Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Finn guided Ghost toward the yawning mouth of the cave.
A chill draft hissed from the darkness beyond, carrying with it a faint metallic tang that made the hairs on his neck prickle.
Blood. Old, but distinct. This tunnel, he had learned from locals, was the only viable route into the hidden valley where an abandoned military outpost supposedly lay.
He reined Ghost to a stop at the threshold, leaning forward in the saddle to peer into the gloom. “Well, that looks inviting.”
Ghost’s ears flicked back, her muscles bunching under the saddle. Smart girl. Finn couldn’t blame her; the entrance was littered with bones picked clean, some still draped in tattered scraps of armor.
Glinting steel caught his eye—gauntlets, sword hilts, and dented breastplates scattered like discarded relics of a lost battle.
No familiar crests, no insignias tying them to Lunareth.
Just scraps of mercenary colors, some unmarked, others bearing symbols of companies Finn only vaguely recognized. But one piece made him pause.
A torn scrap of fabric, half-buried in the dirt, its color muddied by blood and dust. Deep crimson, with the faintest outline of a black sunburst at its frayed edge.
Finn frowned. Avalisian.
Not unheard of—sellswords came from all corners of the world, and plenty of ex-Avalisian soldiers had turned to mercenary work when their empire had no further use for them. Some even sought work in Lunareth, taking coin from whoever would pay.
That had to be the case here. King Darius had hired mercenaries for this mission, after all—this one must have been among them. Nothing strange about that.
And yet… Finn couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. The Avalisian Empire had no love for Lunareth. Why would one of its men be out here, hunting a dragon for a Lunarethen king?
“Focusing on the wrong thing, Finn,” he muttered to himself.
No, better to take in the tableau as a whole. This wasn’t a simple warning. It was a display. A deliberate message, like a raider staking heads on pikes outside a conquered city. Whoever—or whatever—dwelled beyond this cave didn’t just kill. It wanted its victims to be seen.
Finn swallowed hard. “Kavros’s forge,” he muttered, lips pressing into a grim line. There were better places to die. More dignified ones, at least.
He slid off Ghost’s back, stepping carefully around the skeletal debris. A knight’s half-collapsed skull grinned up at him from beneath a battered helm, and Finn’s breath caught. That could have been me, he thought. Might still be, if I’m not careful.
He glanced at Ghost, patting her reassuringly. “Want to turn back?” he murmured. “Because I wouldn’t hold it against you.”
She blew out a loud snort, shifting her weight but not moving. Loyal, even when she had more sense than he did.
Finn exhaled, steeling himself. “I guess you’re right. We’ve come too far, and it would be a pity not to see what the fuss is all about.”
Grasping the reins, he led her inside. Pointed stalactites jutted from the vaulted ceiling like the teeth of some ancient beast, waiting to swallow them whole.
The narrow path forced them into single file, Ghost’s hooves clattering against the stone in staccato echoes.
The outside light faded, but a fuzzy lichen clinging to the walls emitted a glow that was enough for Finn to make his way—barely.
Several tense minutes passed as they navigated the twisting passage. Then, ahead, the faint glow of the exit. Finn’s shoulders sagged with relief at the promise of open air. And preferably fewer bones.
The moment they stepped outside, the dense embrace of the forest met them. Finn paused, scanning the area. No skeletal warning signs. But there was also no princess waiting to be rescued with a gift basket in hand. Shaking his head, Finn climbed back into the saddle.
He rode deeper into the woods, unease prickling anew at the eerie hush.
Too quiet. No birdsong, no chittering squirrels—nothing.
Even the wind hardly stirred the leaves.
The Misthaven Mountains loomed ahead, their rugged peaks fading into a tangle of mist and pine.
Somewhere up there, hidden in the wilderness, the dragon waited.
The journey from the capital had been long but uneventful—too uneventful, perhaps. Finn had pushed hard, stopping only when necessary to rest Ghost and replenish supplies. Now, with each surefooted step she took, tension twisted in his gut.
This was it. He was close.
And that meant confronting the very creature that haunted his nightmares. Or, more accurately, the thing he’d spent years preparing to kill.
A twig snapped beneath Ghost’s hoof, obnoxiously loud in the quiet. Reflexively, Finn’s hand dropped to Sunwrath’s hilt, thumb brushing over the ruby in its pommel. Overreacting wouldn’t help if something was watching. Wouldn’t stop a blade, either.
They pressed on, the branches overhead weaving a patchwork of shifting shadows.
Twice, Finn caught himself craning his neck to search the dim spaces between trees, certain he’d glimpsed gold scales reflecting the sunlight.
A trick of the light? Or a trick of the mind?
Either way, when he looked again, there was nothing but wind-stirred leaves.
“Easy, girl,” he murmured, patting Ghost’s neck. Not that she needed the reassurance—her ears flicked back, unimpressed. If anything, the words were more for himself than the stalwart mare. She snorted, ears flicking back as though to say, We’ve been through worse.
The dense forest tightened around them, branches twisting overhead so thickly that sunlight had to fight its way through, casting speckled patterns across the mossy ground. A fragile silence had settled again, which only heightened Finn’s unease.
A sharp prickling sensation crawled over the back of his neck. Finn drew Ghost to a halt, hand dropping to Sunwrath’s hilt as his gaze swept the underbrush. Something was here. Watching.
Then, movement. A flicker at the edges of his vision. Then another, and another. A slow dread settled in his chest when he realized shapes—at least half a dozen—were shifting in the undergrowth, silently encircling him.
Finn swallowed, the dryness in his throat at odds with the clammy chill creeping down his spine. Brilliant. Nothing like eerie silence and invisible enemies to keep things interesting.
“Show yourselves!” he called, aiming for commanding and confident rather than on edge and vaguely annoyed.
The only response was a stillness thicker than fog. Even Ghost seemed tense, ears pinned back, muscles taut beneath him. She had good instincts. He trusted them almost more than as his own.
Sunwrath whispered free of its sheath, the ruby set in the pommel flashing. Finn scanned left to right. How could so many approach without a sound? No footfalls, no voices, no clank of armor.
He nudged Ghost forward a step, then another. The shapes at the edges of his vision swayed but did not advance. Ambush? Or something worse? Sweat trickled down his temple.
Then Finn got a clearer view of his mysterious foes. His breath stilled as he realized they were wooden silhouettes, mounted on hidden hinges. Painted shapes, nothing more.
Finn heaved out a long breath, half relieved, half irritated.
The crude cutouts stood frozen in mock battle poses, arrayed like sentries.
Some resembled knights in armor, swords raised; others were monstrous things with crooked horns and reptilian tails.
They creaked in the breeze, shifting just enough to trick the mind into believing they moved.
“Clever.” Finn sheathed Sunwrath once more. “Someone has a flair for theatrics.”
Ghost snorted, her tension easing now that she sensed no real danger. Finn nudged her closer to one of the silhouettes, eyes narrowing. Even crude as they were, they had worked.
The artistry was rough, but the design? Alarmingly effective. Not just meant to deceive—meant to unnerve. To make intruders question themselves. Second-guess their own senses.
He reached out, tapping a knight-shaped cutout with two fingers. It rocked on its hinge. A scare tactic. Like scarecrows intended to keep crows from a field, though in this case they were meant to…what? Keep rescuers away from a captive princess?
Finn continued on, carefully weaving between the wooden figures, his mind working through the possibilities. Who set these up, and why?
The dragon? Unlikely.
The princess’s captors? Or perhaps…someone else entirely?
Finn advanced only a short distance before a thunderous clamor exploded overhead and all around—a symphony of chaos that sounded like a kitchen had just declared war on itself.
Pots, pans, and assorted scrap rattled violently, their clang echoing off the trees and seeming to come from everywhere at once.
Finn startled, instinctively ducking as he yelped at the unexpected sound. Ghost, by contrast, didn’t so much as flinch. The warhorse merely paused, ears flicking in what could only be described as mild irritation.
Finn straightened, shaking his head. “Nice of you to pretend to care,” he muttered, brushing off the adrenaline surge.
Ghost flicked an ear back at him. Get on with it.
He squinted at the dangling pots and pans. Finn spotted wires and ropes strung among the trees, nearly invisible behind tangled vines. Another trap, or alarm. Set it off, and the entire contraption turned into a percussion ensemble from hell.
Effective. Even knowing it wasn’t a real attack, his pulse still hadn’t quite settled.
Ghost sighed, hooves shifting in the dirt as though unimpressed by his delayed realization.
Finn gave her a look. “I see you’re taking this very seriously.”
She flicked her tail in what he was fairly sure was a gesture of profound indifference.