Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
SACHA
“Power shared doubles. Power hoarded halves itself.”
The Nature of Veinblood Rebirth
The raven sends images to me as it soars across the sky.
A patrol moves along the mountain path two miles ahead, red cloaks vivid against rock.
I take note of their arrangement. Patrol formation, but sloppy.
Two leading, with four clustered in the middle, and two bringing up the rear.
Their weapons are sheathed, and there are no scouts ranging wide.
If they continue on their current route, they’ll cross us within the hour.
I raise my hand, signaling the halt, and the people behind me slowly come to a stop. Footsteps cease. Pack straps creak as people settle wherever they can.
“Varam.”
He appears at my side.
“There’s an Authority patrol ahead. Eight men.”
His face shows no surprise. “What do you want to do?”
“Send the best ten fighters. Ones who know the mountains well.”
He nods, and turns, calling out names. All have proven themselves in the recent clash at Whiterock, fighters who understand that hesitation could mean death. They slip away from the group without a word, and our people take the opportunity to rest.
Through my raven’s eyes, I watch as they spread among the rocks like shadows, waiting with the patience of predators who have hunted men before.
The patrol continues forward, unaware that death waits for them. One soldier talks with his companion, their voices carrying on the air. Another pauses to adjust his pack straps, completely unaware that he’s about to draw his final breath.
The killing happens swiftly. Our fighters strike as one. Steel finds gaps in their armor, hands cover mouths before cries can escape, and one by one, the soldiers fall, their blood seeping into cracks where it will freeze with the next cold snap.
The engagement lasts less than three minutes. Bodies crumple to the path. Weapons are taken, and pockets checked for coin, orders, or anything that might be useful.
My raven circles overhead as our men drag bodies off the path and down into a ravine.
Once the last body vanishes into the depths below, they spread out to hide any trace of the ambush.
Boot prints are obscured, disturbed earth is smoothed, and within minutes the path looks exactly as it did before eight men died.
While they do that, I send the raven ahead to ensure they were alone.
“The way is clear. Continue forward.”
The command spreads through the group, and people rise from their resting places with groans of protest from stiff joints and aching muscles. Pack straps settle onto shoulders, and children are lifted by adults who can barely carry their own weight.
We start walking again, winding through passes that grow easier as we descend toward the valley where Greenvale is.
With every step I take, the pull toward the northwest grows stronger.
Every fiber of my being wants to abandon this slow-moving procession and race toward her, and it takes every bit of self-control I have not to follow the call.
“You keep looking northwest.” Varam’s voice comes from just behind me, pitched low.
“I can still feel her. She’s no longer scared, but …” The bond pulses with a restless energy that I can’t quite put a name to. It’s not fear, that much I do know. But I don’t think she’s safe either.
“We have people who need to reach safety, and you worry that choosing duty over her is the wrong decision.”
He’s right. My responsibility lies with these people who are trusting me to keep them safe, who have already lost everything and now depend on me making decisions that will ensure their survival.
“She can handle herself.” The words are more for me than for Varam.
“She can. She is far more capable than you think.” His hand rests on my shoulder for half a second. “After all, without her we would never have gotten you back.”
The reminder is unnecessary. I will never forget that Ellie’s power, her determination, her refusal to accept my death when everyone else had given up brought me back from destruction’s very edge.
She saved me when I could not save myself, healing wounds that should have killed me, and restoring abilities Sereven believed he had destroyed.
But it doesn’t change the fact that I am abandoning her to her fate to save others.
By high sun of our second day traveling, the mountain cold has eased to an uncomfortable chill as we move to lower ground.
Wind-scoured peaks become gentler slopes, where stunted pine gives way to oak and ash trees that still hold leaves despite the approaching winter.
Snow patches disappear entirely, replaced by winter-brown grass and hardy shrubs that bend but refuse to break.
But the improved conditions can’t mask the toll the journey is taking on everyone.
People are moving with the automatic determination of exhaustion pushed beyond normal limits.
Some show unmistakable signs of approaching collapse.
One elderly man stumbles often, his legs betraying him no matter how desperately he tries to hide it.
His family take turns helping him while struggling with their own depleted energy.
A woman shivers with fever, her face pale and drawn with a sickness that grows worse with each mile. She stops frequently to cough blood into a cloth. The infection will kill her within days if she doesn’t receive proper rest and warmth.
More worrying still, the children are silent, too tired even to cry.
They move forward with blank expressions, their small faces showing the empty looks of minds shutting down to conserve what little energy remains.
Some are carried by adults in arms that shake, but no one complains.
Everyone understands that stopping means death for all of us.
They've lost their homes, their communities, many of their loved ones, and now they trust me to deliver them to sanctuary.
That trust weighs heavier than any crown I might have worn, carries more responsibility than any title ever bestowed on me.
If I fail them now, their deaths become another burden added to decades of accumulated guilt.
We need to reach Greenvale as fast as possible, or we’re going to start losing people to exposure and starvation. I refuse to fail in my duty to see these people safe.
“We will rest for one hour,” I tell Varam, stepping off the path so I can find somewhere quiet.
A fallen oak stump comes into view a few feet into the trees.
I settle onto its moss-covered surface, and focus inward.
The raven stirs within my consciousness, and I cast it out, sending it upward until the world spreads below like a map.
Through it, I search for Greenvale. It sits in a valley with a river that winds between fields that surround the small village.
Modest cottages cluster around a central square, with workshops and storage buildings scattered throughout.
Smoke rises from chimneys, and people move through the streets, unaware that their peaceful existence hangs by the thinnest of threads.
The sight tells its own tale of daily life that continues undisturbed by the death of the blacksmith or the incoming conflict that has the potential to tear the entire realm apart.
The sight brings back memories I’d rather leave buried in the deepest parts of my mind.
Greenvale looks exactly as I remembered from weeks ago, when the convoy carrying me to what everyone believed would be my death stopped there.
Sereven’s twisted theater—forcing every villager into the square to witness the broken Shadowvein Lord in chains, proof that resistance against Authority rule was not only futile, but punishable by torture and death.
I force it away, and focus on what’s important—the garrison stationed there.
I already know they’re there from when the convoy paraded me through the square like a trophy.
I find it on the edge of the village, door closed tight.
That doesn’t stop me. The raven circles low, passing windows, and counting bodies.
“There are six soldiers stationed in the garrison,” I tell Varam when I return to the group. “They will send news of any strangers trying to join the village immediately.”
“Which means they need to be eliminated before we make contact, without alerting the villagers themselves. Settlement garrisons are expected to send reports to their nearest city every few months. Eventually, someone is going to notice they’re missing and will come to investigate.”
“We will worry about that when it happens. Tonight I will deal with the garrison. And then tomorrow, I will speak to the village leaders, explain our situation, and hopefully gain their help.”
“And if they react badly or the soldiers have families here?”
“It’s unlikely. Most garrisons have never been looked upon kindly in the outlying settlements.
” I’ve seen enough small communities under Authority rule to know that soldiers are rarely welcomed as neighbors.
They represent outside control, taxation, and the constant threat of violence against those who step out of line.
“Then what if they decide that sheltering us will bring more trouble upon them?”
I hold his gaze. “We have no other choice. Tomorrow, we discover whether compassion still lives in that village, or whether fear has killed anything decent that remained.”
Varam’s fingers tap against the hilt of the dagger tucked into his belt, a habit that reveals more about his state of mind than the careful neutral expression on his face. “You’re risking everything on the actions of one dead man.”
“I’m risking everything on the hope that empathy still exists somewhere in this realm. Because if it doesn’t, then we’re fighting for nothing and we’re all dead anyway.”
If the people of Greenvale reject us, if fear of Authority retaliation outweighs their capacity for compassion, then we have nowhere else to turn.