Chapter 152

  Chasing Leaves in the Wind

  The ruined watchtower loomed over Daegan’s camp. What remained of the tower’s upper levels jutted unevenly into the star-spinned sky. Daegan sat on the highest safe ledge of the crumbling tower. One of the Twin Garde men—Jace—sat on the other side, also on lookout.

  Daegan’s breath curled in faint wisps as he scanned the frozen river in the distance, its silver sheen stretching out like a ribbon beneath the moonlight. Far off in the distance, there were the remnants of an old fortress and Daegan could just about make out the light of campfires around it.

  He told himself not to worry—not about Rowan, not about Tanlor—but the weight of it settled in his chest all the same. Tanlor had to be alive.

  Below, the survivors of his honour guard huddled around small fires, their shadows dancing against the crumbled stones. A ragtag group: what was left of the Reldoni soldiers that Torvin had assigned to him, and the battered remnants of the Twin Garde men. Daegan’s gaze lingered on them, counting faces, noting absences.

  Cru. He didn’t know if the Twin Garde captain had survived. The last time Daegan had seen him, Cru had been bleeding badly, his face pale beneath the blood-streaked grime. Daegan had sent him to the healers, but that had been before the wall collapsed.

  With Cru missing he’d named Karas—one of the Reldoni soldiers—as captain. The Twin Garde men had grumbled about having a woman as their captain, but not for long. She’d proven herself in the blood and mud of Bluewater.

  Yaref was still missing too. Daegan clung to the hope that Tanlor, Yaref and Cru had all made it out and were lost among the stragglers drifting toward Harriston like leaves caught in the wind.

  But Rowan… that was another matter entirely. He should have been back by now. He was late, and though Daegan outwardly masked his frustration, it simmered beneath the surface. He wanted to believe Rowan was fine, but these lands had become a graveyard in the aftermath of the battle.

  Still, Daegan reminded himself, Rowan wasn’t just an average soldier anymore. He was something more. Something none of them—Daegan included—truly understood. Whatever had happened to Rowan up in the mountains, whatever had changed him, it had turned him into a force that wasn’t entirely mortal.

  Daegan had seen it firsthand at Bluewater Wall.

  Rowan had fought along the ramparts like a man possessed, his movements fast and fluid. He had reminded Daegan of Landryn’s bloodshedders—those brutal warrior runewielders that his brother commanded.

  Even so, Daegan couldn’t help but wonder if Rowan’s eagerness to hunt the alpha draega would outstrip his ability to survive the encounter. And while he’d grown stronger, faster… he wasn’t invincible. Whatever strange power had come to Rowan, it hadn’t made him untouchable.

  Movement flickered along the river’s surface, catching Daegan’s eye. He stiffened, his hand instinctively moving to his revolver at his hip. A long, sinuous shadow moved across the ice, moving fast and fluid like a serpent gliding through water.

  For a moment, he tensed, fearing some unknown threat. But as it neared, he could see its movements were unmistakable that of the Ferrax creature. There were likely more of his kind out in the woods to the north. But Daegan guessed this one was likely Rowan’s.

  Daegan let out a slow breath, his shoulders easing as the knot in his chest loosened. Rowan was safe.

  Shouts and whistles echoed from the camp below as others spotted the creature’s approach. Daegan didn’t wait. He stood, motioning for Jace to hold his post, and made his way down the crumbling tower, his boots scraping against worn stone steps. By the time he reached the camp, Rowan was already there, dismounting with his usual ease, his silhouette framed by the flickering firelight. Damn that creature moved fast. Far faster than any horse.

  The Ferrax didn’t linger. Hralvek slipped back into the darkness, preferring the shadows of the nearby thicket—wild things didn’t take well to tents and fires.

  “The draega has moved south into the hills,” Rowan said, approaching Daegan and clapping him on the shoulder in a friendly gesture. Daegan was relieved to see his friend safe.

  “You’re late,” Daegan admonished.

  “There was a war party,” Rowan replied with a shrug, “Hralvek and I intercepted them.”

  “You shouldn’t take them alone,” Daegan pointed out.

  “I wasn’t,” Rowan shot back with a quick wink. Without waiting for more, he sauntered over to one of the cookfires where a Twin Garde soldier handed him a battered tin of stew, the steam curling into the cold night air.

  “Fine,” Daegan sighed, deciding to let it go and sitting next to Rowan next to the fire. “The rakmen were on the river?” he asked, shifting his cloak to ease the chill off his shoulders.

  “Aye,” Rowan replied between mouthfuls. “You got that map of yours?”

  Daegan nodded, pulling out his journal from the folds of his coat. The leather was cracked from the months of travel, the pages thick with ink sketches, maps and notes of all the encounters they’d had with the rakmen.

  He flipped to the rough map he’d drawn of the Balfold region. Landmarks dotted the parchment, some scrawled from what he could observe, others added with the help of the Twin Garde men, many who’d fought the rakmen in this region years before. Rowan’s additions marked places where he and Hralvek had confirmed rakmen camps in red ink, spreading like rot across the parchment.

  One mark stood out, inked in blue: the ruined tower where they now camped, the last known outpost held by humans in this stretch of wilderness and ruined villages.

  Rowan leaned in, his finger pressing against the map. “The crossing here,” he said, tapping the parchment with a calloused fingertip. “The rak are holding it. Not in huge numbers, but enough to make it a problem. The war party I took out was scouting south along the river, probably looking for villages to raid.”

  Daegan studied the map, his eyes narrowing. “What do you think their endgame is?”

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  “My guess?” Rowan scraped the bottom of his tin, chasing the last of the stew. “They’re moving the bulk of their forces to the ruined city of Novarek.”

  Daegan’s gaze drifted past the flickering campfires, to the distant shadow of the ruined fortress etched against the horizon. He’d seen the faint glow of torches burning around its broken walls from the watchtower earlier. Novarek.

  “I was thinking the same,” Daegan admitted, pointing out to the fortress on the horizon.

  “That’s the one. The old Novarek Keep,” Rowan squinted. “The rakmen razed it a decade ago. Like everything else around here.”

  Daegan’s finger traced the path from their camp to Novarek on the map, his mind already running through possibilities. “If the rakmen are securing it, then they’ll have a good hold on this whole area.”

  “It’s high ground too,” Rowan said, “with natural defenses. They could launch raids in every direction. There’s a reason that it had been the seat of Duke Walt’s power. You know, before the rakmen killed him, and torched his lands.”

  “We should withdraw to Harriston,” Daegan said, rubbing at his throat, feeling it grow tight. “Check in with Commander Torvin, see how the front’s holding. He’ll want to know what’s happening out here.”

  “We can’t let that alpha draega reach the southlands.”

  Daegan didn’t respond right away. He stared at the map, tracing invisible lines with his thumb. He could easily give the order for his soldiers to head for Harriston. He knew they’d go without question if that’s what Daegan wanted. What he’d done to earn that loyalty, he had no idea. But here he was. But not Rowan. Daegan wouldn’t—and probably couldn’t—command Rowan to do anything.

  And part of Daegan worried that his friend’s obsession with the draega would be the death of him.

  You’re not invincible, Daegan wanted to say. But he kept it buried, where all the words he never spoke lived.

  “You and Hralvek are a lot faster than the rest of us,” Daegan started. “You could report what we’ve learned to Tor—”

  “—Hralvek is no messenger,” Rowan cut him off sharply, his tone like a snapped bowstring. “He’s a hunter.”

  “You said it yourself. Holding Novarek means holding this entire region. If the rakmen start fortifying there, Rubane loses the Balfold forever. We should both report to Torvin. He’ll know what to do. He’s a good commander—you saw the defence at Bluewater yourself.”

  “Aye,” Rowan muttered, his gaze distant, fixed on the firelight flickering over the map. “But Bluewater fell because of that beast. If I can take it down—”

  “—and what if you can’t?! Rowan, you’re the strongest warrior we’ve got. We need you. And Hralvek in this fight.”

  Rowan didn’t answer immediately. His jaw worked, grinding down whatever words he wanted to spit out. Finally, he muttered, “Hralvek isn’t pleased about this.”

  Daegan blinked. “You’re… able to communicate with him even with the distance?”

  “He’s always here,” Rowan replied, tapping his temple.

  “That’s… weird.”

  “Yeah… yeah, it is,” Rowan chuckled, the sound dry as old leather. “You’re pretty weird yourself these days, with that dagger of yours.”

  The dagger.

  Daegan’s hand drifted, almost unconsciously, to the hilt at his hip. He could still feel the echo of it from the last time he’d drawn it. Daegan still hadn’t spoken about what he felt every time he used it. But now was not the time for that. He shoved the thought aside.

  “You and I should return to Torvin,” Daegan said, regaining his footing in the conversation. “Karas and the others can hold the tower until Torvin decides what to do with this area. My guess? He won’t want to lose an inch of ground.”

  Rowan’s fingers drummed absently on the map. “If the rakmen already hold Novarek…” He exhaled through his nose, frustration etched into every line of his face. “Then this land’s as good as lost.”

  “The rakmen had it before and lost it,” Daegan pointed out.

  “Aye, but that was ten years ago. They weren’t a cohesive army back then—just scattered war parties. And Arch-Duke Edmund had sent forces from all over Rubane to drive them out. With your brother’s war… not even Boern would risk his soldiers here now.”

  Daegan’s lips thinned. The truth stung, but there it was.

  “Why didn’t anyone rebuild after the rakmen were driven out?” Daegan asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. But it was frustrating that there were no existing standing fortifications here. No soldiers to hold a line before the horde.

  “That…” Rowan sighed. “That’s a sadder story. One of greed, jealousy, and the kind of arrogance only Dukes can afford.”

  He shifted, poking the fire with a stick, sending a spray of sparks into the night. “Boern—my cousin—had just become Duke of Garronforn. He and Duke Rivers threw more men and gold at pushing out the rakmen than anyone else. Thought it’d buy them something more than just peace. And when Duke Walts and his entire line ended up dead, it left the Balfold without a lord to claim it. Just empty land soaked in blood and ripe for the taking.”

  “Didn’t take long for them to start circling like vultures,” Rowan’s jaw tightened, the firelight casting sharp shadows across his face. “Started with small skirmishes—border raids, petty shows of strength. But it always grows, doesn’t it? Pride’s a rot you can’t cauterise. Soon enough, they were in full-scale war, Rubanian against Rubanian, all for a patch of ruined dirt and shattered stone.”

  Daegan stayed quiet, letting the words hang, brittle as dried leaves.

  “Arch-Duke Edmund had to step in eventually,” Rowan continued. “Laid down two decrees to stop the fighting from spilling over. First,” he held up a finger, “all battles had to stay in the Balfold. If either Duke’s forces crossed into their rival’s established lands, they’d face the wrath of Rubastre and the eastern Dukedoms. Second, whoever could take and hold Novarek for a full month would claim the entire region.”

  He spat into the dirt, his expression sour.

  “Five years. Five years of bloodshed. Just greed wearing a soldier’s uniform. Boern kept pushing me to fight, to spill more and more blood for his damned ambition. But after a while, I couldn’t stomach it anymore.”

  Rowan went silent then for a time and Daegan didn’t push him. He’d learned that sometimes Rowan just needed some space to think before continuing. It gave Daegan a moment to think too.

  Daegan remembered Yaref’s words, spoken offhandedly days ago. Maybe weeks? Said he’d lived in a village somewhere near here, though Daegan couldn’t remember if he’d named it. Yaref had moved his family to Nordock and never looked back. Daegan hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but it made sense now. This land had never stopped bleeding. Even after the rakmen were driven out, the Balfold had remained a carcass picked over by men too greedy to let it rest. It wasn’t just a battlefield—it was a wound that never healed.

  And the rakmen are here to tear the scab off all over again.

  “It wasn’t why I’d first picked up a blade,” Rowan said after a time. “My grandfather used to say we owed it to our family. That the ‘honour of Garron was in our blood’ and we needed to fight to defend our home. That I needed to obey. But that wasn’t fighting to defend anything. Soon after, I left Garronforn’s keep, moved my family into the city. Took road contracts, mercenary work—anything that kept me away from Boern’s warfronts.”

  He fell silent again, and Daegan watched as Rowan’s gaze turned out toward where the silhouette of Novarek Keep loomed like a scar against the horizon.

  “But I guess everything comes full circle,” Rowan muttered. “Here I am again, back in the Balfold, staring at that fucking fortress, trying to figure out if it’s worth dying for.”

  Daegan didn’t hold back this time.

  “It might not have been worth dying for back then,” Daegan said. “But it sure as hells is now.”

  Rowan’s eyes flicked to him. Rowan had changed a lot in the past few weeks. But he was still the same man underneath it all. And Daegan knew he’d earned this man’s trust and loyalty the moment he’d rescued him from that rak camp.

  “If the rakmen establish themselves there,” Daegan continued, “this becomes the new Rubanian border. Raids won’t just hit a few scattered villages—they’ll pour through every town we passed, all the way to Urundock. And they won’t stop. Not until every inch of Rubane is ash and blood.”