Chapter 25

The group moved at dawn, leaving the village behind. Arteja led the way, her sharp eyes scanning the path ahead for signs of danger. The villagers followed in a somber line, their belongings packed onto crude carts.

"Where are we headed?" Lirael asked as she matched Arteja's pace.

"To the south," Arteja replied. "There's a fortress in the hills—an old stronghold from the last war. If we can reach it, we might find shelter or allies."

Corliss frowned, her hand tightening on her crutch. "And if it's abandoned?"

"Then we fortify it ourselves," Arteja said simply.

The journey was grueling. The group moved slowly, their progress hampered by injuries and the weight of their supplies. Arteja pushed them as hard as she dared, knowing the enemy could be tracking them.

By the second day, they reached the edge of the forest. The land ahead was open and rocky, the fortress visible in the distance like a jagged tooth against the sky.

"Almost there," Arteja said, her voice carrying a note of relief.

But their relief was short-lived. As they crossed the open ground, Arteja's sharp eyes caught movement on the horizon. A group of riders was approaching, their armor glinting in the sunlight.

"Get the villagers behind the rocks!" she ordered, her voice cutting through the air like a whip.

The group scrambled for cover as Arteja, Lirael, and Corliss prepared for a fight. Arteja planted her spear in the ground, narrowing her eyes at the approaching riders.

"Who are they?" Lirael muttered, her hand on her sword.

"We'll find out," Arteja said, stepping forward.

The riders slowed as they neared, their leader—a tall man with a scarred face—raising a hand in greeting.

"We mean you no harm," he called out, his voice carrying across the rocky plain.

Arteja didn't lower her spear. "Who are you?"

"Refugees, like you," the man replied, dismounting his horse. "We've been fighting the same enemy. If you're heading to the fortress, you'll need more than just hope to survive."

Arteja studied him for a moment before nodding. "Then prove your worth."

The man smirked, drawing his sword. "Gladly."