The healers arrived moments later, breathless, kneeling beside Elara with practiced urgency.
Dar hovered over them like a shadow that would not move.
Minutes stretched thin and merciless.
One healer finally looked up at him. Her eyes held no panic—only certainty.
“The blade struck deep,” she said quietly. “It missed the heart, but the damage is grave. We can slow the bleeding. Ease her pain.”
Dar leaned closer. “Then do it.”
“We will,” she said, hesitating, then shook her head. “I am sorry, but we cannot save her.”
The words landed heavier than any blow.
Another healer added, softer still, “This wound is beyond us. Beyond herbs. Beyond skill.”
Dar did not speak.
He reached down and brushed Elara’s hair back from her face, his hand steady despite the storm breaking loose inside him. Her breathing was shallow now, each breath a fragile thing.
“Nay,” he said.
It was not a shout nor a plea that was heard. It was a refusal.
He rose as he spoke, shrugging his cloak from his shoulders and wrapping it around Elara, firm and careful, drawing it close as though the fabric itself might hold her together.
He turned to his men after gathering her up gently in his arms, and ordered, “Send word to my da. Tell him what happened here and that he needs to send a sizeable troop of Hunters to Ancrum. Keep watch on Pratus. Track the wanderer and the stranger—both. Leave nothing unanswered.”
The men moved at once, one taking Elara gently in his arms as Dar mounted his horse.
“Easy,” Dar said.
The man lifted her carefully and placed her into Dar’s arms. He secured her against his chest, his cloak wrapped tight around her, shielding her from the chilled air, from the blood, from the world.
One of the Hunters hesitated, then asked, “And you, Dar? Where do you go?”
Dar did not hesitate. “To save my wife… to Driochmor.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Driochmor
The Forbidden Land
* * *
Dar rode without pause, Elara cradled against him, her weight light in his arms and unbearably heavy in his heart. That he could lose her was not an option he was willing to accept. So, he defied the king’s orders and crossed the boundary into the forbidden land, a place where sorcery ruled, in hopes his wife could be saved.
The forest closed around them as if drawing a breath. Branches knit overhead, shutting out the last threads of daylight. The air grew damp and chilly, carrying the deep scent of rich earth. This was no longer a road meant for men, and he had no idea what he might come across as he traveled deeper along it.
He tightened his hold on her.
You belong here, he thought—not as a plea, but a truth he had come to know. Elara had always belonged to the forest. She listened to it. Understood it. Where others saw wild growth, she saw purpose. Where men claimed dominion, she showed respect.
If there was mercy in this world, it would be found here.
“Help her,” he said aloud, his voice low, roughened by fear. “You know her. She has walked among you with care. She has never taken without giving.”