Chapter 1
Renlar caught the scarlet apple in midair; its lustrous skin remained unblemished—a testament to the wizard’s lingering enchantment. In this remote outpost, where provisions wrestled decay, magic alone preserved freshness.
Lomdoli, clad in mail armor that gleamed under the star-flecked sky, sat beside him on a rough-hewn stool, sinking his teeth into his own apple.
Talon Hill Watchtower loomed on the mountainous horizon, a vigilant sentinel over Dheg’s frontiers. A howling wind swept across the battlements, laced with the sharp scent of crushed pine needles.
At times, Renlar crossed into Sanronul to relieve himself. He tossed the apple core through the crenellations with a wistful smile.
“Commander Jehlira says Makossa’s been slipping raiding parties through Sanronul and into Dheg,” Lomdoli said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “And the King is doubling Dhegian forces at the border.”
Renlar sighed. “The tower’s going to feel even more cramped.”
Lomdoli nodded, and silence stretched—until restless energy prickled beneath Renlar’s skin, his palms raking his thighs.
None of them had seen battle; only Jehlira bore that experience.
“I’m not ready for that, Lom,” Renlar admitted, voice taut. “I feel there’s more to life than soldiering.” Tendrils of sour ale drifted upward from below.
Lomdoli’s nod was slow. They’d spoken of this before, but neither dared abandon pay and prestige. Maybe we should run before it’s too late, Renlar thought. What’s a bonus worth if you’re crippled—or worse, dead?
They’d signed a three-year contract at sixteen for the hefty enlistment bonus. A year remained. Army life was harsh, but desertion meant branding by fire—a scar for life and shame passed down through generations.
Laughter boomed from the chamber below as the other four passed the evening with dice and ale. Renlar and Lomdoli welcomed the clamor; it drove the night’s eerie silence.
Heavy footsteps echoed up the narrow stairway. “Anything to report?” Jehlira’s voice rumbled.
“No, Commander.” They shook their heads in unison.
Jehlira grunted and turned away, descending. Below, chairs scraped against stone as the tower surrendered to night’s embrace.
Soft footsteps followed. Lomdoli’s eyes danced mischievously, and Renlar’s cheeks warmed.
Adlanna stepped into the moonlight spilling from the stairwell’s mouth. “Goodnight, Ren.”
“Sweet dreams,” Renlar whispered, voice catching. Lomdoli chuckled; Renlar’s cheeks flamed.
“Be on time tomorrow,” Lomdoli teased.
“Always am,” Adlanna replied, slipping back into shadow.
“Sweet dreams,” Lomdoli mocked, and Renlar jabbed him, rattling his mail. Their laughter rang against the walls.
“How long will you tiptoe around this?” Lomdoli asked. “You’re both clearly love-struck. Waiting for the recruits to rival you?”
Renlar stared into darkness. I long to open my heart to her, but the stakes are too high.
“If she’s with child, they’ll pull her from service—you know that. She’d lose her career and the bonus.”
“Hear me out,” Lomdoli said, palms raised as if unveiling a grand secret. “There’s a foolproof way to keep her from getting pregnant—just maintain strict boundaries while you’re in the tower.”
Renlar slapped his hands away. He stood, the stool groaning beneath him, and shook the oil jug by the small fire pit.
“Don’t hide behind chores, Ren,” Lomdoli warned. “You can’t wait on life.”
Renlar bristled. “I’m not pretending. Someone has to keep the signal fire ready.”
Lomdoli’s sigh hung in the cool air.
Leaning on the stone battlement, Renlar gazed into the void. Beside him, the Dhegian flag—cobalt blue with a soaring raven—fluttered on its steel rod.
“You’re right. I need a deadline,” he conceded. “When Jehlira asks about our contract renewal—”
“Way too long,” Lomdoli snorted, turning his gaze. “You should’ve done it yesterday.”
Renlar’s jaw clenched. “I’m not like you, Lom. I—”
A rush of air sliced between them, swift and soundless.
Renlar blinked. A massive shape loomed on the rampart—a bird, larger than any hawk he’d seen. It perched on the crenellation, talons curving around stone.
A great horned owl, its feathers mottled ash and bone, stared at him with eyes like twin moons—bright, cold, fathomless.
The world stilled. Not a flutter from the flag. Not a breath of wind.
The owl blinked—once, slowly—and launched into the night without a sound.
Its wings barely stirred the air.
Renlar’s breath shuddered. “Did you see that?” he whispered.
Lomdoli followed his gaze. “See what?”
Renlar gripped the stone. Something deep in him recoiled, as if the owl had taken part of the night with it. “It looked right at me…”
His eyes tracked the owl into the treeline—and caught movement. He froze. A low figure skulked at the edge of his vision, shoulders draped in dark fur pelts, a yellow tassel swaying at its hip.
Renlar jabbed a trembling finger into the gloom. “There’s something out there.”
“Probably wolves,” Lomdoli murmured, crouching beside him.
Renlar swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat. It’s just forest life—owls, foxes. He forced himself to nod, pressing down the knot in his gut.
Then Lomdoli’s hand snapped onto his wrist—cold and unyielding. Renlar’s mouth went dry; he tasted iron, as if fear itself bled across his tongue. “Makossans,” Lomdoli whispered, voice barely above the wind. “They’re here.”
Chapter 2
Renlar wrenched himself free from his friend’s frantic grip, bounded down the stone stairs, and snatched a torch in passing. He lit the dormant torches on the second floor. The acrid sting of damp wood and oil smoke rose to rouse their comrades from sleep.
“Commander!” Renlar’s cry reverberated through the chamber. “Commander, wake up!”
Jehlira groaned, sat up on her bunk, and squinted at him. “What’s happening?”
The others stirred as Renlar’s urgency spread through the room.
“Makossans are outside,” Renlar said, voice taut with alarm.
Three forms sprang into action—Arrith and Adlanna slipped into mail armor, while Effora, palms aglow, conjured a pulse of energy that ignited the remaining torches. Only Jehlira remained calm, eyes narrowing.
With an annoyed sigh, Jehlira followed Renlar up the narrow stairway, muttering about slapping sense into him. Renlar remained silent.
On the third floor, Jehlira peered through the crenellations into the starlit expanse. “By the grace of Iboka…”
An eerie hush fell as silhouettes on the horizon formed a closing horde.
“Effora, send the signal,” Jehlira ordered.
The wizard thrust her palms forward, chanting a rapid incantation as a blazing orb of fire coalesced between her hands and shot skyward, scorching the air with its fierce heat.
Renlar felt energy ripple through him, goosebumps rising as the beacon bathed the tower in its glow. Faces etched with fear emerged—everyone except Jehlira, whose eyes never wavered.
Suddenly, a white slash struck the sphere, snuffing it out midair. Smoke spiraled upward.
“T-they stopped my spell,” Effora stammered. “There’s a wizard with them.”
Jehlira glanced at Arrith and Adlanna. “Get crossbows and bolts.” Then to Lomdoli and Renlar: “Buckle your swords.”
They retrieved their blades from beside the spears. Jehlira grabbed a jug of oil, twisted off the lid, and doused the fire pit. “Light it up,” she ordered.
Effora snapped her fingers, igniting the oil‑soaked wood; flames roared—only to see an opaque dome of mist, conjured by the enemy, coil above the tower.
“They’re containing it!” Effora shrieked.
She channeled a golden beam at the ward; the clash rang like steel on whetstone. Renlar clamped his hands over his ears.
Smoke curled across the top level, stinging Renlar’s eyes. He staggered forward, choking—and in the swirling white haze, the outline of a giant owl’s head and wings spanned across the battlement. The shape held for an instant, as though carved in steam, then collapsed back into mist.
Arrith gasped, clutching his throat.
“I can’t pierce the shield,” Effora admitted, shoulders slumping.
“Douse the fire,” Jehlira replied; Effora complied.
Blue light wound around the flames, hissing as it soaked into the wood. The fire died, smoke vanished, and the ward shimmered, then faded.
“Either they have an experienced wizard,” Effora said, “or multiple. I can’t break through.”
Jehlira nodded and descended. Below, Effora’s wards secured the provisions—enough for a long siege, unless the wizard fell.
A weight settled on Renlar’s shoulders. No one’s coming… because they don’t know. We need that signal.
“High alert,” Jehlira called.
Renlar shook off the doubt. We’ll get it. Help will come.
Adlanna handed Renlar an unloaded crossbow, her eyes wide with fear.
He placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “We’ll get through this together. They can’t breach the tower, and they have no reason to.”
She managed a faint smile, and they fanned out along the battlements, scanning the waist‑deep grass where figures moved to seal off escape.
Jehlira rejoined them, mail armor gleaming. She struck her chest in salute to the Dhegian flag and then lifted a crossbow to survey the horizon.
Below, a lone figure swaggered into range. He tipped his head, studying them with a thin, contemptuous smile.
“Evening, Dhegians. I won’t lie—you’re in a terrible spot. I drew this tower by lot, so trust me when I say it isn’t personal. Still, after what you did at the Burning Peaks, every one of you deserves what’s coming.”
He draped the pelt over his shoulder, the fur bristling with his scorn.
“Orders came straight from the King, and I’ve got a timetable to honor. Step out now and crawl away—or stay and die a noble but utterly meaningless death.” Renlar’s heart thundered. He’s right; we won’t accomplish anything here. There’s no shame in running. He met Lomdoli’s hopeful gaze.
A crossbow twanged—Jehlira’s bolt sailing past him.
Renlar scrambled back, tripping over Jehlira’s feet. How did I not hear that? A flush of shame kindled his cheeks.
“Good choice,” the Makossan said. The bolt, suspended in a swirl of white mist, hovered motionless.
Jehlira reloaded with calm precision.
“Commander,” Arrith implored. “Please, we have to consider this.”
Jehlira’s steely gaze pinned him silent. She leveled her crossbow again—only to find the Makossan gone. With a satisfied grunt, she lowered the weapon.
Chapter 3
Renlar stood vigilant, gaze flitting through the crenellations every time a gust rattled the walls.
Why aren’t they attacking?
“Lomdoli,” Jehlira ordered, “if they try to breach the entrance, hurl those rocks from the first floor.”
Lomdoli nodded, shoulders tensing as he readied his crossbow.
They’d retracted the ladder on the first floor. Even if the Makossans forced the gate and dodged the rocks, they’d have to break the trapdoor and use their own ladder—all just to kill six defenders.
They can’t ignore a fire signal—any leader with half a brain would clear this tower first.
“Commander,” Renlar asked quietly, “they’ll use siege ladders, won’t they?”
“Very likely. We’ll push them off,” Jehlira replied, jaw set.
Jehlira paced the battlement as Arrith hugged his knees, Lomdoli clutched his crossbow, and Adlanna’s tears glinted on her cheeks. Renlar slid beside Adlanna, fingers brushing hers in a silent promise. Their eyes met. She leaned in—and so did he.
“Kiss me, you fool,” Adlanna said, playful warmth threading her tone as she lifted her iron helmet to reveal a golden crown.
Renlar fumbled off his helmet and pressed his lips to hers. She trembled—part terror, part desire—and the world stilled.
“About time,” Jehlira said with a bemused smile.
Effora emerged from the stairway, flicking a fireball into the sky—only for a white flash to snuff it out. She sighed and descended.
Renlar donned his helm and squeezed Adlanna’s hand. Lom was right—I should’ve acted sooner; rejection seems foolish now that fear tastes real.
He met Lomdoli’s eyes and smiled. “A life on the farm wouldn’t be so bad.”
Lomdoli blinked out of reverie. “You laughed at your father for saying that.”
“I did. Maybe I just needed to see the world, and now I’ve seen enough. You could come with us.”
His friend chuckled. “I’ll be your farmhand, then.”
“Not just any farmhand,” Renlar teased. “My personal servant.”
Lomdoli’s gaze flicked to Renlar and Adlanna’s entwined hands, then back, and he nodded in shared joy.
In the distance, tall shapes wavered through the grass.
Renlar’s voice dropped: “Ladders.”
“Effora, stay alert,” Jehlira ordered. “Intervene if they attack with spells—otherwise, they’ll overwhelm us.”
They took stations—spears at the ready, crossbows loaded. A hush settled, broken only by the crackle of tension and the steady thud of Makossan boots nearing the wall.
Ahead of the warriors, one Makossan surged forward, arms raised in supplication. The Makossans halted.
The bearded commander’s voice thundered across the field. “No, no—you know my thoughts!”
But the runner held firm, gesturing wildly, pleading, and the two men debated inaudibly. Then the lone man approached the tower’s base and spoke with quiet conviction. “I am Erelan, and bear no steel—only a song that might grant us a moment’s peace.”
Jehlira’s finger hovered above the trigger, then she sighed, “Rope.”
Renlar and Lomdoli uncoiled the hemp and flung its braid into the darkness. Erelan seized it and began his slow ascent.
When he crested the wall, Renlar half-expected weapons—but found only a dust-streaked satchel and the lute’s polished curve.
Erelan bowed to the six defenders, settled cross-legged, and let his fingertips whisper across the strings—one note, pure as a prayer.
That single note unfurled into a melody of longing, painting warmth onto cold stone and stilling hearts once bound to war.
When the last chord trembled into silence, Renlar stepped forward and grasped Erelan’s hand, pulling him up. “Why risk your life, sir?”
Erelan’s weathered eyes met Renlar’s. He brushed a silver strand behind his ear, the faint scent of aged wood rising from his sleeve, and spoke softly, “I have seen too many breathe their last amid screams and steel. I came to offer one final gift—a song to carry the spirit when swords fall silent. We each have a role—soldier, bard, farmer—yet we all play parts in life’s larger song.”
Erelan pressed a gentle hand to Renlar’s shoulder—an unspoken benediction—then glanced upward, as if greeting an unseen watcher.
With that, he drifted down the rope like a shadow at dusk, and vanished into the waiting darkness, leaving behind an echo of melody.
They brought the rope up.
What was that?
The Makossans rolled forward.
“Aim for the ladder-bearers,” Jehlira commanded. “Once they reach the wall, throw the ladders back. Spear anyone who climbs.”
Renlar shared a determined look with Lomdoli and Adlanna, then shouldered his crossbow. He fired at a moving ladder—nothing happened. Strings snapped as his comrades released their bolts.
“Reload!” Jehlira barked.
Right, yes. Renlar pulled back the string, fumbled twice with a bolt before seating it properly and peeking over the crenellation. Something hard struck his helmet, knocking him backward.
Arrows hissed overhead, some splintering in stone. Adlanna rushed to adjust his helmet, eyes wide as she checked for wounds.
“I’m fine,” Renlar said, more question than statement.
Adlanna nodded and ducked for cover, pulling him along. Renlar rose and fired blindly—then crouched again.
Lightning arced from the sky, striking the tower’s center with a deafening crack. Arrith dropped his crossbow and shrieked, curling onto the stone floor. Renlar’s ears rang. As his vision steadied, he glanced down at the fractured masonry—four perfect gouges: arched talon marks pressed into the blasted stone.
“Effora!” Jehlira called. The wizard sprinted up as lightning struck again.
Effora thrust both hands forward with a fierce gesture, summoning a domed wind barrier—air crackling like static around her fingers. The ward rippled outward, deflecting both lightning bolts and incoming arrows alike.
“I’ll protect you—or die trying!” Effora boomed.
Lightning lashed the battlement relentlessly, its thunderous roar slicing through the air like a thousand war drums. The woven shield buckled under each strike—but it held.
Renlar steadied his hand, loaded, and fired; this time he caught a scream. The anticipated triumph twisted into dread. I killed someone…
Effora’s ward shuddered under a deafening crack—jagged fissures raced across its surface as the magic flickered, releasing a harsh whiff of molten iron. Each blast leached the glow from her hands, leaving her cheeks hollowed like wilting petals. She bit her lower lip so hard that flecks of crimson bloomed—yet even as her light dimmed, her eyes burned with unyielding resolve.
“We have to shoot that bearded wizard,” Renlar yelled, straining to be heard over thunder’s chorus.
Jehlira rose, scanning the horizon methodically. Arrows sought her, but by Iboka’s grace, she crouched back unscathed. “He’s beside the two ladders, just behind the archers.”
Renlar nodded. At Jehlira’s command, they peered over the wall. The man stood tall, purple mist coiling in his hands as he bombarded their position. They fired—and ducked for cover again.
The lightning ceased. Jehlira dared a glance over the battlement. “He’s out! Effora, send the signal, now!”
A fireball erupted skyward—only for a white flash to obliterate it.
“There’s another wizard,” Effora gasped, voice cracking as she darted down to safety.
Jehlira’s eyes flared. “We’ll find him.”
A tremor shook the stone where Renlar knelt—the first siege ladder clanked into place.
Renlar’s hands tightened on his spear. Now it gets ugly.
Chapter 4
Renlar and Adlanna moved swiftly, casting the ladder aside, its thud muffled by the spindly grass. Ladders smacked against the stone wall, and five of them—well, four, since Arrith cursed and mumbled frantically on the floor—rushed to rebuff the assault.
An arrow skipped off Renlar’s lower back, skidding across his mail hauberk.
Another pierced Jehlira’s armor, lodging in her upper arm. With a stoic grunt, she snapped the shaft in two and kept firing.
Arrith’s screams abruptly ceased. When Renlar glanced over, the poor man lay sprawled in a dark pool of blood.
The barrage of arrows stopped. The first Makossan fighter emerged, his features a mask of violence beneath an open-faced bronze helm, lips curled in a silent snarl. The man pressed his hands against the battlement and swung a leg over.
Renlar drove his spear with brutal force into the man’s groin, sending both weapon and body crashing below.
Lomdoli charged in, seizing the ladder. Renlar heaved beside him—cheeks flushed, muscles trembling.
So heavy… Renlar thought, teeth gritting against the ladder’s weight.
An axe arced from below, and Lomdoli’s anguished scream rent the air. He yanked his arm back, revealing a grotesque, bloodied stump.
Renlar’s chest tightened as Lomdoli cradled his maimed limb. A feral howl tore from his lips, unfamiliar even to his own ears.
Unsheathing his blade, Renlar charged—driving the tip into the Makossan’s eye socket, then twisting free. The dying man clung desperately to the ladder, dragging it down with him.
Turning left, Renlar saw Adlanna and Jehlira pushing another ladder. As the ladder thudded into the ground, a volley of arrows whistled toward them, prompting both women to duck behind the wall.
Tension hung heavy, and the battle took its toll.
Makossan arrows found their mark again.
Amidst the chaos, an agonized scream erupted. Renlar’s heart sank as he spun around. Lomdoli stood valiantly, chest and thigh skewered by cruel shafts. Renlar sprinted to his friend’s side, looping his arm around Lomdoli’s waist.
“Ren, take cover!” Adlanna pleaded.
They moved painfully slow—each second might be their last. So be it! I’m not leaving him there.
No arrows came. With Adlanna’s steadfast aid, they eased Lomdoli down, each strained breath a testament to his pain.
Renlar’s fists clenched, wrestling a tempest of guilt and grief as he watched his friend slipping away.
No further ladders assaulted the tower. The Makossans withdrew, gathering their gear before retreating into the night.
Jehlira seized a crossbow and fired wildly at their fading backs, each bolt a futile attempt for vengeance.
A heavy silence fell. Renlar felt a profound sense of emptiness, as if a vital part of him was being torn away. Kneeling beside his fallen friend, Renlar removed his own helm, revealing cheeks streaked with tears.
“Lom?” Renlar whispered, voice raw. “Stay with me.”
“Ren…” Lomdoli’s hand twitched. His eyes fluttered open, then closed with weary acceptance as his chin fell to his chest.
The world blurred around the edges. Renlar didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. He only stared, his mind clawing at a reality that no longer held shape.
Then—a hush.
The wind, still until now, stirred with a sudden gust, rolling over the tower like an ancient beast’s breath. A single grey feather spiraled down from the gloom. It drifted slowly, silently, landing beside Renlar’s knee.
It didn’t belong to any bird he knew—too large, too pale, too foreign.
A second gust carried it away, leaving no trace.
Renlar lowered his head to Lomdoli’s, their foreheads brushing. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should’ve—” but the words died on his lips. The silence lingered, heavy as ash—on Talon Hill, only grief and ghosts remained.
Chapter 5
Renlar lay in the narrow bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling as grief anchored his heart. He mourned the loss of his closest companion. A brother in all but blood, now gone forever.
Adlanna, draped in mail, slumbered beside him, but sleep eluded Renlar—haunting visions of his friend’s fall replaying like a broken chant in his mind.
His gaze lingered on the adjacent bed, where Lomdoli’s lifeless form lay beneath a crimson-soaked coverlet.
Effora climbed the stairs bearing a lump of bread. Her eyes—puffed and hollow—met Renlar’s as she settled under the blankets of an empty bed.
When sleep finally claimed him, it offered no refuge—his dreams marred by the battle’s horrors, each scene etched like fresh scars.
“Wake up! Makossans are coming!” Jehlira’s shout cracked the pre‑dawn stillness, her left arm wrapped in a bloodied bandage.
Adlanna jerked awake, murmuring incoherently. Renlar shook her until her eyes opened. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, clinging as though her embrace could stave off fear.
“I want to go home,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I don’t want to die here.”
Renlar kissed her forehead, words failing him. I want to grow old with you… watch stars instead of horrors.
But they wouldn’t go home.
They wouldn’t be fine.
Renlar forced himself upright, every muscle protesting, steeling for the coming battle.
With deliberate care, he fastened Adlanna’s sheath and tightened her belt.
He settled her iron helm, then donned his own armor—together they joined Jehlira on the stairs.
Dawn’s pale light—mist curling at the horizon, dew dampening the stones, and a chill wind carrying the tang of spent torches—revealed a Makossan horde, ladders raised, steel glinting with lethal intent.
We never stood a chance.
“They’ll have a new plan,” Jehlira said, loading her crossbow. “Stay sharp.”
Renlar steadied his crossbow and loosed a bolt. The air filled with twangs and whistles as arrows and quarrels crossed like deadly music.
One bolt snagged Adlanna’s shoulder—but the mail held. She dropped to cover and reloaded her crossbow without flinching.
The first ladder slammed into the wall under a storm of arrows. Renlar and Jehlira sprinted to heave it away—it didn’t budge.
Jehlira howled, stumbling back with a hand pressed to her bleeding eye.
Another ladder connected. Adlanna lunged to shove it, but the wood held fast. The arrow storm ceased.
“Effora!” Jehlira cried, using a torn sleeve as an eye patch. “They’re anchoring those ladders with magic!”
Effora leapt into action, chanting with fervor—her incantation the tower’s only hope.
A Makossan warrior burst through the ladder’s shadow, battleaxe raised. The blade caught Renlar in the stomach, and he doubled over, wheezing.
Before the axe could fall again, Jehlira’s blade flashed—she thrust it through the warrior’s chest.
“Push the ladder!” Effora urged from behind.
Panting and battered, Renlar joined Jehlira. Under Effora’s guidance, they tilted the ladder—foes clattered to the ground in a tumble of limbs and steel.
A Makossan staggered forward, axe in hand, and unleashed brutal blows on Adlanna. Renlar’s chest seized at her agonized cries.
Renlar charged—ramming his shoulder into the soldier and sending him over the wall. No time to breathe. Another axe blade caught his back—pain flared red‑hot as he crashed face‑first against the stone.
Adlanna sprang forward, sword swinging, chopping down the assailant.
Makossans flooded the battlement. One drew a dagger and drove it into Renlar’s lower back, tearing through mail. He twisted in pain. Another savage blow struck his abdomen.
In a desperate gambit, Renlar seized the warrior’s fur pelt, yanked him close, and drove his helm’s rim into the man’s nose.
It cracked—and the warrior reeled.
Renlar seized his sword and sliced across the throat in one merciless arc.
“Fall back within!” Jehlira commanded, her blade carving a deadly path as she guarded the stairway.
Renlar wrapped an arm around Adlanna’s waist and dragged her down—every step a battle against his burning lungs.
Jehlira, unyielding, kicked the jug of oil in the fire pit. Effora’s spell flared, setting the oil ablaze. The tower shuddered under the roaring inferno.
Renlar and Adlanna missed the last step, crashing onto the floor below.
Behind them, Effora plummeted, her body shattered on the stairs, head cleaved in two.
Blood pooled around Renlar—a swirl of his own, Adlanna’s, and Effora’s. He dragged himself to the nearest wall, hauling Adlanna by the collar. As she nestled on his lap, pain flared in his abdomen.
Jehlira descended, one controlled step at a time, blade deflecting blows, a one-woman wall of steel.
Smoke swirled at the top of the stairs.
Did the signal fire ignite? We did it! Renlar coughed a mouthful of blood, its stark crimson hue staining the floor. Does it matter now?
Metal clanged; cries of pain echoed. Jehlira butchered any who dared follow.
Adlanna moaned, shifting so her eyes met Renlar’s. The chaos receded, leaving only their shared breath.
Renlar cupped her cheeks. “Adlanna Emayn, will you—” He coughed more blood, “—take me as your husband?”
“I will,” she whispered, resolve bright even as strength waned. “And will—”
“I will,” Renlar breathed, voice soft with love.
Their eyes locked. He smiled, and she returned a crimson smile. Adlanna sagged against him, her hand slipping from his grasp, falling limp onto the floor.
Jehlira sank to one knee, arms trembling as she fought to fend off the descending blade, hands white around the haft’s shaft.
With a guttural roar, she snapped the haft aside—yet the iron still bit into her collarbone, bone splintering with a single, excruciating crack.
Armor slick with blood, she lunged a fierce rear kick that sent her attacker crashing—but before she could rise, half a dozen warriors closed in, axes gleaming in the torchlight.
A heavy silence settled.
Erelan emerged from the advancing Makossans, lute cradled to his chest, and settled beside Renlar. The bard’s fingers found the strings, and he coaxed a single, plaintive melody that echoed like a sigh through the stone chamber.
Darkness clawed at Renlar’s vision. He forced his head up, eyes searching the flickering torchlight.
On the far wall, a lone, guttering flame cast a perfect owl’s shadow—wings outstretched as if poised in mid-flight, its silent form carved in flickering gold and black. Renlar stared, breathless.
The image held.
Erelan stared at the wall, and whispered, “It’s time.”
The bard pressed one final chord into the wood of his lute, its echo fading like a heartbeat’s last throb.
Renlar’s vision blurred, ice seeping into his bones. He turned back to Adlanna’s blood-stained face.
I will find you…
Steven Corbin 