Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
SACHA
“When words fail, silence becomes its own language.”
The Healer's Codex, ancient Tidevein manuscript
“We’re not going to be able to stay here.” Varam’s voice is grim. “Even after we deal with this patrol, more will come.”
He’s not wrong. But where do you hide three hundred people when the Authority are actively hunting them?
The caves that currently shelter us will become our tomb if we remain.
Authority commanders learn from their failures, and adapt their tactics.
The next force they send will be larger, and they’ll seal every exit before beginning their assault.
“Is there anywhere we can go?”
“We need somewhere that can shelter everyone. Other than Lockgap, there isn’t anywhere that could hold this many people.
Even if there was another route we could take, I doubt we’d make it to Lockgap without being caught.
” Frustration bleeds into his voice. “Three hundred people moving together? We’d be spotted within hours.
It was sheer chance that got us here in one piece. ”
“I can use shadows to hide us. What about villages that might remember what we fought for?”
“Which villages? Even if we could find people who are still sympathetic to Veinwardens, what settlement could absorb this many people without drawing Authority attention?”
Every choice before us carries potential for a massacre. Stay here and wait for the Authority to send a force we cannot stand against. Move toward Lockgap and expose ourselves to ambush in open country. Approach a village and risk condemning innocent families to Authority vengeance.
A memory surfaces, unwelcome but insistent. A village square. The bite of warded shackles. Faces in the crowd, some curious, afraid, and filled with pity.
Greenvale.
The name brings the memory into sharp focus.
The old woman who recognized me, and spoke out against the convoy’s cruelty.
Voices questioning what they were witnessing, hands raised in traditional farewell as the convoy left their village.
Small acts of defiance that Sereven’s soldiers didn’t expect.
But it was what happened later that matters most. The blacksmith who followed the convoy into the mountains, risking everything to bring water to my cage. His whispered explanation that I had saved his family thirty years ago, and helped hide his children when the Authority came for them.
They killed him for the compassion he showed me, but his sacrifice proved that Greenvale remembers what we fought for, what we sacrificed. One man’s courage suggests others might find theirs when the moment demands it.
“We go to Greenvale.”
Varam stares at me, the way he does when something I’ve said crosses the line between strategy and madness. “Greenvale? You want to trust three hundred lives to a place we know nothing about?”
“I know something about it. I know a man lost his life there for daring to help me. I know they are not content to live under Authority rule. There were signs that they remember when Veinbloods ruled.”
“You want to go to a place based on the actions of one man?”
“One man who remembered something I did for him.” I gesture toward the people walking past us. “If one person remembered, so might others.”
“And if they don’t? If they turn us away, or send word to the nearest garrison?”
“Then we learn just how strong fear in the Authority is. As you said, we can’t stay here. Our choice is stay and die, or find somewhere that might give us safety. At least Greenvale offers the possibility of shelter.”
“Or they’ll see three hundred strangers and panic.”
“Perhaps.” Denying it serves no purpose. “But what other choice do we have?” The reality is that we’re running out of time and choices.
Varam gnaws on the inside of his cheek while he looks at me. “You want to gamble the lives of everyone on the potential compassion of people who watched you suffer.”
“Staying here means certain death, Nul’shar.” My voice is quiet. “Moving toward Greenvale gives us a chance of something else.”
“What if they refuse? What if they’re too afraid to help?”
“Then we move on. But if some of them remember what we sacrificed, what we did so they could live, they might have the courage to open their village to us.”
A muscle pops in his jaw as his teeth clench, and then he nods. “If we survive today, then we will go to Greenvale.”
Our most immediate concern reasserts itself. Before we can seek sanctuary anywhere, we must deal with the patrols climbing toward our position. Fifty-seven soldiers according to our scouts, moving in three separate formations designed to prevent exactly the kind of ambush we’re planning.
We move toward the rocks overlooking the valley the soldiers will come through. Nyassa appears at my shoulder.
“I want to help.” Before I can respond, she continues. “I am a Tidevein. The narrow passes have streams running through them, and groundwater seeping through rock fissures. I can use those against the soldiers.”
I study her face, seeing the determination there.
“You stay out of view. If it looks like they’re going to overrun us, you go back to the caves and stay with our people.”
Her head lifts, lips pressing into a thin line.
“I know what you’re going to say. You’re Veinblood. You’re a Tidevein master.” I release the grip I keep on my power, letting my eyes turn black, and shadows slither over my skin. “But I am Shadowvein, and you will follow my will.”
She holds my gaze for a second longer, then looks down. “As my Vareth’el wishes.”
I direct her to a place shielded by an overhanging rock, and instruct two archers to stay with her, then position the rest of the fighters in places they can cause the most damage. The enemy may have numbers, but we know every stone and shadow.
“Let them come,” I whisper, letting my shadows take my voice to all the men. “Make them pay for every step they take.”
The first Authority soldiers appear, moving cautiously along the rocky mountain path, weapons ready and eyes scanning for threats. These are seasoned fighters, chosen for their nerve and competence.
I let them get halfway up the slope before unleashing darkness.
Shadows pour from my position, wrapping around three soldiers like rope.
“Shal neth korvain.” The darkness tightens around throats, necks snapping with wet cracks before the soldiers can scream. The survivors scatter, seeking cover among the rocks.
“The Shadowvein Lord is here,” one shouts. “He’s hiding in the rocks!”
The captain raises his sword and charges my position.
I drop from the rocks above, my shadowblade forming in my hand as I move.
It punches through his shield, into his chest, and bursts from his back in a spray of blood.
He looks down, mouth opening in shock, before I twist the blade, and his legs give out.
I have less than a second to pull the sword free before two more soldiers rush at me. I sidestep the first thrust, grab the man’s wrist and break it with a sharp twist. Bone snaps. He screams and drops his weapon. My blade opens his throat, silencing him forever.
The next soldier swings at my head. I duck under the blade and drive my shoulder into his chest, sending him stumbling backward. He recovers quickly, sword coming up in a defensive position.
Good training, but it won’t help him.
“Veth nalar more.” Shadows coalesce into a spear of darkness. It slides through his armor like it’s butter, tearing a hole through his chest. He staggers, staring down at the wound, before collapsing face-first onto stone.
“Second patrol coming from the south,” one of my men shouts.
More soldiers pour through the southern approach.
Twenty of them. Five of our fighters meet them at the narrowest point, steel ringing against steel.
One of my archers puts an arrow through a soldier’s eye.
The man spins and drops. Another arrow takes the next soldier in the throat.
But there are too many, and they’re closing in fast.
Then I see Nyassa rise from concealment, arms raised.
Water from the mountain streams respond, rising like serpents.
She sends them crashing into the patrol with crushing force.
Two soldiers go down, skulls cracking against rocks.
A third tries to swim against the current and disappears beneath the surface, armor dragging him down.
The flood she creates turns the narrow pass into a killing ground. Soldiers scream as the torrent takes them, those who try to fight the current find themselves smashed against rocks. Armor becomes a death sentence, weighing them down until they disappear beneath the churning water.
I turn back as more soldiers advance. An officer points at me.
“Take the Shadowvein Lord alive. The High Commander wants him breathing.”
Three crossbow bolts whistle toward me. I call shadows to deflect them, darkness wrapping around the arrows like grasping fingers. They fall harmlessly to the ground.
The officer charges. His blade work is professional. He knows what he’s doing. I parry his first thrust. He follows with a series of quick cuts, designed to open my guard.
I give ground, letting him think he’s pressing an advantage. When he commits to a killing thrust, I step aside and grab his extended arm. My knee comes up, meeting his elbow with a wet crunch. The joint bends backward. He screams.
My blade slides between his ribs, finding the gaps in his armor. I twist, shredding his heart. He gurgles blood and goes limp.
“They’re coming from the west!” someone yells.
The third patrol. I count at least fifteen soldiers moving along the western ridge, trying to get above our position. If they succeed, we’re going to be caught in a killing field not of our making.