The Lumber Town （Part3）
Gareth's laughter faded. His good humor dissolved in an instant.
Rowena's pulse quickened. She found herself rooted to the spot, words caught in her throat.
"I—I... I'm not—" Rowena stammered. Her cheeks flushed as she fumbled for words.
The wild glint in the man's eyes faded, replaced by calm intelligence and a dignified air.
He regarded them with measured suspicion.
"You needn't worry, dear girl. You're among friends. I'd know that face anywhere.
Though, I suppose I shouldn't be offended you don't recognize me. These days, I rather prefer to blend into the crowd."
"Who are you, and how do you know Rowena?" Gareth demanded.
He shifted to stand between Rowena and the stranger, posture protective, eyes hard.
"Ah, forgive me, sir. My name is Chyros Telkhar," the man replied.
He swept into a courteous bow, almost theatrical.
Suddenly, Rowena noticed details that triggered a memory: the hump in the center of his nose, the grey hairs sticking out of his ears, and his kind, emerald eyes.
"You—you were my father's friend," Rowena breathed at last. Recognition dawned in her eyes.
"I'm so sorry—I hardly recognized you. What are you doing here, Chyros?"
"I should be the one asking questions," Chyros replied, his eyes flicking between them.
"What brings Lady Rowena Valmont to Griken—with a dragonblood and Rumlok the Gladiator, no less?"
Gareth's eyebrows shot up—impressed to be recognized outside Etheria.
He flashed Rowena a lopsided, self-satisfied grin.
Rowena tore her gaze away, focusing intently on Chyros.
"We were just passing through," she managed.
But then the words tumbled out, raw and rushed.
"I need news about the war—my father, I... I haven't received his letters in over a year—"
Chyros stopped her, his tone severe.
"Rowena. It isn't safe for you. Surely you didn't come out of hiding for letters."
"No... no, we didn't," she whispered, voice trembling.
She fell silent, fighting back tears.
Seeing this man—her father's old friend—losing her village sanctuary, and the enemy lurking outside their door, was almost more than she could bear.
The Dissolver, sensing her distress, spoke quietly.
"Our village was attacked. Everyone else... they're gone. We're all that's left."
"I see." Chyros hung his head, solemn.
"You have made a grave mistake in coming here. You wandered into a death trap, and they will not let you leave now."
"What are you saying?" Gareth pressed, voice tense.
"Speak plainly."
"Tomorrow, the overseer returns. He'll bring soldiers and wagons, expecting them to be loaded with lumber.
If he's disappointed, he's vowed to enslave every adult and seize their children as payment for the town's debts to the Greater Empire."
"That's monstrous!" Rowena cried, righteous anger flaring in her chest.
"What could possibly justify such cruelty—what debt could be worth that?"
"The people of Griken failed to harvest lumber this past winter, despite the growing demands of the Empire."
"Demands?" Rowena spat, her lip curling.
"What right does the Greater Empire have to rule over an Etherian city?"
"Oh, my dear child..." Chyros took Rowena's hand, trembling slightly as he met her gaze.
"Etheria has fallen. The kingdom is lost. The Greater Empire has claimed our City of Splendor."
Rowena's knees buckled. Her stomach twisted.
Gareth caught her as she fell.
Her weight against him was a shock; her grief and terror suddenly more unbearable in his arms.
With nowhere else to turn, she pressed her face to his chest, weeping—searching for comfort where there was none.
Gareth's heart twisted in shame.
He should have told Rowena the truth about Etheria's fall long ago.
There were moments when the words nearly left his lips, but he could never bring himself to add to her pain.
Now, holding her as she cried into his chest, he felt a surge of panic—not only fear, but the agony of secrets kept too long.
The Greater Empire's victory echoed in his mind, cold and undeniable.
He'd hoped his abetters would fail—it even seemed likely. But against all odds, they prevailed, even after he abandoned them, slipping away just weeks before the siege.
The weight of his betrayal pressed down, unbearable and inescapable.
He suddenly felt overwhelming responsibility for Rowena and the boy.
He glanced at Rowena. Her grief mirrored in his own eyes.
He forced his face into stoic calm, burying the guilt and dread that threatened to give him away.
"So... that's it? The war is over?" The Dissolver's voice broke; his shoulders sagged in defeat.
"There's nothing left. No hope."
"No." Chyros's reply was sharp and urgent.
"The war is far from over." He leaned in, voice dropping to a hoarse whisper, thick with the weight of secrets.
"Your father managed to get Prince Ladomir to safety before the attack. We knew we could not stop what was coming. When our allies turned their backs, the prince insisted on being hidden away."
Gareth's lips curled, bitterness leaking through his words.
"So the prince ran away on the eve of battle? Left his people to fend for themselves? Some leader. Where did they take him?"
The words were harsher than he meant. The anger he felt against himself made his voice sharp.
It was a deflection of blame.
Chyros shot Gareth a warning glare, speaking through gritted teeth.
"Mind your tongue, sir. That is your future king you are condemning."
He turned to Rowena. His expression softened only slightly.
"I was never told where they took him—only that he's alive. For now. The Greater Empire is scouring every corner for him. They want to end his bloodline, erase any hope of reclaiming the throne.
Nobles are being dragged from hiding, tortured for scraps of information. Loyalty is a death sentence. They will do anything to find him.
That's why you are in danger, Rowena. You cannot imagine how exposed you are."
"Why would they want me?" Rowena's voice was thin and brittle. Her fingers dug into Gareth's arm.
"I was barely out in society when the war began. I have nothing; no secrets, no power."
"It doesn't matter," Chyros pressed, urgency rising in his voice.
"You're the daughter of the Captain of the King's Guard. He's the most powerful soldier in Etheria. The enemy knows he is at the prince's side.
If they catch you, Rowena, you are leverage—a hostage, a warning, maybe a corpse sent as a message. There are no limits to their cruelty."
Gareth could feel Rowena shaking in his arms.
"Enough," Gareth said firmly.
"I think she understands."
Rowena's heart twisted with hope and terror.
The thought of her father alive made her elated—but that elation was overshadowed by fear. Fear for herself, for him, for what the Empire might do if they found either of them.
"Is there any way to convince the townsfolk to harvest even a little lumber?" Gareth's voice was raw, desperate.
"Something, anything, to keep the governor's wrath away." He knew how futile it sounded, how powerless he was to shield Rowena and the child from what was coming.
Rowena swallowed, her voice trembling as she tried to sound hopeful.
"Gareth's right. If the townsfolk could just harvest a little lumber, maybe it would be enough..."
Chyros's answer was grim and immediate.
"They don't refuse. They're terrified. No one dares set foot in those woods. Not anymore."
The Dissolver's eyes darted to the window. His voice was barely above a whisper.
"What's out there?"
Chyros's eyes darkened.
"No one knows. All I can tell you—anyone who's gone in hasn't come out. The forest swallows them whole. Even the bravest vanish without a trace."
Gareth tried to mask his unease, latching onto a new thread.
"Then why is the lumber so valuable to the Empire?"
Chyros's mood shifted abruptly. A feverish gleam appeared in his eye.
"Now you are asking the right questions. Most would assume the timber is for rebuilding their new stronghold in Etheria.
But it is not. Ever since the forest became cursed, the people of Griken could no longer transport their lumber through the woods. So the Empire went to great trouble and expense to build them a road going around the forest instead.
Now, what city is on the other side?"
"Tide Gate?" Rowena ventured, her voice uncertain.
"Exactly. Tide Gate. And there's more—soldiers whispered about caravans passing through, headed in that direction. I watched one as it passed. They were hauling people—slaves.
My contacts say they're building ships—a fleet, not trade ships, but warships. They're desperate. Whatever's coming, it's coming soon." Chyros's voice rose, almost manic; his eyes wild with fear and excitement.
Gareth breathed in disbelief.
"How could you possibly know all this?"
"He is a spy," Rowena said, collecting herself and pushing away from Gareth.
"Or was. Once. Before he retired."
"After His Highness became aware of the impending war, he summoned me, asking if I would be part of a network of safehouses for envoys and fugitive survivors. They needed someone especially experienced and trustworthy for this particular location."
"Why Goldhaven—er—Griken?" Rowena corrected herself.
"Why, the lumber, of course. We knew the enemy would eventually come for it.
Sadly, after the enemy took control of Griken, it became too dangerous to harbor envoys here. I had no choice but to remove this location from the network."
Finally, Rowena put the pieces together.
"That must be why we stopped receiving letters," she said.
Gareth, after contemplating, spoke up.
"If Tide Gate is building warships for the Greater Empire, then they must be either allied with them or under their control. But what could they have planned? Perhaps it has something to do with the prince. Maybe they know where he and his army are."
"I think you're right, Rumlok," Chyros said, crossing his arms.
"And based on the number of slaves and the amount of lumber I have seen, it will be a massive assault."
"We need to get to Tide Gate. That's where we'll find our answers," Rowena said, her voice steady.
"Chyros, is there any way out of the city?"
"No, Rowena. You can't get involved—"
Rowena cut him off, determination blazing in her eyes.
"I won't abandon my father or our king. Someone has to find them and warn them."
Beneath her cloak, she gripped the scabbard of the ancient weapon on her back—tempted to tell Chyros about the relic, but afraid he'd think her foolish.
Gareth watched her, struck by the depth of her devotion.
He had never seen loyalty run so deep.
Chyros let out a heavy sigh.
"You truly take after your father."
After a moment, he relented.
"There may be a way—if you leave under the cover of night, when the guards are fewer. Wait for the right moment, and you might be able to slip away."
"You're not coming?" The Dissolver's voice cracked, wide-eyed in surprise.
Chyros shook his head, a sad resolve settling over his face.
"No. By tomorrow, the overseer will know everything. They'll come for you—and for me. But if I stay, maybe I can mislead them, give you a chance to slip away."
He tried to sound brave, but his words trembled at the edges, betraying the weight of duty and sacrifice.
Silence swallowed the shabby pawn shop.
The air felt thick. Every heartbeat echoed with dread and gratitude.
Rowena's eyes glistened with unshed tears.
Gareth's jaw clenched, torn between respect and fear of what was to come.
Even The Dissolver was quiet, hands balled into anxious fists.
At last, Chyros pressed a pouch of gold into Rowena's palm. It was all he had left.
"Go to the tavern, eat while you can, and gather what you need. Move quickly. And when night falls—run."
Their goodbyes were hurried, painful, and unfinished.
As they left, the pawnshop door closed behind them with a final, hollow thud.
The darkness of evening drew close. Every shadow on the street felt like the breath of pursuit.
Their fates were uncertain, and their hope hung by a thread.