Page 56 of The Sundered Blade

Reaching out for that bright, pulsing knot of magic in his head, he touched it gently with his mind and received no thoughts or images, only a tug of need and a burning sense of direction, just as he’d intended. Perhaps that meant his magic had not misfired. That it functioned according to his original direction and would have no permanent consequences. He could only hope…

And it was pointing in the same way they were already going, so that was another bit of good news—or at least it was notbadnews. It meant Karreya was still alive and free. He would choose to trust that Leisa was also alive, and that he and Kyrion would reach the city in time. Perhaps his optimism was unfounded, but his heart refused to accept any other possibilities.

They were safe. It was the only option, and he would do whatever was necessary to make sure of it.

* * *

They traveled into the night and beyond, and their flight soon seemed like one continuous nightmare of cold and urgency and aching muscles.

With only the grim, hulking form of Kyrion’s wyvern for company, it grew increasingly difficult for Vaniell to maintain his optimism. He could feel the night elf’s growing sense of dread, and could almost taste his apprehension by the time they finally landed only a few miles outside Hanselm.

It was somewhere between midnight and dawn on a clear summer night, and the air at ground level was startlingly warm and still in comparison to the winds aloft.

“We’ll go on foot from here,” Kyrion announced, drawing in deep, panting breaths as he shifted forms and staggered to his feet. “I can’t risk being spotted by archers, but I can still feel Leisa. She’s in the city somewhere.”

Vaniell grabbed his arm and refused to flinch when the night elf’s glowing gaze narrowed with rage.

“Stop,” Vaniell insisted firmly. “Sit down for a few moments. You’re about to collapse and we both know I can’t carry you.”

“It’s already been too long,” Kyrion countered, his voice little more than a hoarse rasp. “She’s been injured. Perhaps captured. For all we know, she’s been in that monster’s hands for days now. And if he finds out who she is…”

He did not need to elaborate. If Modrevin found out that Leisa was a mirror mage and his own niece, there was no knowing how violently he would react.

“She’s smart and strong,” Vaniell reminded him. “And Karreya is still there, so they may be together. Just take a moment, or you won’t be able to help her even when we do find them.”

Kyrion’s lips curled slightly in a silent snarl of frustration, but he somehow held back his anger and let his chin fall to his chest. Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths before lifting his head and turning to look at Vaniell.

“Thank you,” he said stiffly. “You are not wrong. I have a difficult time thinking clearly when I can feel her distress.”

It was almost uncomfortable to bear the weight of those thanks, but Vaniell nodded in acknowledgment. “You’d do as much for me,” he returned. “And we’ll be on our way as soon as you catch your…”

It was nearly dark at the edges of the farm field where they’d landed, but the moonlight shone brightly enough to illuminate the suddenly stiff set of Kyrion’s shoulders. His head jerked up, and his eyes went glassy and blank. His hand raised to clutch at empty air, and then a terrible cry ripped from his throat—a wordless howl of agony and despair.

His knees hit the ground, his chin fell, and then his fingers clutched the dirt, shaking uncontrollably. “Leisa.”

A yawning pit of fear opened in Vaniell’s stomach and sent him to his knees at Kyrion’s side.

“What is it? Kyrion, what can I do?”

“Leisa.” Tears of raw grief streaked the night elf’s face, and a shudder of agony ripped through his body. “She’s gone,” he whispered, and then the light left his eyes and he collapsed, face down in the dirt.

* * *

They had landed near a small grove of oak trees where three farmed fields met, so after a frantic few moments of searching for a pulse, Vaniell concealed Kyrion’s limp form within the shelter of the grove and waited for him to wake.

He could not carry him, and he would not leave him. Not in the heart of Garimore, where anythingotherwas feared and hated. So he built a small fire out of magic and kindling and sat beside it, gazing into the darkness and wondering whether this was the end of all their hopes.

If Leisa was truly gone… If she and Karreya had failed in their mission, it was likely that Modrevin would be more than prepared to face the combined armies of Farhall, Eddris, and Dunmaren.

And without Kyrion… No. Vaniell refused to consider the possibility that Kyrion would not recover. And yet, even if he did, he might well determine that the humans were collectively responsible for his wife’s death and remove Dunmaren from their treaty.

Or he might simply blame Vaniell. For hatching this imprudent plan in the first place. For assuring everyone that it was possible. For taking this insane risk and choosing hope over certainty.

Hope… It seemed a distant, unattainable dream in the depths of the night, as he waited, alone and uncertain, racked by grief and guilt, wondering whether morning would ever come.

The beacon in his head still pulsed, brighter now that he was closer to Hanselm, but still so far beyond his reach. He dared not leave Kyrion, but with Leisa gone, he was reminded of his fears for Karreya. Of what her father might do to protect his secrets.

The night seemed to grow even darker as Vaniell huddled miserably by the tiny fire, sinking deeper into the entangling web of his own fears. His heart began to race, and it felt as if he could not breathe until he finally shut his eyes against the darkness and focused.

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