Chapter 11

  “I thought these forests were the safest on the continent?” I muttered; the surprise was genuine, but no trace of fear mingled with my voice.

  The surroundings had changed drastically since we had left the Sothar Memorial Bridge and immediately retreated into the cover of the forest. The simple, sparse woodlands of the Midlands had vanished. The Black Woods were a goddamn jungle—dense, dark, and damp. The canopy was woven so tightly that only a few beams of light reached the ground, creating a permanent twilight. The floor was a treacherous mosaic of displaced, moss-covered stones, slippery roots, and deep burrows that could be deadly traps. Progress was hard; in some places, you could barely move forward, while certain carnivorous plants or deep pits held unwary travelers captive, with no chance of getting out alone.

  “Those in the Midlands, near Caleon,” corrected Vin, who glided effortlessly through the thicket, instinctively avoiding the dangers. She sounded a bit like a know-it-all, but I knew her expertise was vital here. “In Caleon itself, it’s the opposite. The interior of the Black Woods is considered one of the deadliest areas of Tirros. The great princely houses have made a sport out of hunting beasts using their Golems. That keeps the population of large predators under control—mostly.”

  The topic of the continent's strange fauna got me thinking. It was absurd: feels like just half a mile further, and the sweet fairytale forest of the Midlands transforms into a territory where everything wants to kill and shred you.

  However, I remembered our own strength. Firstly, none of us was alone. And secondly, almost every one of us was presumably one of the most powerful mortals on this continent. Arik, as proven, belonged to one of the hardest-to-kill races in the entire world.

  Then it occurred to me: Was I even still mortal? Did Al—

  “Yes, you arrogant idiot!” Gravor answered angrily in my head, angrier than I had ever experienced him. The clarity of his wrath was painful. “I don’t turn you into a demigod right away! Even if I myself…”

  Silence.

  He broke off mid-sentence. Not because he was gone—no, I knew he was still in the forefront of my mind, ready to speak, ready to intervene at any moment. The real reason he had stopped was self-censorship.

  I grinned internally; a feeling of cold, cynical triumph surged through me. I had caught him. I had him where I wanted him—more or less.

  You just said it. You are yourself something that comes close to the power of a demigod.

  “I’d love to learn more about my inner demon. Come on, keep talking,” I goaded him gleefully.

  Gravor remained silent, but his mental presence was a wall of resistance.

  “Come on!” I prompted curiously, as we continued our arduous way through the forest. “I already have several puzzle pieces. We can arrange them logically:”

  You have longed for freedom for a long time, maybe millennia. (The pure, impatient rage at the demon’s chains.)

  You know imprisoned beings, like Ygrath, from the Lower Realms. (Your connection to the deepest planes.)

  You feed on rage. (Your function, your fuel, which you draw so freely from me or which you control.)

  You have a vast, vast amount of knowledge about Tirros and the other Realms. (Your far-reaching, cosmic perspective.)

  You are super powerful. (Proof: The fight against Reyn and our transformation.)

  Death himself knows you. (Proof: Ulthanox’s talk in the Interspace. That is my most important puzzle piece.)

  Your power, based on your incomplete comment, comes close to that of a demigod or something similar. (That is the conclusion you just confirmed.)"

  I waited. The forest rustled. Vin cut through a thick, thorny vine with an arc of light.

  “Your logic is impressive, Paladin,” Gravor’s cold voice finally penetrated my mind. It was controlled again, the anger banished, replaced by icy rejection. “But the order is unnecessary. And you have all the pieces. What is missing is the permission to put them together.”

  And you won't give it to me.

  “Correct,” he growled. “We have more important things to do than satisfy your narcissistic curiosity. The Astral Transmission is active. Thivan Sothar knows you are coming. Focus on the living enemies in front of you instead of the dead secrets in your head. Let it go for now, Luken.”

  The door had slammed shut. But the information was saved. I nodded internally and focused back on the treacherous ground of the Black Woods. The question wasn't solved, merely postponed.

  The moment I stopped probing the mental barriers of Gravor’s silence, the reality of the Black Woods yanked me back into the here and now with brutal force. I no longer had time to ponder ancient demon stuff or the divine lineage of my subtenant.

  Suddenly, we heard a charged rustling from the dense, thorny bushes to our left. It wasn't the gentle brushing of leaves that a deer or a small predator would cause; it was the sound of breaking wood and a heavy, wet weight pushing through the undergrowth jungle. It was a sound so charged with predatory intent that the hair on the back of my neck immediately stood up beneath my helmet.

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  I raised my hand—a short, precise signal. The group froze instantly. I suppressed the clanking of my armor through a weight shift I had perfected over years of training. Vin crouched down immediately, her body literally melting into the shadows of the ferns. Arik became an immobile statue of ash, barely distinguishable from the dark trunk of an ancient oak.

  “Sneak,” my lips formed wordlessly.

  We began to move through the thicket like ghosts. Every step was carefully tested: toes first, then the slow roll of the foot, to avoid risking a single damn snap of a twig. The forest around us seemed to hold its breath. The damp aroma of moldy leaves and ferns grew heavier, almost stifling.

  Maira, who possessed a sharpened perception for the abnormal due to her connection to the Plagues, glided a bit forward. She raised her hand, fingers slightly spread, and pointed through a gap in the foliage. Her eyes glowed with a faint, ominous violet as she read the creature’s energetic signature.

  Her lips formed a single word that made us all shiver: “Earth-Veska.”

  I knew the legends. An Earth-Veska was no natural creature, but a whim of the wild magic of these forests. It was a wolf-like being the size of a full-grown warhorse. Its skin seemed to consist not of flesh and fur, but of tough, black mud and splintering dry wood that protruded from its body like an exoskeleton. But the most terrifying thing was the pulsating green light shining from the cracks in its bark-skin—the sign of pure, untamed earth magic flowing through its unnatural veins like lifeblood.

  We watched it through the leaves. The beast sniffed the ground. Its head jerked mechanically back and forth, and every time it moved its jaw, wood crunched against stone. The mud dripping from its flanks hissed softly as it touched the ground, as if possessing a corrosive vitality of its own.

  “A lovely pet,” Gravor commented dryly in my head. “Hungry. Very hungry. He senses your metal, Luken. He senses the warmth of your blood.”

  I ignored him and gripped the hilt of my sword tighter. We tried to position ourselves in a semi-circle to bypass the beast or surprise it if the worst came to the worst. But the Black Woods are not merciful to intruders.

  An incautious step—not by me, not by Vin. A root that gave way under the pressure of Arik’s heavy, ash-laden body let out a dry, whipping crack.

  In that moment, the Earth-Veska froze.

  Time seemed to stretch. The green glow beneath its mud-skin grew brighter, almost blinding. The beast turned its head nearly 180 degrees, an unnatural cracking of dry branches echoing through the clearing.

  Then it happened: the beast discovered us.

  Its eyes were not eyes, but two burning slits of emerald fire. A deep, rumbling growl escaped its throat—a sound that resembled a landslide rolling over bones. The Veska lowered its massive head, wooden claws digging deep into the soft forest floor, and the mud on its flanks began to bubble like boiling pitch.

  “Form up!” I roared, abandoning all cover and tearing my sword from its scabbard with a metallic screech. The blade immediately began to glow red as my rage—and Gravor’s hunger—flowed into the steel.

  The Earth-Veska let out a piercing howl that shook us to the bone and lunged forward with a force that made the ground beneath it shatter.

  -

  Thivan Sothar’s luxurious study was a monument to discipline and suppressed opulence. The walls were made of polished, dark obsidian, engraved with fine golden runes that reflected the light of the mana lamps floating in the room. A massive panoramic window of reinforced crystal offered a view over the capital of the Black Woods—a sea of towers rising like stone spears into the clouded sky.

  “Have all the houses accepted our invitations?” Thivan asked, running his fingers over the smooth edge of his massive desk. Anticipation resonated in his voice, but beneath the surface, a fine, cold stress seethed.

  It was more than just a banquet. It was the moment the vision of a unified East would find its face. He would speak before dozens of princes and proud clan leaders. Friends who had supported him for years, but also enemies who were only waiting for a weakness to snap the alliance like rotten wood.

  “Unfortunately, not yet,” Iden replied disappointedly. In the magnificent room, the old advisor seemed almost like a shadow, though his posture remained impeccable. “At the very least, the Grey Lords are still missing, my Lord. Everyone else, even the reclusive Dragonborn from the southern cliffs, has arrived. They are burning to meet their new ruler in person.”

  Thivan smiled. It was that rare, honest smile he otherwise only showed to Livia. “Everything will be fine, Iden. The alliance is forged. A withdrawal by Prince Cedran at this point would be considered high treason, which even his closest allies would not forgive. He is probably stuck in his Golem, hunting Veskas in the deep undergrowth. He loves bloodshed more than protocol.”

  “I—” Iden began, presumably to urge caution, but he didn’t get far.

  BAM!

  The heavy, silver-clad double doors of the study slammed open with a force that made the crystal chandeliers jingle. A young Seer of the palace stumbled in. His face was ashen, his robe disheveled. Seers were sensitive instruments of the crown, trained to monitor the network of Astral Transmission, but this man looked as if he had just stared into the abyss.

  In Thivan, mana immediately began to crackle. Tiny, violet discharges danced over his knuckles. An attack? A coup by the Barwans? Or had something happened to Livia?

  “My Lord! Forgive the intrusion!” the Seer gasped. His eyes were wide, his pupils trembling. “A short while ago… at the southern border. A magical impulse. Beings with non-human signatures have crossed the Memorial Bridge. They are now deep in the forests.”

  Thivan turned his teeth together. The name of that bridge was like bile in his mouth. He loathed the structure and the bloody history his ancestors had written there—not out of pity for the victims, but because it was a symbol of a raw, uncontrolled past he wanted to leave behind.

  “Why do you bother me with border disputes?” Thivan asked sharply, his voice cutting like a bolt of lightning. “Elven visitors are unwelcome, but not illegal as long as they use the transit routes. Where is the goddamn problem?”

  The Seer hesitated, swallowing hard. “It is more than one elf, Sire. Our sensors detected four signatures. Two humans… an Ashblood… and her.”

  Thivan paused. An Ashblood? Those bastards of the West dared to show their faces again after the Expulsion? An interesting detail, but the Seer had said “her.” With a tone that left no room for doubt.

  “Who. Is. She?” Thivan asked. The words were quiet, slow, and so full of tension that the air in the room grew heavy. The young Seer flinched involuntarily, intimidated by the aura of his King.

  “Vin Brightgrove,” the man almost whispered.

  Silence.

  Thivan turned slowly away from the room and looked back out the window. But he no longer saw the city. He saw a face from ten years ago. He saw the gold she had stolen. He saw the betrayal that sat deeper than any political intrigue.

  Bolts of lightning began to lash around his entire body, a wild, uncontrolled violet that bathed the obsidian walls in an eerie light. His right eye twitched rhythmically—a sign of the storm raging within him. Iden did not dare to breathe. He knew that look. It was the look of a man who had just found his most important objective.

  The alliance, the speech, the princes—everything receded into the background for a moment.

  “Bring. Her. Here,” Thivan squeezed out. His voice was no longer loud. It was a sepulchral murmur, drenched in pure, concentrated hate. “Alive, if possible. But bring her to me.”

  The lightning at his fingertips made the glass of the window tremble. Vin was back. And she would soon wish she had stayed gone.