Chapter 10 A Place Denied #3
Auryn’s chest tightened. She hadn’t expected Kailorien to ask. She hadn’t expected Thessia to defend. Two pillars—one commander, one lioness—holding space for her voice. And when her eyes lifted again, Thessia’s gaze waited. Not soft. Not mocking. Curious. Sharp. Seeing.
After the gathering, the Riftwardens found her sitting before a low-burning fire. Three of them—cloaks dripping, eyes bright as knives.
“Why do they call you Sokar?” one asked, his tone deceptively mild. “Because you worked witchcraft to stop the river?”
Auryn stilled, outwardly calm though her pulse ticked sharp in her throat. This was the first time their words carried true hostility, the first time their curiosity had teeth.
“I did not stop the river,” she said evenly. “I reminded it of its own quiet.”
“Reminded?” The second snorted, holding his crimson satchel close. “With what sigil? What rune? Where is your conduit?”
Auryn’s head tilted, silver hair catching the firelight. “Conduit?” she echoed. “Do you cast through your rods?”
That earned a sneer. “We have rods, stones, Runesgrams etched into flesh. Power earned by trial. What are you, girl? Where is your proof?”
Her gaze held steady. “Magic is not privilege. It is breath. Do you put a stone in your mouth so you may breathe?”
Their cloaks shifted as they stepped nearer, and tension cracked like frost in the night air.
“Enough.”
Zarrek’s voice cut like an axe through wood. He emerged from the shadow between tents, gold eyes searing. His presence bent the circle at once, the Riftwardens faltering as he strode forward, scarred hand already close to the haft of his weapon.
“She walks where I walk,” he said, low and lethal. “Which means your words fall on my ears. Careful which ones you choose next.”
The Wardens muttered, their boldness shriveling. Auryn only smoothed her sleeve where their breath had brushed too close. They dispersed at last, muttering into their collars.
Zarrek stood a moment longer, gold eyes fixed on their retreat, his hand still near the haft of his weapon. Then he turned to her.
“You court danger,” he said, voice low and hard. “The Wardens aren’t jesting. Best you keep your head down.”
Auryn tilted her chin, unflinching. “And do what? Hide?”
“Stay in your tent,” he growled. “Let Resh deal with them. You’d be safer.”
She studied him, a faint crease between her brows. “If I stay in the tent, how am I different from a map folded in a satchel? That is not who I am.”
Something flickered in his expression—frustration, perhaps, or the ghost of reluctant admiration. His jaw clenched. “Then be ready for what comes,” he muttered, turning away into the dark.
That night, Auryn sat by the fire at the heart of camp to keep warm, not quite ready to go back to Kailorien’s tent. The threat of Zarrek’s words hung in the air, and she wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders.
The howl came first.
Too close. Too sharp. The kind of sound that crawled under the skin and set the marrow on edge.
It sounded human.
“Please doooooon’t!”
“Bring the Annnnchor!”
Auryn froze, breath caught in her throat. She looked out into the darkness, her shoulders stiff.
Shouts erupted as shadows surged at the camp’s edge. Two hulking black shapes burst from the tree line. Abominations. Dislocated jaws frothing, eyes rolling with void light. Bloated humanoid bodies, but with broken bones. Fangs and maws protruding from their ribs. Necks hanging askew as they ran.
Varkhounds.
Beasts of the rifts.
But Varkhounds did not hunt this way. Not in twos. Not this close to fire. Not unless something stronger had driven them here.
Steel flashed. The Reskala leapt to arms. Thessia was fury in motion, her glaive cleaving arcs of silver light as she barked orders. Talia slid in tight at her side, shield up, the rest of the Riven Blades moving as one. Their formation was flawless—unwavering as the stone.
Auryn’s heart pounded as the first beast lunged. Kailorien met it head on, drawing his sword and splitting the air. In the wake of his blade, a blue light trailed like mist. One blow, and the thing was torn apart, black ichor hissing into the grass.
But the second broke through.
Straight for her.
Auryn’s lungs seized. Her body moved before thought could follow. She stood and raised both hands, let the song in her very soul rise to her fingers. The air thickened and snapped taut. The creature faltered mid-sprint, limbs jerking as if trapped in a current it couldn’t fight.
Thessia’s glaive struck true. Bone shattered. The beast fell.
Silence.
For a long moment, only the hiss of dying shadow.
The circle of onlookers shifted. Some stared at Auryn with awe. Others with suspicion, like hot irons pressing into her skin.
Thessia lowered her weapon, her violet eyes never leaving Auryn. “More than song for mending shields, isn’t it,” she said, voice low, not accusing but curious. “I’ll want to see that again.”
Auryn’s pulse still raced, but warmth—strange and fierce—bloomed in her chest.
Zarrek stepped forward, kicking at one of the corpses. His voice carried calm authority, cutting through the murmurs. “This isn’t right. Varkhounds don’t prowl this close to fire. Something is driving them where they shouldn’t be.”
Kailorien gave a short nod, his expression hard. “Agreed.” His gaze shifted to Auryn, sharp and knowing. “Looks like your warning was correct.”
Auryn blinked. The words weren’t praise—not quite—but in the weight of silence that followed, they bolstered her more than any accolade.