Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Ikick dirt over the last of the coals while Garrett rolls up his bedroll. We haven’t spoken since we woke up, not about last night or anything else.
The silence between us is careful and somehow worse than yesterday’s anger. I scatter the ashes with my boot, making sure nothing’s left that could spark. The Noctrals are already shifting restlessly nearby, eager to move now that the sun’s climbing.
Last night hits me in flashes while I work. The weight of the mask leaving my face. My knees hitting the gravel as I kneel in front of him. His body crushing me against rough bark, his hand bringing us both over the edge.
I shove my bedroll into my pack. “Trail’s getting colder.”
“Then let’s move,” he replies curtly.
Dawnchaser bumps her nose against my shoulder when I approach. I absently stroke her neck while checking the saddle.
“She likes you,” Garrett says from behind me.
“Guess so.” I scratch behind her ear.
We mount and ride back toward the base of the mountains where I picked up the trail yesterday. The Noctrals move slower in the early morning light since the sun hasn’t climbed high enough yet for them to reach their full speed.
I lead Garrett along the base of the mountains, following the scent trail.
It’s easier in daylight, with my full senses engaged.
Five knights traveling together leave a clear path, even days later.
I can see disturbed stones where boots scraped against rock, broken branches, and the lingering scent of their passage.
We find the entrance they used about a quarter mile from where we started. A narrow gap in the rock face, easy to miss unless you know what to look for. Shadows hide it well. The opening is barely wide enough for someone to squeeze through sideways.
“Cave system,” Garrett observes, dismounting and peering into the darkness. “They’re inside the mountain.”
“Yes.” I slide off Dawnchaser, already scanning the entrance for details. Scratches mark the stone around the opening. I half-recognize the old symbols from childhood stories. Evidence of the Ironhide Clan that used to call these mountains home.
I feel strange being here. It is as if I’m walking through a graveyard of my own people. The Sylverin were farther south, not from these mountains, but Wolven blood is Wolven blood.
Garrett is already pulling supplies from his saddlebags. “We’ll need rope, torches, flint and steel.”
“How long do you think we’ll be down there?” I ask.
“However long it takes.” His jaw sets as he says it, then he looks up. “Can you see in the dark?”
“Better than you, at least.”
A ghost of a smile crosses his face.
We gather everything we might need for an extended underground hunt. Rations, water skins, extra torches and spare blades. I secure my knives and make sure that my short sword moves freely in its sheath. Garrett does the same with his longer blade.
At the cave entrance Garrett pauses. His gaze drifts into the darkness before returning to me. “Once we go in, there’s no going back. Not until they’re dead. You could still walk away.”
The cave breathes cold air around us while he looks at me. I turn to face him fully and meet his gaze directly. “I’m not leaving you to do this alone. Besides, I’m already here.”
The tension around his mouth eases slightly.
“Thank you,” he says, so quiet I almost miss it.
“Let’s get moving.” I adjust my pack. “The longer we wait, the more time they have to prepare.”
He smiles and steps into the darkness.
I follow.
Darkness takes us immediately. The cold hits first, then the thick mineral smell of deep earth and ancient air that hasn’t seen daylight in lifetimes. But underneath it all, beneath the stone and water, I can smell them.
“This way,” I murmur, leading Garrett deeper into the mountain.
A torch flares to life in Garrett’s hand, painting the walls gold. I could navigate without it if necessary. My eyes have already begun sorting through the dark with ease, but the added light helps Garrett keep pace behind me.
I lead, following the scent trail deeper into the mountain. Garrett stays close behind me, one hand on my shoulder in the narrower passages so he doesn’t lose me in the dark.
The touch is practical and necessary. We need to stay together in this maze of stone, especially once the passages tighten into sharp turns and blind corners, but that doesn’t stop me from noticing the warmth of his hand through my suit.
Unwanted memories surface every time his thumb shifts slightly against my shoulder blade.
I remember that same hand on my waist, on my skin, stroking us both together.
I grind those thoughts down.
Come on, Wolf. Focus on the trail, on the hunt.
“How much further?” he whispers after what feels like an hour of navigating twisting passages.
I pause, scenting the air carefully. The smell of the Valorians is stronger and fresher here. “They’re deeper in. But we’re close. Maybe another quarter mile.”
“They chose well. This place is a maze,” he mutters.
“It was a Wolven defensive position,” I say quietly, running my hand along the wall.
“Your people built this?”
I trace one of the marks with my fingers. “See these? Tool marks. They carved these tunnels and reinforced them, then made the layout deliberately confusing to trap intruders.”
We continue deeper, passing chambers and sleeping alcoves hollowed into the walls. All of it abandoned now. Ghosts of a people who no longer exist.
I try not to think about it or imagine families living here, children running through these halls, all the warmth and life that must have filled these spaces before whatever happened. Before the same fate that finds all Wolven eventually found them too.
“Wolf,” Garrett says suddenly, stopping. His hand tightens on my shoulder. “Do you hear that?”
I stop and listen. At first there’s nothing unusual. Water drips somewhere deep in the tunnels, wind whistles through stone cracks, and our breathing echoes softly. Then something else reaches me, faint and distant.
Voices carrying through the tunnels.
“They’re ahead,” I murmur. “Close now.”
We extinguish the torch and press it into the damp stone until the last embers die. Darkness swallows us completely.
I don’t need it. My eyes adjust quickly to the absence of light, picking out shapes and contours that Garrett can’t see.
I take his hand and lead him forward carefully.
The voices grow louder as we move. I can’t make out words yet, just the cadence of conversation. There are more than two people talking.
The passage opens gradually, widening from a narrow corridor into something larger. I can see the flicker of firelight ahead, orange and warm against the endless black. A way out of the cold darkness.
I motion for Garrett to stop. He freezes behind me.
We’re at the entrance to what was probably the main gathering hall of the den. It’s massive with the ceiling lost in shadow high above and the walls stretching out into darkness on either side. This space could have held a hundred Wolven easily. Maybe more.
In the center, five elves in Valorian armor sit around a small fire. The flames look pitiful inside a chamber this massive, barely strong enough to push back the dark pressing in from every direction.
I can smell the fear on them. They know they’re being hunted.
The missing soldiers look haggard, worn down by weeks of hiding. Their armor is dirty and their faces unshaven.
I survey the chamber quickly and notice a natural shelf about fifteen feet above the main floor, hidden in shadow where the firelight doesn’t quite reach. It’s perfect for observing without being seen.
I tap Garrett’s shoulder twice, then point up.
He can’t see it in the darkness. But it doesn’t matter.
He trusts my lead and follows as I find the wall and begin the ascent.
The stone is rough, with plenty of handholds.
We climb in silence, moving slowly to avoid dislodging loose rocks.
By the time we reach the shelf, my fingers are scraped raw, but we’re in position.
The ledge is deep enough for both of us to lie flat on our stomachs, looking down into the chamber below. From here, we can see and hear everything without being spotted.
Garrett settles beside me, his body pressed against mine in the confined space. His breathing is quiet but I can feel his chest rising and falling. Tension thrums through him like a wire pulled taut.
Below us, the Valorians continue their conversation, oblivious to our presence.
“—three weeks now,” one of them is saying. “Three weeks since anyone’s heard from the others. They’re all dead. They have to be.”
“We don’t know that,” another responds. He’s older, graying at the temples. Probably a veteran. “Could be they just went to ground like we did and hiding.”
“Marcian is dead.” This from a third elf, heavyset with a scar across his cheek. “I know it. I can feel it. If Marcian is dead, the others are too.”
“Then we’re next.” The young one’s voice breaks. “We’re fucking next and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Calm down—”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” The young knight’s voice rises, echoing off the stone walls. “Someone is picking us off one by one and the Aeonians aren’t doing shit to protect us!”
Beside me, Garrett goes very still. I can feel the tension radiating off him like heat.
“The protocols should have been activated,” the older elf says. “We performed the rituals correctly. We fed the sacrifices. The Aeonians promised protection for all units that served faithfully.”
All units?
“Maybe they don’t consider what happened in Feywildra faithful service,” another mutters. The speaker is thin and can’t seem to hold still. “Maybe they’ve decided we’re a liability.”
“That’s insane. We did exactly what we were told. The village was designated, the children were selected according to the specifications—”