Page 34 of Taken By The Dark Three
I nod. “Yes. But you should re-task your scouts to ensure you have vantage points. Identify a ridgeline where archers can watch the ravine from above. If you force the orcs to come out into the open, you’ll have a better chance.”
The silver-haired woman officer narrows her eyes. “An interesting plan. Are you certain the ridgeline is accessible?”
I keep my tone matter-of-fact. “With the right squads, yes. Quick infiltration teams can scale it. If the orcs attempt to flank,your archers handle them from above. Meanwhile, your main force avoids the ravine’s choke points.”
A ripple of grudging acceptance moves through the group. The older officer flicks a glance at Vaelith, as if seeking confirmation. Vaelith rubs his chin, scanning the map. “We’ll update the route accordingly,” he decides. “And to ensure success, we’ll intensify recon. We’ll need an infiltration team. Are you volunteering, Selene?”
The question stirs me. If I volunteer, I might get field freedom away from the fortress, a chance to gather outside resources, or contact Eryx on the sly. But I risk the wards not covering me. Ai’s fate dangles in the balance if I run. They might punish her. My jaw sets, frustration churns. Vaelith’s eyes seem to bore into me, testing my reaction.
I manage a casual shrug. “If you trust me not to vanish in the night, I’m capable. Send me with a small squad, and I’ll confirm the ridgeline’s viability. Otherwise, keep me here. Your choice.”
Vaelith’s gaze flares with tension. “We’ll finalize that arrangement soon. For now, the council must see the updated plan.” His tone implies the conversation’s end, though a flicker of challenge remains in his posture.
Another series of tactical details follow: supply chain routes, garrison rotations, potential threats from other dark elf houses who might sabotage Orthani’s expansion. I pay close attention, mentally storing each snippet of intelligence. The older officer occasionally sneers when I speak, but after I defuse two more minor concerns with succinct logic, the rest warm to me—albeit grudgingly. They might see me as a reluctant ally in this campaign, or a mind they can shape. Let them think so. The more they accept me, the more intel I glean.
After nearly two hours, Vaelith dismisses the group. Chairs scrape across the marble floor, officers gather their notes, and the hush of departure settles. I linger near the table,feigning interest in tidying scattered parchments. In truth, I want to see any side notes or records they leave behind. My discreet scanning pays off: I glimpse references to a second orc camp deeper south, plus mention of infiltration by “unknown assassins.” Possibly Eryx’s doings. My chest tightens. So Orthani is aware of infiltration attempts. Something to keep in mind.
At last, the last officer exits. Vaelith remains, arms folded. The tension between us ripples again, the sense of being alone in a big chamber with him. My heart thuds, reminding me that sparks of antagonistic chemistry have become routine—like a volatile tango we can’t quit.
He levels me with a look that’s part scrutiny, part grudging respect. “You handled yourself well. My officers might not say it, but they see your logic.”
I shrug, adopting a confident tone. “If they took me for a fool, they’ve learned otherwise.”
He lets out a soft exhale. “Yes, they have.” For a moment, I sense him weigh whether to say more. Then he nods, as if reaffirming a decision. “Tomorrow, you’ll demonstrate your infiltration skills in a mock scenario. We’ll simulate orc defenses in the training grounds. If you excel, I’ll consider sending you on the actual recon.”
My pulse stirs at the prospect. “An infiltration exercise? You think that’ll prove my loyalty?”
A muscle in his jaw flexes. “It’ll prove your competence—and your willingness to follow my orders.”
Heat flares along my skin as I remember how we clash with steel or words so frequently. My mind flicks to the swirl of tension in the war room after everyone left. “And if I pass your test, what then? You’ll trust me with a squad?”
He arches a brow. “I’m not one to dole out trust easily. But I might give you a leash long enough to see if you hang yourself with it.”
A smirk touches my lips. “What a charming metaphor, Commander.”
He steps closer, presence dominating the space. My breath catches, though I refuse to back away. “I don’t do charm,” he says, voice low. “I do results.”
A swirl of electricity runs between us. For a single charged moment, I recall Zareth’s attempts at mental intrusion, Eryx’s shadowy offers, and Vaelith’s unwavering discipline. Each man tries to shape me, each in a different way. But Vaelith alone stands as my direct jailer, the one who can test me daily, physically and strategically. Despite resenting him, I can’t deny the pull of that challenge.
“I’ll get you results,” I murmur, letting a fraction of the tension slip into my tone. “As long as you remember I’m doing it for me, not for Orthani.”
A flicker of annoyance crosses his features, but something else flickers there too—a reluctant fascination. “We’ll see,” is all he says, stepping back. “Guard, show her out. She has a schedule to maintain.”
I roll my eyes but comply. The guard who enters tries to loom, but I ignore his intimidation. We exit the war room, traversing corridors until we reach the open courtyard. The sky overhead is uncharacteristically bright, pale daylight reflecting off the estate’s stone walls. A cluster of soldiers trains on the far side, swords clashing in a metallic din. I watch them for a moment, pondering how best to manipulate or glean more details. Then, deciding I need a private corner, I wander toward a small orchard Vaelith keeps behind the estate. The guard trails at my heels, though at a respectful distance.
In that secluded orchard, rows of low fruit trees provide dappled shade. My guard stands near the entrance, glancing around idly. I drift among the trunks, casually practicing the faint touches of psionic suggestion I’ve been honing since Iarrived. Nudging him with mild apathy, letting him believe there’s nothing suspicious about me wanting to study the orchard. He relaxes, posture easing. Perfect. Another subtle victory.
I settle under a gnarled tree, leaning back against the trunk. My mind replays the war council discussion, each general’s worry, the infiltration plan. The sabotage I introduced on their maps remains undiscovered. If the orcs prove more cunning than expected, Orthani might face a nasty surprise. And I can slip in to “save” them at the right moment, extracting favors. The notion makes me grin. I’m playing a high-stakes game, but each step draws me closer to a position of power.
A rustle of leaves signals movement behind me. My hand goes to the knife at my belt. The orchard is supposed to be deserted, aside from the half-bored guard at the entrance. I peer around the trunk, tense. But no threat materializes, just a faint breeze stirring branches. I exhale. My nerves remain on edge, though. Zareth tried sneaking in before, Eryx lurks in shadows, Vaelith’s watchers circle. This orchard feels like my only respite—and even here, I’m not fully safe.
I push away from the tree, deciding I’ve lingered enough. The guard at the orchard’s entrance perks up as I return, but I brush past him with a curt nod. “Take me back to my room,” I order. “I want to rest before more training.” He obeys, perhaps under the faint psionic ripple I’m weaving, or maybe because he’s used to following orders from anyone Vaelith endorses.
Once in my chamber, I ensure the door is locked. Then I pace the small space, mind swirling. My transformation spells remain stable, scars hidden. Good. I sense the wards pricking at the edges of my magic, but they’re satisfied with no major usage. Summoning a stealthy hush, I kneel by the bed and pull out a small strip of parchment I pilfered from the war council, plus a quill and ink I scrounged from a servant’s desk. Jotting downkey details of Orthani’s upcoming maneuvers, I plan to stash them, possibly for Eryx to find if he sneaks in again. Or maybe for my own reference if an escape route emerges. Ai’s rescue weighs on me, though I’m no closer to knowing exactly where they’re keeping her. I vow not to let that slip, but for now, I must strengthen my leverage.
As the day wears on, a servant delivers a simple meal—a bowl of stew, a chunk of bread. I taste it warily, suspecting Orthani might drug me to keep me docile. The flavor is bland but not suspicious. No dizziness comes, so perhaps they trust me not to attempt sabotage so openly. Fools.
Evening draws near. Vaelith doesn’t summon me again, so I suspect he’s busy finalizing tomorrow’s infiltration test. I remain watchful, practicing slow stretches to keep my muscles loose. My mind wanders to the tension-laden moment in the war council after everyone left, how his eyes locked with mine in that swirl of shared aggression and something tangibly heated. The memory kindles a spark in my chest. I’m not blind to the undercurrent pulling us together, like two storms colliding. But it’s a reckless temptation. If I indulge, I risk tangling my cause with his disciplined world. And we stand on opposing sides of too many lines.
