I pause, studying the silence before I move again. The rest of the walk to the Twin Lakes is uneventful, and it worries me. Poachers never travel alone. I shouldn’t have long until his unit realizes he is missing. How many more poachers crawl these woods?
I reach the divide between Lake Glass and Lake Stone, the two bodies of water that make up the Twin Lakes of Gorhail. From above, they look like lungs, fed by two rivers meeting in the middle: Albion Creek and River Grand.
Junction Bridge is straight ahead.
My throat knots in anguish. I only need to walk to the middle and dive. I take the first step on the wooden bridge, but my legs are stiff. I draw a sharp breath. It’s been four months; I can do this.
For Beau.
The second step is heavier than the first, and my ears grow warm, a bead of sweat trickling down my temple. I can still see Dad ahead, taking a poacher’s blow in my place. I run my hand over the Imortalis, and Raiek is still as always.
“It’s been four months,” I say out loud.
Not long enough, a voice inside me whispers back.
Without being prompted, Raiku and Railesza slither to the ground, hissing between me and the water. They pause, exchange a look, then they both slither off the side of the bridge into the lake. Relief floods me. If Damas, the God of Luck and Treachery, will have it, my aspiers will come back with the bittercress.
I retrace my steps and sit on the bed of pebbles closest to the bridge. I understand now why Paltro failed me during Firstline recruitment. If I can’t even handleseeingthe bridge where my father was killed, what will I do when I come face-to-face with the poachers who killed him?
A few ripples in the water drive me to my feet. Are my aspiers back already? Finding the bittercress must have been easier than I thought.
My answer comes as my shoulders slam against the ground and a hand pulls my leg, dragging me to the water. Instinct takes over, and I kick with my free leg. The hand disappears. And that’s when I hear them.
The sharpening of the knives and the quiet snickering betray their position behind me. I scramble to my feet, my hand reaching for the dagger at my thigh.
“What have we here?” A familiar crooked voice asks. Suddenly, I’m stuck between three poachers, two in front of me, one emerging from thewater behind me. My limbs freeze, the same way they did four months ago, except this time, no one’s coming to save me.
Sylas, you must fight. My father’s voice plays in my head. That’s the last thing he said to me before they killed him.
I zero in on the poacher who spoke. A man in his thirties, his hair in a buzz cut with his poacher’s mark tattooed on the left of his skull. One line with four arrows. A mage poacher.
“Little birdie shouldn’t be flying alone in the forest,” he taunts. The others laugh, and it sends me into a blind rage. Gripping my dagger, I ready my stance. I know I cannot take all three of them, but I’m hoping to buy enough time for Raiku and Railesza to come back.
The man on the right lunges first, and I sidestep him, swiping his face with the blade. He staggers to his feet, hand on his cheek, shock flashing across his face.
“Little birdie has claws,” spits the poacher behind me.
I scoff, “I don’t need claws to deal with scum like you.”
Speaking was a big mistake, because Crooked Voice uses my distraction to throw a punch at my side, sending me flying into the second poacher. This one wastes no time, kicking me in the shins. I keel over, holding my side. The one behind me kicks me with the strength of two hammers. If Railesza doesn’t come back soon, I won’t be able to move. Raiek will keep me alive, but he doesn’t heal injuries.
Crooked Voice laughs. “Did daddy dearest take away your fight when he died?”
My rage simmers; it studies my enemies, bides its time. Crooked Voice was part of the unit who killed Dad. I have a chance to avenge my father, and I will not miss.
I reach for another dagger from my right boot and stab into the second poacher’s leg. He wails, falling backward. I seize the first dagger, flip around on my stomach, throw it straight at the third poacher. It sinks into his chest, and the man falls into the water with a splash.
Crooked Voice’s eyes widen.
“If you don’t pull him out, he’ll drown,” I say, as I pull myself up.
He bares his teeth. “He’s just some low rank.” He throws his knife in the water without looking away from me, his relic earring glowing as his blade finds its mark. Unlike us, poachers have no qualms sacrificing their underlings to fuel their magic.
He draws another knife and dives straight at me. It happens so fast Ipull him down with me in my tumble. Somewhere along the scuffle, he drops his weapon, and his hands reach for my neck, trying to pry open the Imortalis. He’s distracted. Seizing the moment, I knee him in the stomach. He recoils. I throw a punch, and it lands on his jaw. He returns two blows to my abdomen, and my vision blurs. I see the silhouette of another knife. The world darkens, and I only feel the rip across my shoulder.
Fight, Sylas. My father’s voice echoes again. But I have no fight left. The poacher drives his fist into the cut, and I scream. He pins me down with his knee, and I look around desperately. A glint of the moon on metal catches my eyes. I stretch my hand as far as I can, until my fingers feel the cold of the blade. Once I have a firm grip on the hilt, I drive the knife straight into Crooked Voice’s back. He howls. I gather whatever strength I can and kick him off.
At the same time, Railesza slithers up my arms, fangs sinking into my veins. Cool relief washes over me, and I welcome it like a traveler tasting his first drop of water after an endless trek in the Farbon Desert. My vision sharpens; my limbs regain feeling. Railesza’s venom eases my pain until it stops.