Chapter 28 Landon
Dawn breaks cold and gray. Around me the others are already stirring, the sounds of a camp waking up.
Garrett works the stiffness from his shoulders with a wince.
Hrolf rises with a groan that could wake the dead.
Only Aelfric is already fully upright, checking his weapons in silence as if he never slept at all.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Garrett says as he straps on his gear. His eyes search my face with concern.
"Let's keep moving," I say, avoiding the question.
Hrolf watches me differently now. His keen eyes note something changed. But he doesn't ask and shoulders his pack.
Elli's warning echoes in my mind as we prepare to leave.
I don't know what waits at journey's end. All I know is that every moment we delay is a moment stolen from Rhianelle’s dwindling time.
"Stay on the path," Hrolf warns as we begin our descent into the valley. "No matter what you see or hear, stay on the path."
"What happens if we don't?" Garrett laughs under his breath.
Hrolf glances sideways at him. "Best case? You get lost and wander until you starve. Worst case? The forest decides it's hungry. These trees have developed a taste for elves over the centuries."
"Could be worse," Aelfric mutters. "At least it's not Astefar."
The mention of that forbidden forest makes both knights shudder. It makes me remember Rhianelle. Six years old, thrown into that nightmare alone. Fighting for her life every day for nine hundred years.
She survived that forest. Please hold on, Nel.
Every step is one closer to the healer.
We follow Hrolf down into the foothills and the world quietly stops making sense.
The air thickens, sweet and faintly rotten.
The trees grow large, their branches spiraling to the sky.
Something moves beneath the ground like a pulse.
I keep my eyes on Hrolf's back and try not to think about what I'm walking over.
"How much farther?" I ask after hours of walking.
"Soon," Hrolf replies. "We'll reach his refuge before nightfall."
"How did you meet this healer?" I finally ask as we navigate a particularly treacherous ravine.
"Long story."
"We have time," Aelfric says.
Hrolf is quiet for so long I think he won't answer. "I saved his life once. During the early days of the rebellion."
"And you trust him?"
"I trust that he keeps his word," he says it the way you'd say the sun rises. "Fae are bound by their oaths. He owes me a blood debt. He'll pay it."
The descent into the valley takes another hour of treacherous paths. When we finally reach level ground, Hrolf raises his hand to halt us.
"Don't be alarmed by what I'm about to tell you," he says. Something in his tone makes everyone freeze.
"What now, dwarf?" Aelfric demands.
"The reason the healer seeks seclusion during wartime isn't just for peace and quiet." Hrolf takes a breath. "It's also because he's one of Eirik Bloodhound's Masters of the Hunt. A Herald of the Wild Hunt itself."
Garrett draws a measured breath. "You brought us to one of Eirik's commanders? One of the fae who burned Aelfheim?"
The silence that follows does not break.
Aelfric turns on Hrolf. His sword is out before anyone can blink. "This is a trap. You've led us to our deaths—"
"He owes me," the dwarf interrupts calmly, not flinching from the blade pointed at his throat. "Fae honor demands he pays it."
"And if he decides his loyalty to Eirik matters more?" Aelfric presses the sword closer.
"He won't. I know him," Hrolf says simply. "He's not an oatbreaker."
Aelfric studies Hrolf for a long moment, blade still at his throat. The forest holds its breath.
Then, slowly, he lowers the sword. Steel whispers as he slides it back into its sheath.
“My caution stands,” Aelfric says at last, voice hard but measured. “Show us the way.”
Hrolf gives a short nod, as though this was always the expected outcome. He steps past us toward the lip of the hollow, boots crunching over brittle leaves.
We stand on the edge of a bowl of land scooped out of the forest itself. The trees bend away from it like they're afraid to grow too close.
"We're close," Hrolf announces.
"How can you tell?" I ask, seeing nothing but empty land ahead.
Hrolf kneels beside the crumbling ledge of the ravine. He pulls aside a patch of creeping fern and presses his palm into the stone beneath. His lips move to read an incantation.
"What is hidden, now be seen. Break the veil that lies between." The stone beneath his palm grows warm.
For a breath, nothing happens. Then the rock beneath his hand ripples. What lay before us peels back without sound as the world shifts. The illusion drops like a curtain falling and the valley shows its true face.
Nestled in the bones of the ravine below us lies a small cottage.
A wyvern crouches next to it. The creature is enormous, easily ten times the size of Coral with emerald scales overlapped like polished shields. Its wings are folded against its sides, the membranes scarred and veined.
"Calm down," the fae murmurs, his voice low.
He stands beside the emerald-scaled beast, lean and battle-worn.
Bandages wrap his torso beneath torn linen, darkened where blood has seeped through.
His remaining armor clads his lower half—blackened greaves and plated fauld etched with faint golden lines.
The rest of his armor lies discarded in the grass nearby, dented and scored from recent combat.
His hand rests on the wyvern's flank, examining the creature's healing wound.
Iron filigree wraps the vambraces in intricate patterns—thorned vines wrought in metal.
Even marred by battle, the emblem stitched across the breastplate fragment is clear.
A black rose in full bloom, petals edged like blades.
The Black Rose Regalia.
The mark of the Wild Hunt.
Eirik Bloodhound's war-band.
This isn't just a healer. He's a warrior. A commander who's killed more elves than I can count.
The fae looks up as we approach. His eyes widen slightly when he sees Hrolf.
"This is a surprise." He straightens slowly.
"Landon," Hrolf greets him.
Landon's gaze travels over our group, lingering on the elven knights with obvious wariness. "What curious company you keep, old friend. Two elves and a vampire. You've assembled quite the party."
Garrett stiffens. Aelfric's hand stays on his sword hilt, knuckles white.
Landon ignores the tension and continues tending to his wyvern, running his hands over her scales.
"We need your help," Hrolf says urgently, no cushioning around it. "I'm calling in our debt."
Landon's hand stills on the wyvern's flank. "I wondered when you'd come to collect."
"There's someone in Aelfheim who needs your skills," Hrolf continues. "Someone the elven Hlaryan healers can't save."
"You came all the way here for an elf?" Landon asks mildly, though his eyes sharpen with interest.
Hrolf doesn't react to the bait. He gestures toward me. "This is Arescaine. She is his wife. The healers have done what they can, but it isn't enough. She lost too much blood."
A breath passes. "She's dying."
The words seem to settle heavily in the clearing.
I notice the bandages on the fae's body are new, recently tended.
"What happened to you?" Hrolf asks, noting the injuries.
The wyvern shifts beside them, her chest expanding with a slow, rumbling breath.
"Things are complicated for me right now." Landon's expression darkens. "The Hunt is hunting me. My entire legion has been banished, declared traitors. We're all in hiding."
Aelfric and Garrett exchange glances. Neither sheathes their weapons but the tension eases slightly. An enemy of Eirik might be useful.
"Enough talk," I interrupt. My patience has worn through. "Can you save her or not?"
Landon looks at me for a long moment. Those strange silver-ringed eyes narrow, studying me intensely.
His mouth curves slightly. "Let's find out."
Landon reaches for a dark cloak lying among the discarded pieces of his armor. He swings it around his shoulders, fastening it at the throat. The heavy fabric falls to conceal the fresh bandages.
The wyvern rises at some unspoken command, shaking herself like a massive dog.
"Not you, Dorcha. Stay."
The wyvern huffs in protest. A low sound works its way up from her chest, somewhere between a whine and a rumble. Her tail lashes once against the grass. Landon ignores it with the ease of long practice.
Without another word, he turns and strides toward the treeline, expecting us to follow.
"Where are we going?" Garrett asks.
"To gather what I need," Landon replies. "There's an herb that might help. Follow me."
The fae leads us away from his refuge. We walk for a long while through increasingly dense forest until we reach a cave entrance. Moss climbs the walls in thick curtains. There are no guards or wards at the entrance.
"I'm not going in there," Aelfric says, voice low with suspicion.
"You're not," Landon replies calmly. "He is." He points at me.
"What is this?" I growl, shadows gathering around my hands. "You said you'd help her."
"I am helping." He gives me a look like I'm particularly dense. "An herb grows deep in that cave. One of the only things that might slow the decay in her blood and buy her time for proper treatment. You want her to live? Go fetch it, vampire."
"You first," Aelfric says, sword still half-drawn.
"As you wish." Landon produces a spectral lantern from his cloak. "This way."
He leads us into the cave. The lantern barely lights the path ahead. Shadows crowd the edges, thick and close. He guides us into a fissure between two massive slabs of stone. The air grows colder with every step, our breath misting in front of us.
"You trust him?" Garrett whispers behind me.
I shake my head briefly. Only a fool would trust a fae, especially one who serves Eirik Bloodhound.