way, telling him he still had value beyond a bitter instructor’s post. He closed the file and tucked it securely into his own satchel. “I’ll look at it.”
He returned to her room, the folio tucked under his arm. The question from the wall still hung in the room. He had a choice: hide behind the mission, or face it. He took a breath.
“We have our new orders,” he said, his voice steadier than he expected. He met her gaze directly this time. “It’s going to be a long ride. At least two weeks on horseback to reach the Academy.”
He saw a flicker of guilt cross her face, a tightening around her eyes. “Two weeks? Because of me? If I hadn’t...”
“Partially,” Ky admitted, choosing honesty over comfort. “Taen asked if my judgment was compromised. He called you a storm. He thinks you are a variable we can’t control.”
Gessa flinched.
“But the delay isn’t a punishment,” Ky continued firmly. “It’s because of this.” He placed the file on the small table, the leather making a soft, definitive sound. “Taen has given me a problem to solve. These are reports detailing those ambushes on our couriers.”
He explained the new tactic, his voice hardening as he recounted the details of the attacks on Pell and Rance. “You were right, Gessa,” Ky said quietly. “The Southern Steel, the tactics... Taen agrees. It’s Polan. He’s not just funding Malak; he’s directing him.”
He tapped the file with his knuckles. “But knowing who he is doesn’t tell us how he’s doing it. Polan is blind to the Ley Lines,just like any other man. Yet he’s hitting them with impossible accuracy.”
“Taen has tasked me with finding the pattern,” Ky concluded. “A weakness in their strategy, something we can exploit before they can take down another Spur.” He met her gaze.
“He believes the two-week journey to the Academy is the time I need to solve it. So, no pressure.”
The small joke landed, easing a fraction of the tension in the room. He saw her shoulders relax slightly. She looked from him to the file, her expression shifting from guilt to a quiet, focused determination.
“Alright,” she said, her voice clear. “What do you need me to do?”
He gave a small nod. The understanding between them felt solid, heavier than any vow. “First,” he said, his voice a low rumble that cut through the silence, “we prepare the horses. Then we solve this. Together.”
The yard was a purgatory of curious stares as they prepared their horses. The weight of the file in his saddlebag was a new responsibility. He worked with a grim focus, aware of Gessa moving with a quiet efficiency beside him. They were a team, but the nature of it had shifted.
Taen was waiting for them at the gate. His eyes met Ky’s, and his gruff farewell was quiet, meant only for him. “If anyone can see the pattern, Ky, it’s you.” It wasn’t an order or a plea, but a simple statement of faith.
The gate groaned shut. Gessa rode a few feet away, a steady warmth. The silence of the road stretched before them. Twoweeks. A mystery to solve. And the unspoken question from the wall.
31
