YOU CAN REST NOW

Seventy miles south of Gildor, Loria

THE WIND BUFFETED THE mountainside, sweeping sheets of snow this way and that, forcing the trees to bend and creak, their needle thin leaves spraying white dust into the air. Dayne pulled his coat tighter around himself, trudging through the blanket of snow that covered the ground, his feet sinking in an inch or so with each step. Thick pine forests spread out either side, stretching off into the distance, swallowed by the snowfall. Ahead, the jagged peaks of Mar Dorul reached towards the sky, dark and ominous, looming over the landscape like an eldritch god. Against Mar Dorul, the Rolling Mountains of Valtara seemed like gentle hills.

"Where are we meeting him?" Dayne asked, turning to Belina, who slogged along beside him, a heavy, fur-lined winter coat draped over her shoulders, her hood flapping in the wind. Dayne tried his best to keep his teeth from chattering, but it was a futile effort. He had seen snow cap the peaks of the Rolling Mountains in the winter months, but he had never before seen it so close, never felt its frigid embrace.

Belina reached out a hand, extending a gloved finger. "We will wait for him there," she said, pointing towards a large, oblong stone that jutted from the ground a few hundred feet away.

Dayne nodded, dropped his head, and kept walking, fighting against the wind as it attempted to throw him back down the mountainside.

By the time they reached the standing stone, Dayne's chest burned from the icy air, and his legs groaned in complaint. He reached up, brushing a coat of snow from the side of the stone, his fingers falling into grooves that had been carved into its surface. "It's been over a month getting here and you still haven't said anything about Elkenrim."

"There's nothing to say." Belina stared off into the snowfall as she spoke, her hands tucked into her coat pockets, her tone flat.

"Damn it, Belina. You could have told me."

"Told you what?" Belina's voice rose as she turned, her eyes cold.

"That we were hunting your father!"

"What difference would it have made? My father put a blade in my fist before I'd seen my fifth summer. He committed me to the Hand just after I'd seen my twelfth. He was cold, ruthless, and I was nothing but a tool to him. I bore no love for the man who called himself my father."

Dayne held Belina's gaze, a knot twisting in his chest. As high as Belina's walls were, they now held visible cracks.

"Don't look at me like that." Belina took a step towards Dayne. "I don't need your pity."

"You should have told me," Dayne repeated, softer.

For a moment, he thought Belina might roar at him, or strike out, but then her gaze gentled and she reached out her arm. "I will from now on."

"By blade and by blood," Dayne said, clasping his hand around Belina's forearm, allowing a smile to touch the edge of his lips.

"By blade and by blood," Belina replied, before twisting her lips into a pout. "I need to hear more of these Valtaran sayings. I think I would fit right in there."

"That you would. Though you'd probably have your tongue cut out pretty quickly."

"They can fucking try!"

Dayne let go of Belina's arm, struggling to fight back the laughter, when a voice sounded behind them.

"Belina Louna. Thank you for coming."

As he turned, Dayne's hand dropped to the pommel of his sword, more by instinct than anything else.

The man who stood before them was garbed in a greenish-brown hooded cloak that billowed out behind him. The drawstrings of his hood were tied tight, with only a few strands of silvery hair escaping.

"I'm not here out of the goodness of my heart," Belina replied, walking towards the stranger without hesitation and pulling him into a tight embrace. Dayne had never seen her embrace anyone so warmly. In fact, he'd never seen her embrace anyone whatsoever. In her own words, she wasn't exactly the 'touchy-feely type'. "It's good to see you. You look even younger than the last time I saw you. Have you been eating children again? No? I see your sense of humour is still exactly the same. Dayne Ateres"—Belina turned towards Dayne, holding out her arm—"Meet Therin Eiltris. Elf. Wanderer. Humourless."

Therin stepped forward, throwing a sideways glance at Belina as he lowered his hood to reveal a head of long, silver hair, a sharp face that looked as though it had seen no more than thirty summers, and ears that tapered to a point at the ends. Dayne had met a few elves on his travels, but he had never spent much time with them. Most of what he knew of their kind were simply stories. Old tales twisted and altered by the whispers of time. He nodded his head ever so slightly. "It's a pleasure."

"The pleasure is all mine, Dayne." Therin gave a smile as he spoke. "I knew your mother. She was a kind soul."

With just those words, Dayne felt his heart tear. A gaping hole opened in his chest, stealing the air from his lungs. It genuinely surprised him how quickly he felt tears form at the corners of his eyes. He wanted to speak, but words abandoned him.

"So," Belina said, her gaze softening as she stepped past Dayne, turning to face both of her companions. "Therin, you told me you would bring us to Aeson if we helped you with an issue here. What's that issue?"

"Yes, I—"

"Aeson Virandr?" There was nothing Dayne could do to keep the surprise from his voice, his words escaping his throat before he could stop them.

"One and the same," Belina replied, raising a curious eyebrow. "You know him?"

"I do. What does Aeson Virandr have to do with any of this?"

Belina's eyes narrowed as she stepped towards Dayne. "He is the one who can bring us to Sylvan Anura."

Out of the corner of his eye, Dayne saw Therin's expression shift at the sound of Sylvan's name.

"If we help Therin here, then he will bring us to Aeson, who will bring us to Sylvan. Is there a problem?"

Dayne tapped each of his fingers against his thumbs, moving from his index to his pinkie and then back again. Aeson Virandr was not the name he had expected to hear. He was not sure how he felt about the man. It was Aeson who had helped his mother and father organise the rebellion. He who had stoked the fires and moved the pieces. But where had he been when they needed him?

"No," Dayne said finally, forcing his fingers to stop fidgeting. "No problem."

Belina leaned in closer, her eyes narrowing even further. For a moment, Dayne thought she was going to challenge him, but she didn't. "Good. Therin, lead the way."

"There is an outpost about four hours hike north of here," Therin said, marching through the snow. "I have reason to believe that many of my people are being held within. Children among them. It used to be an old imperial outpost, but it was abandoned years ago. Not three weeks gone, someone escaped, and one of my contacts found them curled up in a family barn not three miles from here. Their wounds were…" The elf's voice trailed off before he regained his composure. "They didn't survive long, but they were able to tell us where they were being held."

"Do you have any idea who controls the outpost now?" Belina asked, her hands tucked in her coat pockets as she walked, small snowflakes melting at her cheek's touch.

"I believe it is still under imperial control, though not officially. I'm not sure what they're doing to my people in there, but I can't let it continue."

"You must be very desperate if I'm the first person you thought of," Belina said, letting out a deep laugh. "What was it you called me the last time we met? 'Blood Merchant'? It's no wonder you're a storyteller – that's the most creative name for an assassin I've heard in a long time." Belina shrugged, her hands still lodged firmly in her pockets. "I've actually used it quite a few times, myself. You should see the look on people's faces when I tell them I'm a Blood Merchant."

To Dayne's surprise, Therin laughed, shaking his head at Belina. "You truly haven't changed in the slightest, have you? But no, you weren't the first person I thought of, surprisingly. You're just the only one who is currently available and willing."

"That hurts, but I'll take it," Belina said with a shrug. A shrug tended to be Belina's most common reaction to just about everything. There never seemed to be a situation that didn't call for a shrug.

Therin and Belina continued chatting as they made their way up the snow-covered mountainside. Dayne kept his mouth shut, listening. He had never seen someone hold their own against Belina's wit, but the elf did that and then some. And by the way he carried himself, Dayne was sure Therin was no stranger to a blade either.

The further they walked, the steeper and narrower the path became, sheer walls of snow-dusted rock rising either side, blocking out most of the sun's light. Dayne had heard stories of Mar Dorul when he was little, or rather nightmares told aloud. A vast landscape of jagged mountains that stretched for hundreds of miles in all directions, its peaks threatening to tear the sky asunder, so tainted by Efialtír's touch that not a single tree or plant grew within its bounds. Even as Dayne slogged through the snow, he could feel a tangible weight hanging in the air, thick as fog. They would find nothing good in this place, of that, he was certain.

After nearly four hours of hiking ever upward through the snow-covered mountain, the rock face on the left fell away, and the path snaked around the side of the mountain, revealing a sheer drop that seemed to have no bottom. Even in the thinning snowfall, Dayne could see nothing but mountains and wide sweeping valleys of emptiness all around him.

He rolled his neck, eliciting a series of cracks born of stiffness. His heavy coat held little protection against the probing cold that bit at any sliver of exposed skin. Once this was done, he would be more than happy if he were to never see snow again as long as he lived. But for now, there was nothing he could do other than tuck his chin in tight and keep walking. Left foot, right foot.

He hadn't noticed Therin had stopped until he just about walked into the elf. "What's wrong?" Dayne asked, stepping up beside Therin, his head tilted down to avoid the chilling wind.

"We're here."

Begrudgingly, Dayne lifted his head, eyes widening. An enormous chasm split the mountains in half, dropping endlessly downward. Set on the same side of the chasm as Dayne, Belina, and Therin was a stone bastion broken into three storeys, each storey ringed by battlements. The structure rose over a hundred feet into the air, backing onto the mountain on one side and the sheer cliff edge on the other. An enormous stone bridge jutted from the third storey of the bastion, spanning the width of the chasm, connecting to a keep that looked as though it had been built straight into the mountain on the other side, its walls tunnelling into the rockface as though hewn from the mountain itself, smooth and grey, rising almost twice the height of the bastion.

"I thought you said it was an outpost," Belina called to Therin. "That's a fucking fortress!"

"Look," Therin replied, pointing towards the bastion. "The battlements are empty, and I can't see so much as a flicker of light from within. By my guess, they're keeping a skeleton garrison to avoid attracting Uraks."

"It's a little bigger than I expected," Dayne said, casting his gaze over the empty battlements of the bastion, along the enormous stone bridge, then onwards to the keep on the other side of the chasm. He drew his face into a glare at the sound of Belina giggling beside him. "Belina, grow up."

"What? It's better to be bigger than expected. Right, Therin? Better that than the other way around."

The elf gave Belina a flat stare but otherwise didn't answer.

"I swear, one of these days I'm going to die a gruesome death, and when I'm gone, you'll miss my fabulous sense of humour. So, what's the plan?"

"We go in." Without waiting for a response, Therin set off towards the bastion, his snow-dusted coat flapping behind him.

"Elves," Belina said. "Such a penchant for the dramatic. Come on. Hopefully the place is empty." Belina shrugged, then set off after Therin.

Dayne shivered as he approached the stone structure, but it was not born of the cold. The silence that filled the air was eerie. On the side of a mountain like this, even the smallest of sounds should carry, yet he heard nothing but the crunch of snow underfoot. The place seemed completely devoid of life.

Iron braced double doors were set into the front wall of the bastion, standing over fifteen feet high and twice that again in width.

"Barred from the inside." Therin held the palm of his hand against the door as he spoke.

A tingle ran down Dayne's neck, the same one he always felt when someone near him was drawing from the Spark. Groans of stiff iron rose on the other side of the doors, followed by a series of clicks and the sound of metal hitting stone.

Therin leaned forward, eliciting an echoing creak from the enormous door as it swung inwards, its hinges stiff and aged.

While the outside of the bastion had given Dayne an eerie feeling, the inside set every hair on end. The giant door opened to a long, arched corridor that led to a central chamber. Every inch of stone was dusted with snow and laced with cobwebs. The wind whistled as it rushed through the open doorway, sweeping spirals of icy white into the air, carrying them on down the corridor. Here and there, evidence of past occupation littered the ground: a long table crusted with frost, a rusted shield, a copper pot that now held a greenish hue. Nothing pointed to the structure being garrisoned in the previous decade, and yet, Dayne couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. "I don't like it. It's too quiet. Too empty."

"Neither do I," Therin replied, carving a path through the top of the frost covered table with his finger, the flakes of snow melting at his touch.

"How can something be too empty?" Belina stopped, turning back towards Dayne. She had the same look on her face as she did every time she thought she caught him out, that same glint in her eye. "It's either empty or it's not. It can't be too empty. You're either dead or you're not. You're never too dead."

"Belina, I will hurt you."

"Try it. You remember what happened at the Tower of Ilragorn, don't you? I'll put you on your back again."

"I swear to—"

"Will the two of you shut up?" Therin's voice didn't rise above a whisper, but it held such force it caused both Belina and Dayne to take a step back. "You're like bickering siblings. This isn't a game. My people are dying here. They are being locked away and chained while runes are carved into their flesh, consuming their souls from the inside out. Pull yourselves together or leave."

Therin stormed off down the corridor, at least as much as his graceful stride would allow. With the way his cloak drifted behind him, it was as if he were gliding.

Belina leaned in to Dayne, whispering, "He didn't mention the whole 'runes being carved in to flesh' thing before, didn't he not?"

Dayne shook his head, pulling his lips inward. "He did not."

"I didn't think so. I really wish he had mentioned that. I would have found Aeson myself." Pulling a knife from its sheath on her belt, Belina followed after Therin, muttering something incomprehensible as she did.

Dayne drew a deep breath in through his nose, letting it sit in his chest for a few moments before exhaling. No matter what lay ahead, he would keep pushing forward. This elf was the key to finding Sylvan Anura.

The group made their way to the end of the corridor and up a flight of stairs that led to the second storey of the bastion. Frost crunched with each step, echoing faintly off the walls, piercing the silence of the abandoned structure. He ran his hand along the stone rail of the balustrade, the settled snow melting at his touch. As his fingers moved along the stone, they slipped downward into a groove that had been hidden beneath the layer of icy white. Dayne brushed the snow away with his hand, revealing three jagged furrows carved into the stone. They looked like claw marks, too rough to have been made with a blade of any sort. "What in the gods happened here?" he whispered to himself.

"Hopefully we don't find out," Belina answered. "Come on."

Dayne frowned, casting his gaze over the furrows once more before nodding to Belina and carrying on up the stairs.

The second storey of the bastion was just as empty as the first. A few wooden benches and chairs coated in ice-crusted cobwebs lay scattered around, some resting against walls, others lying broken on the floor. Turning, Dayne followed the others up a second staircase that ascended to the third storey.

The staircase opened into a square chamber about fifty feet by fifty feet. The wall in front of the staircase was barren except for a torn tapestry that hung over itself, flapping in the unrelenting wind that tore through the mountains and rushed through the shattered windows of the bastion. The colours of the tapestry had faded over time, but the background looked as though it had once been a vivid red trimmed with gold. Rows of decrepit weapon racks ran along the two side walls, some empty, some holding rusted spears and swords.

Apart from the broken windows, the only source of light in the room came from the wide archway set into the wall behind the stairs, opening out to the battlements and on to the chasm-spanning bridge.

The icy rush of the mountain wind crashed into Dayne as he stepped beyond the bastion's protection and out onto the battlements. Above, the sunlight dwindled, slowly being replaced by the pale light of the crescent moon.

"Why did we decide to come now?" Belina asked, staring out across the wide stone bridge and up towards the gargantuan keep that lay set into the mountain on the other side. "I mean, this is creepy enough, but why did we come here as the sun is setting? Nothing good ever happens after dark. Mark my words."

Therin moved past Belina and Dayne, taking a few steps out onto the bridge before turning. "Afraid of the dark, Belina?"

"What idiot isn't afraid of the dark? Did you not hear me? Nothing good happens after dark. You're a storyteller. You, of all people, should know this. Tell me one happy story that takes place on a mountainside at night in an abandoned fortress."

Therin gave a weak smile, his silver hair coruscating in the fading light of the setting sun. "The people inside that keep can't wait for the sun to rise."

His cloak and hair flapping in the crosswind, Therin turned and set off across the bridge, the looming shadow of the keep slowly engulfing him.

Belina rested her hand on Dayne's shoulder. "How badly do you want to kill Sylvan Anura?"

Frowning, Dayne shook his head, then set off after Therin.

"Honestly," Belina called after him. "I'm sure she'll die of old age eventually."

Belina's words sounded as though they were nothing but an echo in the raging wind that battered the bridge, fading into the back of Dayne's mind. They may as well have been. He had one purpose: to get back to his family. To do that, Sylvan Anura needed to die, followed by Loren Koraklon. If the only way to make that happen was within the walls of that keep, then that's precisely where he was going. If he died, at least he would die knowing that he never stopped.

With each step across the bridge, the keep seemed to grow higher, its smooth stone walls rising in stark contrast to the rough rockface that surrounded it. Arched windows were set into the wall along the upper storeys of the keep, glass and wood long since shattered and broken, while a large doorway of dark metal inlaid with intricate patterns of tarnished gold sat at the front of the keep, breaking up the surface of smooth stone.

By the time Dayne reached Therin, the doors were ajar.

"It wasn't locked." The elf didn't turn to look at Dayne. Instead, his outstretched hand rested on the metal door, his gaze scanning its surface.

"Is that a good or a bad sign?"

"I'm not sure yet. But there's only one way to find out." Therin pushed the door open another foot or so, just wide enough for the three of them to enter, then stepped inside.

"Has he already gone in?" Belina asked as she stepped off the bridge. "Of course, he has. Fuck it. Let's go. The sooner we're done with this, the better." She placed her hand on Dayne's back and pushed him through the door.

Near complete darkness greeted Dayne as he stepped through the doorway. Slivers of cold moonlight passed through the shattered windows above, but they offered precious little light to illuminate the depths of the fortress before him.

A slight tingle was Dayne's only warning before a brilliant white light burst into existence, forcing Dayne to gasp and cover his eyes. In a panic, he pulled his arm away, desperate to see what stood before him. As the world slowly returned to focus and his eyes adjusted to the new light, shapes began to take form. Therin stood before him, a glowing white orb floating in the air at his side.

"Apologies," the elf said. "I should have thought before creating the baldír." As though reacting to Therin's words, the orb grew dimmer, taking the strain off Dayne's eyes.

"What is that?" The glowing orb pulsated, floating only a few feet from the ground. Dayne could see the threads of Air, Spirit, and Fire moving about the orb, holding it together, but he could not follow their patterns.

"I can teach you," Therin answered. "But I do not have time right now."

Dayne nodded, pulling his eyes from the baldír to examine the hallway in which they stood.

The floor consisted of slabs of grey stone dressed by a long carpet that Dayne was sure had once been grand and vibrant, but now held a dullish grey hue that mirrored the stone. The walls rose almost a hundred feet into the air, arching and meeting at the top. Thick columns were set into the walls about twenty feet apart, the tops of which were carved into intricate depictions of roaring lions. Dayne couldn't see how far the hallway stretched as the light from the baldír only forced the shadows back so far.

The brittle carpet cracked beneath his feet, the sounds bouncing off the walls as though he had broken glass. "Well, it's definitely not empty," he said, spotting multiple sets of boot prints pressed into the thin layer of frost that coated the floor.

"Damn, I was really holding out for that," Belina said, running her foot over one of the prints as she slipped another knife from its sheath.

"Keep quiet," Therin whispered. "Your voices will carry. Come."

"Keep quiet," Belina muttered as she passed Dayne, her voice taking on a mocking tone.

Dayne laughed, following after the others. But his laughter quickly faded as he moved down the barren hallway, shadows dancing across the floor as the baldír moved along beside Therin, its light ever shifting. Everything about the place set Dayne on edge. The darkness, the emptiness, the cold, the echoing sounds that bounced off the stone and high ceilings. But apart from that, something felt wrong. Like something watched him from the shadows, scratching at his mind, probing, trying to find a way inside. His mind recoiled at the sensation.

Before long, the corridor opened into a chamber that rose higher still, stretching another fifty or so feet towards a domed roof. About halfway up the walls, a balustrade framed balcony ran around the circumference of the chamber. A chill rippled over Dayne's skin as he looked towards the shadow-touched balcony. He dropped his hand to the pommel of his sword.

"What is it?" Therin whispered, following Dayne's gaze.

"I thought I saw something." Dayne tilted his head, leaning forward as he squinted, straining to see in the dim light.

"It may just be your mind playing tricks. I can feel it too. There's something off about this place. Something I've felt before."

"Felt before?"

"A long time ago. Come, we need to keep moving."

It took Dayne more than a few moments to pull his fingertips away from the pommel of his sword.

"Here," Belina called, her voice a hushed whisper. "This door's been used recently."

Dayne and Therin made their way over to Belina, who stood on the other side of the chamber by a metal doorway with a hexagonal top. Drag marks were evident on the floor beside the door, where the frost had been shifted from the opening and closing.

Glancing at the marks on the floor, Therin nodded, pulling a slightly curved sword from the sheath at his hip. By instinct, Dayne touched his fingertips against the pommels of his knives and sword, before reaching back and brushing his hand across the wood of his bow and the twenty-four goose-feather fletched arrows in his quiver. He shrugged his bow into his hands, following Therin through the doorway.

As soon as they stepped through, Therin released the baldír, letting its light fade from existence. Dayne was about to complain when he realised why. Before them lay a long corridor, at least twenty feet wide, tall enough for three men to stand atop one another. At the end of the corridor was what looked to be a large chamber, illuminated by a warm, orange, flickering glow. Torches.

Dropping low to the ground, Therin, Belina, and Dayne crept down the corridor. The sound of frost crunching underfoot was conspicuous only by its absence. Dayne hadn't noticed it at first, but this area of the keep felt warmer. The heat from the torches must have melted any frost that had previously clung to the stone.

At the end of the corridor was a landing fronted by a low wall that spread out to either side, overlooking a chamber that sat at least fifty feet below. A pair of staircases ran along the walls either side of the landing, descending to the chamber, where four guards in red steel plate stood watch. Two passageways were set into the wall on either side of the chamber, a pair of the guards stationed at each.

"Inquisition Praetorians," Therin whispered as he peered over the ledge of the wall.

Dayne wasn't entirely sure why, but it was almost comforting to the see the guards in their gleaming red plate. Whatever sensation it was that had set his hair on end was unnatural, sinister. But these were only men. He could fight men. He could kill men. "We need to take them quietly."

Belina nodded. "I'll go left. Count to one hundred. Therin, stay here."

Dayne could see the look of irritation on Therin's face as Belina stalked off, making her way down the staircase to the left.

"Let us do what you brought us here to do," Dayne whispered before creeping down the staircase to the right, keeping his head below the line of the wall. Twenty-seven. He could feel the beat of his heart pulsing in his veins, his chest fluttering.

Four hundred and seventy-nine. That was how many lives he had taken since meeting Belina. He had not found peace in a single death, not even the slightest of joys. Though any man who took joy in killing was a man worth killing. Even so, he would have thought that, with time, it would come easier. But it never did, particularly not like this – his blood, cold in his veins, his targets entirely unaware of their looming death. Even that word; he used it so soullessly: targets. They were people, flesh and blood. But it was a choice between them and his family. They would not leave this place alive. Sixty-three.Dayne pulled two throwing knives from the strap across his chest, the cold touch of steel familiar against his fingertips. The end of the staircase was only a few paces away. Seventy-five.

Reaching the last bend in the stairs, he drew a deep breath into his lungs, letting his muscles relax. Eighty-three.

The Praetorians were only a few feet away, their red plate seeming to glow an incandescent orange in the light of the torches. He could hear them talking.

"Where are you going first when we rotate off?" one of the guards asked the other.

Ninety.

Just as Dayne was readying to release his first knife, the other guard responded.

"My sister had a kid last week. A boy. I haven't gotten to see him yet. I only opened the letter before we left, but I'll go there first, I think."

Dayne froze, his hand trembling. Images flashed through his mind of Alina, screaming, calling for him. Stormwatch burning. Him leaving. He had never wanted to leave. I never wanted to leave you alone…

Thump. Thump. The sound of Belina's knives lodging in the other two guards' throats. Dayne shook his head, his balance shifting, his eyes widening. He looked up. The two Praetorians before him had drawn their swords. They had seen him.

Hesitation leads to lives lost. Marlin's voice echoed in the back of his mind

Recovering, Dayne launched his knife, and then a second, as quick as his hand could move. The first knife caught the Praetorian on the left, slicing through the links of mail that protected his neck. Blood sprayed. The man fell, clutching his throat. Dayne reached out to the Spark, quieting the man's landing with threads of Air.

The second Praetorian lifted his arm just in time to catch the knife mid-flight, sending it ricocheting behind him, clanging against the wall. He charged, but before he could reach Dayne, a glint of steel flashed in the air. A blade plunged into the man's eye, sliding through the narrow slits in his helm. The man stumbled, falling to one knee, howling. Panic slithered through Dayne's veins, his heart beating erratically, his brain still foggy from the flashing memories. Therin glided past him, taking the man's head from his shoulders in one sweep of his curved blade, blood spurting.

And then it was over.

What just happened? Dayne chest trembled as he dragged in breath. He could still feel his heart pounding like horse hooves on clay, his mouth dry as cotton.

"Are you hurt?"

Dayne looked up to see Therin extending a hand, the curiosity in his eyes mixing with a touch of understanding.

Dayne grabbed the elf's hand, dragging himself to his feet. "I'm fine. I didn't need your help."

Therin responded with a weak smile and the slightest of nods, but no words.

Belina strode over, wiping the blood from her knives with the sleeves of her coat. She stopped, her eyes taking in the scene. The two dead Praetorians. Therin helping Dayne to his feet. Dayne readied himself for a witty remark or comment, but none came. Her eyes said only one thing: Are you all right?

Dayne nodded. He was fine. At least, he thought he was fine. That had never happened before. He'd never frozen like that. It was like he had no control over his limbs or his mind. It was… terrifying.

"Which way do we go?" Belina said, pushing over one of the dead Praetorians with her foot so he lay on his back. She looked up at Therin.

"Two possible paths." Steel glinted as Therin flipped a small, round-backed knife across his fingers. "We should split up. You and Dayne take—"

"No." Belina crossed her arms, shaking her head, her two knives still clutched firmly in her fists.

"No?" Therin tilted his head.

"No." Belina shrugged, as she always did. "I let you take us into this place as night fell, but I'd rather drag my bare arse across hot coals than split up down here. That is how we will die. We pick one way, and then we go together."

"But how do we—"

Belina held up her hand, cutting Therin off once more. The annoyance was visible on the elf's face. But if Dayne knew one thing about Belina, it was that she didn't care in the slightest.

Without speaking, Belina walked back towards the other passageway. Once there, she stood for a few moments, turned, and walked back. She strode past Dayne and Therin, stood by the second passageway and then drew in a long breath through her nose. After a few moments, she nodded. "This way."

"What? Why?" Therin looked genuinely curious.

"Well," Belina said, puffing out her chest. "That passageway over there smelled of sweat and slightly overcooked lamb. While this passageway smelled of genuine shit."

Both Dayne and Therin just stared at her.

"Must I always explain everything?" Belina paused for a moment, as though she had genuinely posed a question to which she expected an answer. "Fine. You're looking for prisoners, right? Well, are you more likely to be feeding the prisoners lamb or letting them sleep in their own shit? Well… that might not be lamb. It might be elf. I wouldn't know what elf smelled like. I—"

"Belina." Dayne didn't have to say anything else.

"Right. Apologies." Belina raised both her hands, looking towards Therin. "It's most likely not elf… probably."

Dayne shook his head, resting his hand on Therin's shoulder. "Sorry."

"Where are you going?" Belina called out as Dayne set off down the passageway closest to them.

"Following the smell of shit."

Cast iron sconces lined the walls of the passageway, each bearing a thick white candle that burned with an orange glow. The sconces were set just far enough apart so their light didn't truly overlap, casting flickering shadows across the stone.

Dayne's pulse quickened as he approached the end of the passageway. His heart thumped against his ribs, the shockwaves rippling through his veins. Ahead, Dayne could see a chamber lit only by a few scattered sconces and the residual glow of the passageway's candles. The smell Belina had mentioned grew ever stronger the closer they got to the chamber, growing thick, palpable. It snaked through his nostrils and clogged the back of his throat. He had smelled it before, but never this strong: death. The hairs on his neck and arms pricked, that eerie feeling rushing across his skin. There was something wrong with this place. Something he'd never felt before. It was the same feeling that probed at him since they had first stepped foot in the bastion, scratching at his mind, trying to get inside.

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder.

"Together," Belina whispered, nodding.

Dayne nodded back, tightening his fingers around the handle of his sword. "Therin, could you cast a baldír again?"

Almost immediately, Dayne felt Therin reaching out to the Spark, weaving thin threads of Fire, Air, and Spirit together, forming tiny fragments of light that coalesced into a small orb that emitted a dim, white light.

"I dare not make it any brighter," the elf said, stepping past Dayne, into the chamber, the baldír floating beside him. "If there are any mages nearby, they may sense the threads."

Dayne nodded, his eyes following the baldír, watching as it pulsed light. He thought he could pick out the threads Therin had used, replicate them. It would take some trying, but he was fairly confident.

"What is this place?" Belina asked, covering her nose and mouth with the back of her hand, her fingers still wrapped around the handles of her knives. She ran a finger along the top of a long wooden bench that stood beside the passageway's entrance. "No dust…"

"Here," Therin whispered.

Therin stood before a cell barred by latticed iron. With his eyes adjusting to the darkness, Dayne saw that the chamber held many more cells just like it, stretching off into the shadows.

"Is there anyone…" Dayne looked into the cell, his voice trailing off. Partially illuminated by the white glow of the baldír was an emaciated shape that looked as though it had once been an elf. Now, though, it was nothing more than a husk, the skin blackened, dry and brittle, stretched over bones to the point of cracking. Cuts and marks covered the body, some almost looking as though they were carved into a particular shape. Nausea coiled in Dayne's stomach, threatening to turn it. He covered his mouth, holding his breath until the feeling subsided.

"May Heraya embrace you," Belina whispered, her gaze fixed on the withered corpse. In the dim light, Dayne couldn't be sure, but it looked as though a tear had formed in the corner of Belina's eye. "Nobody should die like this…"

Dayne felt Therin draw from the Spark, pushing threads of Air through the door's lock. Click.

Therin pulled open the iron-barred door, summoning creaks and screeches from the age-worn metal. He knelt beside the dead elf, resting his hand on their cheek. "Du vyin alura anis."

"What did you say?" Dayne asked as Therin pulled himself to his feet.

"I told her she can rest now." The elf looked back at the body that lay broken on the floor, his hand clenching into a fist. "Whoever did this will pay with their lives."

Many of the other cells were empty, but even more held the same sight: elven corpses, emaciated and broken, markings carved into their skin.

"What are those markings?" Dayne asked, looking over the body of one of the elves.

"Blood runes," Therin replied, brushing his fingers across one of the runes carved into the dead elf's chest. "Whatever they are doing here, it must be stopped."

Dayne almost leapt from his skin as a sound echoed from further up the chamber. Belina flashed him a glance, moving forward towards the sound. Therin and Dayne followed.

A cough sounded, hoarse and weak. "Anyone?"

Dayne didn't have a chance to say anything before Therin broke into a sprint towards the voice, dashing past Belina.

By the time Dayne and Belina caught up to him, Therin was kneeling within one of the cells, a sick-looking creature on the edge of death in his arms, curled up like a cat. It was an elf, small in body, its bones protruding through its skin, threatening to break the surface. Patches of brittle hair sprouted from atop the elf's head, and its eyes were bloodshot.

"Please…" the elf muttered, their voice distorted and cracked. "Please make it end…" The poor creature rocked itself back and forth in Therin's lap, its spine visible through the parchment-thin skin. "The voices… the pain… I can't…"

Dayne stood there, speechless, pain twisting in his heart. What kind of nightmare is this? Even Belina looked as though her heart was being pulled from her chest.

"Du vyin alura anis." Therin reached his hand into his coat, producing the same round-backed knife Dayne had seen him flipping across his fingers earlier. With only the slightest of hesitations, he drove the knife through the soft tissue at the side of the elf's head. As if reacting to the blade, a red glow shone across the floor where Therin knelt, seeming to come from the twisted elf he held in his arms. The glow only lasted a few moments before it flickered, eventually fading from existence.

Therin lay the elf's body on the floor with as much care as a mother swaddling a babe, then rose to his feet and slammed his fists against the cell wall. "Gods damn it!" His voice dropped from a roar to a fragile melancholy. "What kind of monsters would do this?"

To Dayne's surprise, Belina stepped into the cell, resting her hand on Therin's shoulder. "He is at peace now. Nobody can hurt him anymore."

Therin turned, nodding absently, a tear running down his cheek, pooling at his chin. He clasped his hand behind Belina's head, pulling their foreheads together. "Thank you," he whispered, before kneeling beside the child. Carefully, he turned the body onto its back.

Dayne held back a gasp at the sight of an enormous marking carved into the child's chest, smaller markings carved all around it. Again, images of Alina flashed across his mind. "I need you…" Alina's voice echoed. He shook his head, clasping his hand to his temple. Snap out of it, Dayne.

"I've only ever seen these rune markings carved by Urak Shamans." Therin ran his fingers along the ridges of torn flesh in the child's chest.

More sounds began to echo down the chamber, shifting bodies, weak voices. Dayne and Belina exchanged a glance while Therin got to his feet, stepping from the cell.

"Can it be undone?" Dayne asked, following after Therin.

Therin shook his head. "I don't believe so. I know very little of blood magic, but it has long been suspected that these rune markings feed on the Essence of the bearer, consuming them. In the case of the Urak Bloodmarked, the runes grant them immense power, twisting their bodies, draining their Essence in return. These look more like… experiments."

Therin rested his hand on the barred doors of the next cell, the light from the baldír revealing another elf huddled in the corner, her bony knees pulled to her chest. She looked like something pulled from the depths of a nightmare. Her eyes were sunken, a reddish glow seeming to pulsate behind them. Small, intricate runes glowing with a dim, red light were carved along her arms and legs, which had taken on an almost scaled appearance. The rune-marked elf snarled, baring what few teeth remained in her mouth, froth foaming at the corners of her lips.

They found many more like her in the other cells, varying runes carved into their skin in different positions and sizes. For every one they found alive, they found five more dead. And those that were alive seemed no better off. There had to have been hundreds of cells.

"Why would anyone do this?" Dayne whispered, more to himself than anyone else. He dropped onto his haunches, looking through the bars of a cell at an elf whose legs had withered and transformed into twisted leathery things more like claws than anything else. She was still alive, but then… she also wasn't. Her eyes were open so wide it looked as though someone was pulling her back her lids. Where her eyes should have been white, they glowed with a pulsating red light just as the runes on her legs. She didn't blink; she just stared, her head twitching side to side.

"Over here," Belina called, her voice devoid of its usual cocksure tone. "Uraks…"

The cell Belina stood before held two bodies, one massive, and one no bigger than a human child of one or two summers. They were Uraks for certain. But that wasn't what stood out to Dayne. They weren't emaciated and twisted. They almost looked healthy, as though this had happened only recently.

"They're dead," Therin announced after opening the cell and kneeling beside the bodies, checking for signs of life. "This one is only a newborn. The cord is still attached. Likely dead before birth."

Dayne had never thought he could hold sympathy for Uraks. But as he looked down over the mother and child, his heart twisted in on itself and his throat constricted.

"There are no runes," Therin continued, running his hand over the mother's arm, a mix of confusion and curiosity in his voice.

"Therin, what is happening here?" Dayne couldn't take his eyes from the two bodies. "We need to know what you aren't telling us."

"I know what you know," Therin replied, lifting himself to his feet. Despite the calm that radiated from the elf's voice, Dayne could see the profound sense of loss in his eyes, in the way his shoulders sagged and his breath trembled. "Efialtír looms over this place. His influence hides in every crack and crevice. His whispers are thick in the air. You can hear them, Dayne, in the back of your mind."

Without even a question, Dayne knew precisely what Therin was speaking of: that feeling probing at him, scratching, trying to break in.

"In places where blood magic is used frequently," Therin continued. "The veil between worlds can grow thin. Efialtír's touch can corrupt and warp minds. Whatever is being done here is being done in his name, and it ends tonight."

"Agreed," Dayne said.

Belina nodded, but the look of concern on her face as she stared at the two bodies caused Dayne's heart to ache. She had been unsettled ever since Elkenrim. Ever since her father.

Dayne and Belina followed Therin as he stepped from the cell and made his way down the chamber, casting his eyes into every cell they passed along the way.

So many of them…

At the end of the corridor was an enormous set of double doors. Solid oak beams reinforced with riveted bands of iron. They stretched almost to the ceiling and were wide enough to fit three wagons side by side.

"What do we do about the survivors?" Dayne asked Therin, gesturing back towards the cells.

"When this is done, we release them." The way the elf lingered on the word 'release' told Dayne that he did not mean from the cells. "That is all we can do for them now."

Swallowing hard, Dayne nodded. It had been a while since he had felt true fear. That gut twisting, hollow-chest, hands trembling kind of fear. He didn't fear death. At least, he didn't fear the pain of it. But the thought of ending up like those elves shook him to his core. When he was younger, he had often wondered what the phrase 'a fate worse than death' meant. But now he understood.

"Last chance to turn back."

Dayne and Therin both glared at Belina, who held her arms up in surrender. "Yeah, I didn't think that was going to be an option. All right, let's go. We all have to die sometime."

With one last look towards Belina, Therin leaned forward and pushed the door open.