CHAPTER 38
THE SCOUT
Extended use of corrupted magic may leave permanent scarring on the wielder.
– Caldris Study on Dark Magic: A Theory
The morning bells had rung an hour ago, calling the day’s session to order.
That dawn had found Tobias Thorne at the long oak table in the Council chamber.
It was old, its wood covered in knife marks from many an impatient lord, half-drunk goblets strewn across it.
Tobias still had his armour on, as he had the past three days, ready to move at a moment’s notice.
The steel breastplate had dulled, his crimson cloak was dirtied at the hem and the leather bracers had worn grooves into his forearms. The chamber had become a crisis hall, and soon, Tobias knew, it would be a war room.
He had all but memorised every inch of the eight stone archways that adorned the circular walls, each carved with the house crests.
The stone rang with arguments by day and whispers by night.
None of the Lords or Ladies had returned home since the Fire Shard was stolen, and no one planned to. They would not leave until Sebastian Thorne and Karalynna Hale were found.
Evelyn’s sharp voice had already clashed with Merrick’s bluster twice this morning, Galen brooding over maps at the far end, Simone and Elias quietly weighing every word. Not one of them trusted him – or believed that he wasn’t hiding something.
Nor did he trust them. Not when it came to Sebastian’s life.
Tobias had kept his silence, though his mind had been anything but.
It had now been five days since Sebastian had taken the Fire Shard.
That was how long his soldiers had been searching for his son and Karalynna Hale without a trace.
Up until then, there had been the odd clue – whispers of riders passing at night, descriptions from merchants of a girl with green eyes travelling through with a tall dark-haired man.
But now? Nothing. It was as if they’d disappeared from the realm of Vallenna itself.
And the Fatàn shield had flared three days ago.
Serena and Kaelen had provided Fatàn’s reasons, such as they were.
A result of fear, Elias suggested. A show of strength, Merrick had insisted.
But Tobias had served too long, fought too many wars, to believe in such neat timings.
His instincts told him that Sebastian and Kara were under that shield.
He knew Evelyn suspected it too, he’d seen it on her face whenever the shield was discussed, although she wouldn’t accuse Fatàn without proof.
What Tobias didn’t know – what was keeping him from sleep – was what Fatàn meant to do with Sebastian and Kara.
They were not a violent people, never had been, but neither were they quick to trust. As a rule they did not interfere.
If Fatàn had chosen to shelter them, it would explain their silence, the timing of their withdrawal, and he would be nothing but grateful for it.
Please let them be safe.
He couldn’t speak such thoughts aloud. They would burn him for it too.
The chamber door banged open. A guard hurried in, bowing low. “A rider came with a message from the Navyrian fleet – Admiral Dray, my Lords and Ladies. Urgent.”
Not Sebastian. Don’t be Sebastian.
“Speak it, then,” Tobias ordered. His voice was iron, but his hand curled to a fist beneath the table.
The guard swallowed. “The Seventh Sail intercepted a vessel on the western coast flying no banner. Black-sailed. Draken made.”
Merrick lurched to his feet. Evelyn hissed a curse.
“Admiral Dray’s report states it was a scout-class vessel,” the guard said. “Single-mast, shallow draft – the kind used to map landing sites.”
Tobias’s hand moved to his sword hilt. Pure instinct.
“They destroyed the ship. The Drakens fought bravely. Down to the last man. But they took him alive,” the guard finished.
“Send a message back immediately,” Simone demanded. “Tell the admiral to bring the scout here for interrogation. There can be no delay.”
“My lady, they are already en route. The rider believes they will be here before the midday sun.”
Simone nodded at him and he bowed low, exiting swiftly.
The chamber erupted.
“Drakens,” Evelyn spat, rising half out of her chair. “On our shores.”
“They dare,” Merrick snarled, pounding a fist against the oak. “This is provocation.”
“Provocation?” Simone’s eyes flashed. “Merrick, you heard the prophecy as well as I. This is war.”
At the far end of the table, Galen unrolled another map with a heavy hand. “If their scouts are here, their fleet is likely not far behind. We haven’t seen Draken ships in our waters for over three hundred years. In light of what Fatàn told us... I do not believe this is merely exploration.”
“We must question him,” Elias insisted. “Find out the truth, how long we have.”
I will get to the truth. And then I will get my son.
“Let’s see how brave this Draken is with a blade at his throat,” Tobias growled.
The rider, it turned out, had been correct in his estimations.
The midday sun was high in the sky when the Draken scout was dragged into the chamber by two guards.
The scout’s eyes burned with black fire that flickered eerily in their depths.
His dark robe had fallen open in the struggle, revealing deathly pale skin crawling with jagged, angry dark veins across his chest and arms.
He looked barely human.
Even shackled in irons at the ankles and wrists, he fought them at each step, but the Navyrians had taken precautions. Tobias saw silk nightshade wraps underneath the chains, draining his strength. The man’s efforts were futile.
The guards shoved him upright before them at the Council table, forcing him still with ease. Tobias rose, drew his dagger, and crossed the floor. He caught the Draken’s chin in his hand and pressed cold steel against his throat.
“Tell me,” he growled, his magic shimmering, “has your fleet sailed? How soon will they land?”
The Draken barked a laugh. “Your crimson fire dies with you, Vallennan. Your blades, your walls, your precious magic... it means nothing to us.”
Tobias pushed the blade harder into the man’s neck. “Tell me, or I’ll kill you where you stand.”
The Draken’s dark eyes glinted at the threat. “Prince Silas will destroy you all.”
“This is pointless, Tobias,” Evelyn snapped. “He will not give it freely.”
“Then we rip it from him,” Galen said, his normal bluster replaced by ice.
Alaric’s emerald magic erupted at his fingertips. “Mind magic in interrogation is forbidden. You all know why. Push too deep, and the mind tears itself apart.”
“Forbidden on Vallennans,” Merrick barked. “This is Draken filth.”
Alaric shifted uncomfortably. Elias looked down at the floor.
“We need to know,” Galen said. “If there’s an armada coming, we need to know when.”
“All in favour?” Simone asked tightly.
Hands rose one by one. Not quickly. Even Tobias hesitated, only for a second, but lifted his free hand. Finally, all seven were in the air.
First unanimous vote in weeks. And it’s this.
Simone nodded her assent. “Do it, Galen.”
No one argued. Tobias stepped away from the man, sheathed his dagger.
The Draken laughed, a low rasp, the sound shaking him as the guards held him in place. “You won’t break me. I hold more power than you could imagine.”
Galen moved forward slowly, his ice-white magic crackling and casting faint shadows against the chamber walls. “He will resist. I’ll need help.”
He looked towards Elias, who nodded and moved to join him.
“I’ll calm him for you,” Elias said. Violet seeped into his palms, threading into the air like smoke. “He’ll be more open.”
The Draken snarled, baring sharpened teeth, pulling hard against the chains. The rattles echoed off the stone.
“Hold him,” Galen growled.
The guards forced the man to his knees. Elias’s violet magic poured into him, soothing, numbing, blunting fear into compliance. His ragged breath slowed. His gaze dulled.
“Now,” Elias muttered.
Galen struck without hesitation. White light flew from his hands, piercing into the Draken’s skull.
The man convulsed, and let out a terrible scream.
The air crackled with magic, but it was sharp, acrid, wrong.
His mind was fighting back – he writhed and clawed at the guards’ grip, thrashing despite Elias’s calm.
“He’s fighting me,” Elias spat.
For a heartbeat, Galen’s jaw clenched, his magic pulsing dangerously. Tobias’s stomach turned to stone.
Don’t fail.
With a snarl, Galen forced more power into the man.
“I’m getting there–” Galen hissed through his teeth, voice half his own, half the Draken’s. “Snow. Forged in snow. Last winter. The Dracanth – complete. A twisted sister of our Arcanth, capable of wielding dark magic.”
“By the Four,” Evelyn breathed.
Merrick’s face had gone ashen. “They have their own Arcanth.”
“Created months ago, whilst we remained blind,” Tobias said. “And wasted valuable time bickering over ours.”
The Draken jerked, blood seeping from his nose and ears. The stench of burnt flesh filled the hall – the magic scorching him from inside. His body was wracked with tremors, but Galen did not stop. Another surge of white light entered the man’s head and another scream tore from him.
Gods be good.
He forced himself to watch as a final shudder tore through the Draken’s body.
He fell limp. Lifeless.
The white light snapped out. Galen staggered back, chest heaving, sweat beading his brow. Tobias couldn’t look away from the dead man at his feet. But none of the others could look at all.
“He fought to the last,” Galen said. “Even under calm.”
“When, Galen? When are they coming?” Merrick demanded.
“They’re already on the sea. Three weeks if the wind favours them. Four if not. A whole armada with the Dracanth powering them,” Galen told them.
“Did you learn anything else?” Tobias demanded.
Anything that proves my son’s innocence. Please.