Page 65 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons
"The shadow mage," Marcus said grimly, reaching the same conclusion. "He took her with him."
I headed back outside the cave, examining the surrounding area, looking for tracks or some sign of the direction they were headed.
The ground was a jumble of rock and hard-packed earth, scoured clean by the mountain winds. Finding a clear print was nearly impossible. I cursed under my breath, my frustration a hot, metallic taste in my mouth. Every second we wasted was a second she was with that… thing.
Then I saw it. A boot print, deeper than it should be, pressed into a patch of damp earth. Another, further on, where a heel had slipped on loose gravel. Two sets of tracks, leading north.
"This way," I grunted, pointing. "Headed deeper into the mountains. A man and a woman. He walks ahead, she follows."
Tarshi came to stand beside me, his movements silent. He didn't bother looking at the ground. Instead, he closed his eyes and tipped his head back, inhaling deeply.
“They’re far ahead. I can’t sense her.”
Sirrax came to stand next to him. “Cannot sense. Too far.”
“I guess we do this the old fashioned way then,” I said. “I’m a fair tracker, and they aren’t covering their tracks.”
“Well why would he?” asked Marcus grimly. “He’s a shadow mage. He’s hardly going to care if someone comes after him. He’s got powers even dragons can’t match.”
The reminder left us all standing silently remembering the carnage of the battle two days before. Eventually Tarshi spoke.
“If we can catch up to them, maybe I can talk to him? He’ll see I’m one of them. I might be able to get him to listen.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Septimus asked.
Tarshi gave a wry smile. “Then while he’s killing me, you can attack from behind and take the fucker out.”
No one laughed. It wasn’t a joke. It was the most logical, suicidal plan we had.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Jalend said, his voice tight. “But if it does…” He left the rest unsaid, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. We all understood. We would do whatever it took.
"Let's move," I said, my eyes already fixed on the faint trail. "They have at least a day's lead on us. The longer we wait, the further they get."
We set off at a punishing pace, following the barely-there tracks that led us higher into the jagged peaks. The terrain was brutal, a vertical world of scree slopes and knife-edge ridges that tested our endurance to its limits.
I led, my eyes locked on the faint trail, while Tarshi and Sirrax flanked me, their senses stretched thin, searching for any hint of her presence on the wind. The pace was punishing, a near-run over treacherous ground that stole the breath from my lungs and sent fire through my muscles. We scrambled up scree slopes that threatened to give way beneath our feet and navigated narrow ledges with sheer drops that fell away into misty nothingness.
The sun beat down on us, but I felt only the cold knot of fear in my gut. We were chasing a ghost, a creature of nightmare who could travel through shadows. He wasn't just moving fast; he was moving with an unnatural speed that our mortal legs could barely match. Every hour that passed felt like a lifetime stolen from her. The hope I’d felt in the cave was dwindling, replaced by the grim certainty that we were walking into a battle we had no hope of winning. But we kept moving. We had to.
Sirrax, despite his injuries, moved with a grim determination, his face a mask of pain he refused to acknowledge.
The forest grew thicker as we climbed, the pines closing in around us, their branches blotting out the sun. The air grew colder, and the silence was broken only by the crunch of our boots on pine needles and the harsh sound of our own breathing. We followed the trail for several hours before the approachingdarkness and our own exhaustion forced us to find shelter. The rocky outcropping Tarshi selected was defensible and hidden, tucked between two massive boulders that would break up our silhouette against the sky. It was also cramped, which meant we would be spending the night in uncomfortably close quarters.
The moment we began setting up camp, the underlying tensions that had been simmering since Jalend's failure at the battle finally bubbled to the surface.
"We need sentries posted at all approaches," Jalend announced, immediately falling back into his command voice. "Antonius, you'll take first watch with Marcus. Tarshi can—"
"Actually," Marcus interrupted, his tone deceptively mild, "I think we should discuss guard duty as a group. Make sure everyone's comfortable with the arrangements."
The challenge was politely phrased, but unmistakable. Jalend's face flushed red in the gathering twilight.
"I'm still the ranking officer here," he said stiffly. "The chain of command hasn't changed just because—"
“Because we’re no longer in your army?” Marcus finished for him, his voice dangerously quiet. “Your rank means nothing out here, Prince. Less than nothing. It’s a liability. It’s probably the reason she was taken. The only weakness of the Crown Prince.”
The accusation struck Jalend like a physical blow. The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale and shaken in the firelight. He looked cornered, the weight of his title and the consequences of his choices crashing down on him all at once.
“That’s not fair, Marcus,” Septimus said, though his voice lacked conviction.
