Morning, A Few Miles from Eldermire
Delwyn pushed through the thick underbrush, sweat cooling against her skin despite the morning chill. Her muscles burned, her ribs ached, and her sword hand felt numb from overuse.
But they had made it out.
Vaelor walked beside her, his expression unreadable. The last few hours had been hell, and it showed on all of them.
Mira, trailing just behind, kept glancing back toward the ruins. "We shouldn't have survived that."
Delwyn exhaled sharply. "No, we shouldn't have."
They pressed on until the ruins were nothing but a shadow on the horizon.
Then—finally—they stopped.
****
A shallow valley nestled between two towering rock formations became their shelter. Hidden from sight, difficult to approach unnoticed. It wasn't much, but it was better than open ground.
The remaining rebels collapsed onto the grass, exhausted.
Only six had made it out.
Mira, two younger men, an older rebel with a scar running down his arm, and a woman who hadn't spoken since they escaped.
Delwyn knelt beside the wounded girl—the one she had pulled from the grasp of the skeletons. Her breathing was shallow, her face pale.
Delwyn pressed a hand to her forehead. Too cold. She wouldn't last long without help.
Vaelor dropped his pack, pulling out a small leather pouch. "Here." He tossed it to Delwyn.
She caught it, opening it to find bandages, a small vial of salve, and a needle with thread.
She raised a brow. "Didn't take you for a healer."
Vaelor shrugged, unsheathing his short sword to clean it. "I've been wounded a lot."
Delwyn snorted, but set to work patching up the worst wounds.
Mira sat down across from her, stretching her sore legs. "We lost too many."
Delwyn didn't answer immediately. She finished tying off the bandage on the girl's shoulder before finally saying, "We'll lose more if we don't figure out our next move."
Mira rubbed at her temple. "We need to get to the main rebellion force. The real one."
Delwyn looked up sharply.
Vaelor, too, turned his attention to Mira.
"The real one?" he asked.
Mira let out a slow breath. "You think that camp was the rebellion?" She shook her head. "That was just a forward outpost. The real headquarters is hidden deep in the Ember Peaks, far from Blackreach and its reach."
Delwyn frowned. "Then why the hell did Galborn go after the outpost?"
Mira hesitated for a moment.
"Because someone sold us out."
Silence.
Delwyn exchanged a glance with Vaelor.
"Someone inside the rebellion?" Vaelor pressed.
Mira nodded grimly. "That's why I was there. I was sent to track down the leak." She scoffed. "Guess I didn't do a great job."
Delwyn leaned back on a tree trunk, crossing her arms. "You figured this out before the attack?"
Mira hesitated. "No. But something felt wrong. I was gathering names, tracking supply routes—then suddenly, the Hounds were at our doorstep."
Delwyn clicked her tongue. "Someone got nervous."
Mira exhaled sharply. "Exactly."
Vaelor sheathed his short sword. "Where is the real rebellion?"
Mira glanced at him. "You trust me now?"
Vaelor's gaze didn't waver. "No. But I trust that you want Arrand dead."
Mira smirked, shaking her head. "Fair enough."
She pulled a small, rolled parchment from her tunic. She unrolled it, revealing a rough map of Varfaún.
She pointed to a cluster of mountains far to the south. "Here. The Ember Peaks. That's where the rebellion is gathering its forces. That's where the real war begins."
Delwyn studied the map, her pulse quickening.
They had a destination.
And that meant they had a chance.
She looked up at Vaelor. "Looks like we're heading for the mountains."
Vaelor exhaled slowly. "So it seems."
Delwyn grinned. "What? You don't like mountains?"
Vaelor gave her a flat look. "I don't like walking into traps."
Delwyn smirked. "Then let's make sure we set one first."