When the First War ended, this new language persisted. To this day, while many kingdoms cling to pieces of their ancient speech, all under the gods’ domain speak the common tongue. It is a phenomenon that historians, researchers, and religious leaders have pondered for millennia. Perhaps only the gods have an answer.
- Text from “Legend and Language of the First War,” a scroll authored by Vathan researcher Surano Cassese. Dated 2,523 years after the First War.
Chapter 27
Andrian had barely reached the shadows of the trees when the horns started.
Fear hammered through him, beating his thundering heart, but he didn’t look back. Even when his mind raced with all the worst possible reasons for those horns, he didn’t stop pushing forward into the woods.
Had they realized he was no longer in the castle? Had Gabriel’s ruse failed? Had Anniliese had another change of heart and turned him in?
No. He couldn’t let himself dwell on any of that; it would only slow him down. It was likely just a surprise drill with the gathering army. The commanders ran them occasionally to discourage too much frivolity within the ranks. To keep the troops from getting too comfortable.
Andrian had heard those same horns at all hours of the night over the past few weeks. That’s all it was.
All it was.
He chanted it to himself, a silent repeated whisper, as he forged deeper into the darkness of the forest. His shadows leeched from his skin, melding with the dark, praying it hid his path from any who might’ve followed.
No matter how thick those shadows grew, the light of the moons above lit his way.
The horns were fainter but still blaring when something rustled in the trees. Andrian halted, tightening his shadows around him, scanning the canopy. He gripped the handle of his sword over his shoulder, ready to slide it free.
His hand slackened when the branches jostled again. A great golden eagle settled on the limb of an oak tree, her light-refracting feathers catching the moonlight, outlining her like a wraith.
Her? How did he know that?
The eagle shook out her wings, trilling softly. She cocked her head, golden eyes narrowed, as if they knew and saw far too much.
Something—some instinct—told him this was the same eagle who’d landed on his windowsill not long ago. His shadows writhed with the realization, crawling around his feet.
He scowled at the bird. “I thought I told you to leave.”
The eagle ruffled her feathers again, puffing up against the night breeze. She clicked her beak, a deadly talon picking at the branch.
He might’ve been going mad. For days, he’d been driven by a lack of sleep and existed in a constant state of alertness and agitation. But when she trilled back to him, he swore he understood.
“I did,” she seemed to say. “Now you need my help, so I’m back.”
Yes. He wasdefinitelygoing mad.
He stood slack jawed, still processing. The eagle lifted from the branch, swooping down over his head. Her feathers grazed his cheek, and her talons lightly gripped his pack, tugging gently before flying back to her branch. She landed, hopping from foot to foot, giving him what could only be a glare. Theystared at each other for a long moment—assessing, thinking, contemplating.
Shadows coiled again around his forearms. “Do you…want me to follow you?”
The eagle trilled, this time higher pitched. In approval?
He really needed to sleep.
With a swallow, he gave her a small nod. “I’m heading north. Does that work for you?”
Another trill—this time even more animated.
Andrian rubbed the back of his neck, brow furrowed. He shrugged. “Fuck it. I’m dead anyway. If you’re going north, then I’ll follow.”
The eagle gave one more happy sound before leaping into the air, flapping up through the boughs. She passed in and out of view, giving Andrian just enough to see her in the bright moonlight.
With an exhausted sigh and a single glance over his shoulder toward the looming darkness of Khento, Andrian followed.
