Page 25 of The Sundered Blade

Then how did it happen? How could one undo the scars of a decade? And how in the name of all the gods that ever were had Vaniell ended up here, having this conversation with Kyrion, of all people?

Though if anyone would know the answer to this question…

“We should rest,” he said instead of asking, choosing for the moment to take the coward’s way out. “I will create an enchantment that should warn us if anything approaches—human, animal, or night elf. But I’ve no way to feed us, so the sooner we can be on the move, the better.”

Kyrion’s knowing gaze warned that this conversation was likely not over, but he nodded and moved to a place tucked well beneath the dense copse of firs, where little light could reach. “I’ve no choice but to trust you in this,” he said. “And as it happens, I do not believe my trust has been misplaced. But if you do plan to betray me, know that my wife will not hesitate to ensure that you regret it for however many short and painful days may remain to you.”

“Noted,” Vaniell murmured wryly. “I will be sure to shiver with fear as I do my best to protect us both. But if my trembling hands make my enchantments fail and a rabbit tries to eat you later, I accept no responsibility.”

He heard a rumble that almost sounded like laughter, but Kyrion had already lowered his hood to cover his face and hidden himself completely in the darkness beneath the trees.

Probably already asleep, drat him. Vaniell had always envied those who could fall asleep in an instant, no matter where they were. His own mind had always been far too full, with no way to clear it of the concerns and complications of his everyday life. He’d had no one in his life to talk to, no one to help him work through the worries and questions that plagued him. In truth, he’d been more open and honest with Kyrion than with almost anyone he’d ever known. A terrifying thought, really.

Thankfully, despite his warnings to Kyrion, his hands remained steady as he made a quick semicircle around their camp, choosing various objects to act as a temporary focus for his enchantment. The craftings did not need to last for long, so he set one on the trunk of a sapling, one on a piece of shale, and another on a rock that protruded only a few inches from the ground. It was a basic weaving of magical threads that interconnected with each other, so that if any thread was plucked, the entire construct would reverberate with energy. Enough to snap back and hit his mind, alerting him to the presence of an intruder. Even sufficient to wake him, should he be fortunate enough to sleep. But he doubted sleep would come in the middle of the day. Not on the hard ground, while lost in the forest, with the nervous energy of the attack and the conversation that followed still burning through his veins.

And indeed, as the sun rose higher, and the air warmed enough to be almost comfortable, Vaniell remained stubbornly awake.

Awake enough to note when the sounds of boots and the clank of weapons began to filter through the trees from downslope.

It had been far too dark to make out their surroundings when he and Kyrion had fallen from the sky, so it was not out of the question that they’d found themselves close by some seldom-used mountain road. Kyrion would no doubt be able to tell, were he awake, but Vaniell had no intention of disturbing him in the midst of a much-needed healing sleep.

Besides, he was bored, and the idea of doing something useful that did not require running or stabbing anything sounded rather appealing.

With as much care and caution as he possessed, Vaniell made his way down the slope, keeping a wary eye on his surroundings and trying to stay well hidden within the trees. As the sounds of footsteps grew louder, he could occasionally even make out the murmur of voices.

It would have been far more useful to go up and look down on these travelers from above, but he’d realized it too late, and anyway, climbing wasn’t really something he made a habit of if he could help it.

“… they expect us to stay.”

“Until we receive word that we’re needed. At least we aren’t digging latrines or going on parade every day.”

“No, but we ain’t exactly eating much, either. Don’t matter what you do to venison, it still tastes the same.”

“We’ll be lucky if our boots don’t wear out before we’re recalled. I swear we’ve tramped enough miles on this same blasted useless trail to travel to Katal and back.”

“Have to keep on the move, you know that. If we camp in the same place, we might be noticed.”

Soldiers. Camped out in the wilderness somewhere between Oakhaven and Arandar. Watching and waiting, much like the soldiers they’d encountered near the border of Iria…

The imposter had eyes, even here. Forces held in reserve for the moment he decided to spring his trap.

Vaniell cursed silently and began to inch backward, hoping to make his way back up the hill before his presence was noted.

But his breath froze in his lungs when he heard a shout from behind him.

“Oi, someone’s been here!”

An instant later, the threads of his enchantment snapped, and he turned and ran, racing towards the place where Kyrion lay sleeping. Trusting Vaniell to watch his back.

He’d failed, and he’d meant no betrayal, but Kyrion might not hesitate to believe the worst. If he even survived, which was by no means certain.

“Blast it all!” As he ran, Vaniell snatched up a branch from the ground. He needed a weapon, and the ones in his pockets were too uncertain, so he broke the narrow branch into pieces, each one splintered and uneven. As he laid a hasty enchantment on them, he prayed that he would arrive in time, and that the one who’d shouted would hesitate to stab Kyrion in the back… That the soldiers downslope would be lazy and delay their response to their comrade’s cry.

But they likely had not missed the scrabbling of Vaniell’s boots on the rocky ground, which meant he would have mere seconds in which to act.

He burst into camp at a dead run and took in the scene as everything seemed to slow. Kyrion sitting up and pulling back his hood, eyes aglow with fury. A man in a dark tunic with a drawn blade preparing to strike.

Even a night elf could not move fast enough to stop that blow, so Vaniell did not pause to think. He lifted his palm with the splintered pieces of wood, blew on them once, then flicked one with his finger as his magic swirled into the rough etchings and flared with light.

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