Chapter Thirty-Six
Archer’s group tracked the traitors through farmlands and lesser traveled roads, all the way to the mountain’s shadow.
The border fence had been cut down, splintered wood scattered across their path.
The area was too remote to have its own guard station, the ‘road’ barely more than an old animal trail.
Mahler grimaced as his horse picked its way over the debris. “What do the rats want in our home?” he demanded. “Haven’t they made enough of a mess of their own?”
“They’re certainly chasing something,” Norwin added, examining the hoofprints in the dirt. “But the mountain paths should slow them down.”
Even in the foothills, the paths could be steep and difficult to navigate.
Arnsveldian horses were raised on those narrow paths, trained to trust their riders and follow one another in a single-file line.
From the wide swath of trampled earth the Bellacostans left behind, they didn’t have the same discipline.
“Once we enter the forest, be careful,” Archer said. “We may be more familiar with the land, but their head start will give them the high ground and time to hide within the trees.”
“Yes, sir,” the others replied in unison as they remounted their horses.
Norwin, their best tracker, led the way. Everyone was silent except for the soft tramp of hoofbeats, only communicating with hand signals.
The Bellacostans had taken a winding path, but it wasn’t clear if this was because of the quarry they chased, or if they knew they were also being hunted. At one point, Norwin paused to indicate that the path split.
Archer grimaced as he considered which path to follow.
One was a steep climb directly up the side of the mountain—even from a distance he could see the disturbed dirt and plants from their ascent—the other continued along the switchback trail, further north.
Horses wouldn’t be able to take the first path, but there was no sign the Bellacostans had abandoned theirs.
They could split into two groups to track both paths, but they were already outnumbered three to one. No matter how ill-trained the Bellacostans were, they could still win a battle with numbers.
In the end, Archer assigned Carolin and Mahler to follow the more obvious path, while Norwin would remain with him in case the Bellacostans unexpectedly changed directions.
Both soldiers dismounted their horses, leaving them tied near the path, and slipped into the undergrowth, using the clumsy path the Bellacostans had carved through the foliage to hide their trail.
Archer and Norwin continued silently on the narrow road.
As the sun set, the forest darkened around them. Soon they would have to decide whether to continue traveling as night fell or make camp and continue tracking the Bellacostans the next day.
Norwin paused and signaled: lights.
Archer narrowed his eyes as he peered through the trees and spied the flicker of firelight. From this distance, he couldn’t tell if it was a guiding torchlight or a campfire. He signaled to dismount. Continuing on horseback would draw too much attention.
Carolin and Mahler hadn’t returned or crossed paths with them yet. Archer scanned the higher trails, searching for a glimpse of them but couldn’t see anything. Either their path had diverged too far from Archer’s, or they were well hidden in the trees.
Norwin signaled to Archer: kill or capture?
Capture, Archer signaled back. Live soldiers could lead them back to whichever traitorous adviser commanded them.
They separated, staying within sight of each other, but keeping some distance between them.
If one person triggered an ambush, they wouldn’t both be caught in the trap.
Though Archer was a large man, his steps were soft as he left the path and circled around the trees, eyeing the firelight.
It never moved, making him suspect that the Bellacostans had camped for the night.
They crept slowly closer to the campfire until Archer saw a glimpse of bright blue through the trees. He signaled Norwin to stop, and they watched as someone paced a perimeter around the camp.
“—not responding—” Fragments of the conversation floated to them on the night’s breeze.
“What if—dead—furious.”
“—heartbeat.”
The voices cut off as the figures moved out of range.
Norwin signaled: attack?
Archer shook his head: listen.
After a few minutes, the speaker’s patrolling circle brought them back around. “Check her again.”
Her? Archer’s brow furrowed. The Bellacostan Army had no female soldiers. The traitors looked so far down on women that they hadn’t even tried to recruit Silas’ only female adviser. For soldiers on the run, any women with them were potentially hostages.
As soon as the patrol passed out of hearing again, Archer crept forward. He peered around a trunk, caught a glimpse of a blue uniform and quickly hid himself. The perimeter of the camp was closer than he’d expected. He waited, but when no one cried out an alarm, he took another look.
A woman knelt in the center of the camp, her hands tied behind her back and her head slumped forward. One soldier guarded her, sword held loosely at his side, while another cooked something at a campfire.
Archer’s jaw tightened as he recognized the woman’s auburn hair and delicate frame: Adelaide.
A third soldier leaned against a tree not far from Archer’s hiding place, arms crossed and expression bored.
Footsteps warned Archer that the patrolling soldier was approaching again, and he ducked out of sight.
“I’m telling you,” the patrolling soldier complained, “if she’s dead, that pirate bastard will turn his men on us.”
“She’s not dead,” the soldier guarding Adelaide said in the weary tone of a man repeating himself.
“Then why isn’t she moving? It’s creepy. After all that searching, we just find her sitting in the middle of the woods, unconscious with her eyes open?”
“What did you expect from someone called ‘the witch’? Of course she’s creepy.”
“Sure, but I expected ‘old lady who speaks in rhymes’ not ‘empty shell.’” The soldier stopped a short distance away, too absorbed in the conversation to continue his patrol. “This is a trap. I can feel it, like someone’s about to jump out and gut me.”
The soldier had surprisingly good instincts. Archer’s muscles tensed, waiting to see if the man would follow them into the woods.
Instead, he started walking away again, whatever he said lost in the distance.
Only four out of a dozen soldiers were accounted for. Where were the others? Higher up the mountain? Had they also split off in their hunt for Adelaide?
And where was Penn? If the soldiers had to hunt the witch down, that meant she’d escaped from Niall and Valerian, but Archer couldn’t imagine her leaving Penn behind.
Unless Penn was no longer alive …
Fear burned in Archer’s chest, quietly kindling into rage.
He backed up a few paces and signaled Norwin to prepare. Once he was far enough away, he stomped on a branch, snapping it in half. The crack echoed through the forest, disturbing a bird that cried a startled note as it flew away.
Running footsteps approached, careless in their search of the area. Archer flattened himself against a tree and waited.
An alarmed shout and a heavy crash sounded, then the soldier rolled down the slope and collided with a tree. His eyes widened as they landed on Archer, right before he wrapped his hand around the man’s throat and lifted him up.
Behind him, he heard another fight begin as Norwin engaged with one of the other soldiers. The Bellacostan was loud, grunting and snarling as their swords clashed, compared to Norwin fighting in near silence.
“Who ordered you to hunt the Witch?” Archer growled, slamming the soldier’s back into the tree.
The soldier scrabbled at Archer’s grip, choking and sputtering.
“You have three other companions. I only need one of you to talk.”
“V-Varro,” the soldier gasped.
Satisfied, Archer knocked the soldier out with the pommel of his sword and turned to the other fight. Norwin had subdued the second soldier, pinning him to the ground and sitting on his back.
“Knock him out, tie him up,” Archer ordered. Once they had the Bellacostans under control, they could question them about Varro’s location, and why he wanted Adelaide.
As Archer approached the camp again, he saw one soldier still guarding Adelaide, his sword now raised in a defensive stance. The other soldier had abandoned their dinner on the campfire and disappeared into the trees.
A stick snapped behind Archer and he turned around, raising his sword in time to block the attack.
The soldier cursed and danced backwards, eyeing Archer warily. “Who are you?”
Archer swung at the soldier, who barely managed to block in time. The soldier disengaged and scrambled backwards, trying to avoid Archer’s next strike. “Lucan!” he shouted, barely keeping up with Archer. “Help!”
The soldier’s pleas choked off when he tripped over the uneven ground. Archer kneed him in the head with a loud crack, and the soldier crumpled to the ground.
One remaining.
Archer returned to the camp. The soldier guarding Adelaide had disappeared, leaving his hostage sprawled in a dark lump. He rushed forward to check on her, to make sure she was still breathing.
His boot caught on something and pulled it taut until it snapped. A spark and a loud boom shuddered through the trees. Heat bathed Archer as he fell to the side. He rolled over the ground, suppressing the budding flame, and pushed himself to his feet.
A crater opened where the explosion had occurred, trees toppling to the side. Although the hastily set trap had been too far away from the trigger to kill Archer, the trees had caught fire. If he didn’t put them out, the flames might spread through the whole forest.
A footstep behind him was his only warning. He twisted so that the blade sliced across his ribs rather than through them.
The soldier cursed and withdrew his sword, swinging it back to gain momentum.
Archer charged him, shoving the soldier to the ground. The heat from the spreading fire licked at their skin, formed sweat across their brows
“Fuck you!” shouted the soldier as he swung his sword wildly, clipping Archer’s ear, but couldn’t aim it from his sprawled position.
Archer reached for a dagger on his belt, intending to end the soldier’s life. His fingers brushed an empty scabbard just as pain burst through his stomach. He looked down at the jutting handle of his own dagger in shock.
The soldier’s cursing and sloppy swordplay had only been a distraction as he stole Archer’s dagger. The man smirked up at Archer, pleased with his own cleverness.
Archer reared his head back and slammed his forehead into the soldier’s nose with a loud crack. Blood spurted and the man cried out in shock and pain.
Archer ripped the man’s sword from his hand and turned it on him, driving the blade straight down into his chest. Firelight reflected in the soldier’s wide eyes, replacing the spark of life.
Stumbling to his feet, Archer faced the fire, watching in despair as the flames spread up the trees.
“Sir! I’ve got Ada—” Norwin gasped as he stumbled onto the scene, Adelaide’s arm thrown over his shoulders.
“Wake her up,” Archer growled.
Norwin’s eyes darted down to the dagger still buried in Archer’s stomach. “You’re hurt—” As he spoke, he seemed to remember that Adelaide was a healer. He shook Adelaide, frantically babbling, “I don’t know if they’ve drugged her or if she’s wounded.”
Adelaide’s eyes slowly opened, and she raised her head. “Archer?” she asked, her voice soft and muzzy, as if coming out of a dream. “What are you doing here?”
“I came home,” Archer murmured, stepping toward her. Every movement sent a fresh spike of pain through him. “Like you asked.”
A relieved smile spread over her lips until she saw the blood steadily spreading from his wound. “You’re injured.”
“We have bigger problems,” he said, nodding toward the fire.
Adelaide murmured something to Norwin, who released her. Standing on her own, she tilted her head back and looked up at the sky, lips moving.
The air around them thickened as clouds gathered. A water droplet splashed against Archer’s cheek. More soon followed until her magic called forth a full downpour.
Archer leaned against a nearby tree and closed his eyes, allowing the cool rain to wash over him and carry him into the darkness.