Time seemed to slow and yet blur together all at once as Weynon emerged from below deck and stepped onto the docks of Florissant. There were piers as far as the river bends would let him see with boats of varying size and shape docked at nearly each one. More idled on the other side of the river, and there were three tall arching bridges in sight before the city hid the rest. People noisily busied themselves unloading or loading the boats. Some fished or loitered around blocky gray warehouses, all wearing thick fur coats. The sun hung low in the southern sky with only a couple hours of daylight left.

  Weynon had to resist the urge to channel and seek out sources of emotion that any animals or other creatures might be giving off. He reminded himself that there was so little during winter it was probably pointless, even more so being in a city. The wolves wouldn’t have followed. They knew to avoid cities, especially ones that housed men like the Tyrdens.

  Donnan’s group split off, taking along everyone except Weynon, Garec, Dowyr, Elethe, and Sirona. Garec had wanted Sirona to stay at the docks, but she wouldn’t have it and insisted on coming.

  “In case anything goes wrong,” she said.

  Weynon watched the other group as they made their way towards the prison. The captain of the ship had told them where it was. After they were gone, Dowyr and Elethe were able to mind-read a few dock workers to get the basic layout of the city and shared it telepathically. It was a somewhat odd sensation to suddenly know exactly where you were in a city you had never been to before.

  The Tyrdens were staying at a small fort in the central part of the city, and the plan was just to have Dowyr and Elethe work their Emogic to get them inside.

  “Simple and straightforward is usually the best way,” Garec said.

  As they navigated through the city, it seemed to hold true. No one spared more than a glance for their little group. Weynon wasn’t sure whether it was Dowyr and Elethe’s doing or if he needed to keep pretending he was any other boy in the city with nothing worth being suspicious about. Normal boys walked like this, right?

  “Relax,” Garec muttered.

  All of them except Sirona gave a start. But Weynon was relaxed!

  Garec hadn’t even looked at them and spoke like he’d just seen them all jump out of their coats. “Light. Elethe, do you know if there are any other Druids in the city?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Elethe said nervously.

  “Weynon, calm everyone down.”

  Glancing around at passersby as though they might be able to see what he was able to do, Weynon channeled a stream of Peace to everyone, including himself, and their shoulders relaxed. Yes, now they looked like they were walking more casually. Dowyr even began to hum softly to himself. Weynon recognized the tune from the music the Parastenians played back at Leife. It was a nice reminder of what they were here to protect, especially when Weynon noticed his surroundings. The buildings here weren’t anything like the ones in Parasten. There was no color to them, no life. They were all straight lines and hard edges, as if imposing themselves upon reality. Weynon tried to hold himself higher, calm and confident in the face of their brutal imposition.

  It almost felt like that was all he had left. So much had gone wrong, so much of the plan changed, but perhaps Heaven needed it to be this way for them to succeed. It was difficult to accept. Why had they needed to go through so much? There was evil that needed to be destroyed, the path should have been so much easier.

  Suddenly he was aware of Elethe walking beside him, lightly touching his shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay,” she whispered.

  Weynon nodded. “I know. I think.”

  “You really did see someone out the window that night, didn’t you?”

  If Weynon hadn’t been channeling, his heart might have skipped a beat. It figured that she would’ve been able to tell, but even so, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” Elethe assured. “I just want you to know I’m going to keep you safe, no matter what.”

  Weynon nodded again and tried to put on a reassuring smile. It was all he could do to try and forget about it. He wondered why she had waited until now to mention that night. There was no explaining what he had seen, what he had felt; a dread that chilled him to the bone. Channeling Peace was the only thing that was able to keep him moving.

  The small fort was soon in sight. They marched right up to it and past the guards at one of its gates. Beyond was a small courtyard with what would’ve been a garden during the warmer seasons, but everything besides the ground where soldiers and servants tread had a layer of snow coating it. The main building of the fort was a plain, large gray block about three stories tall if the arrow slits were anything to go by. Garec was keeping a sharp eye on them, though Weynon saw no eyes peering down himself.

  There wasn’t any activity in the courtyard at all besides themselves. A heavy wooden doorway into the fort stood unguarded.

  “I don’t like this,” Garec said.

  “Someone was just channeling inside,” Elethe said.

  “Royce?”

  “No, it wasn’t Rage it was... I’m not sure. It was only for a moment. But I can feel anticipation from someone too.”

  “Like from all of us?” Sirona asked dryly.

  “From inside, duh.”

  “I doubt it’s anything to be concerned about,” Garec said. “There’s no way anyone knows who we are and what we’re doing here. Let’s go. You kids stay right on my heel.”

  They did so as Garec moved up to the door and drew his dagger. He pushed it open slowly, peering around inside before entering and letting the rest of them in. Inside was a small chamber with another door on the far end and two hallways stretching opposite directions a short distance into more rooms. Lightstones mounted evenly along the walls gave plenty of light. Nobody else was in sight. Despite channeling Peace, Weynon’s heart was pounding in his chest.

  Garec went to the far door and lightly put his ear to it. He motioned Elethe over. Someone inside, he signed. Can you channel at them?

  Elethe stared at the door as though she was looking through it then gave a nod. Royce, she signed. Alone. He can’t hear or see us.

  Garec gave them all a smile. “This is where it ends.”

  He opened the door and the five of them strode in. A young man sat on a plush chair in the middle of a large room with an extravagant bed, colorful and complicated rugs spaced about, and a large brick fireplace decorated with brass embossing. The young man, Royce, was facing the flameless fireplace and staring intently at a candle on the mantlepiece. Garec moved towards Royce, and the candle went out.

  “Welcome,” Royce boomed, causing Garec to stop mid-step. “Or should I say that you’re very unwelcome?”

  An explosion of stone came from behind them, sealing the door. Weynon might’ve jumped at the sound, but his channeling helped keep his and the others’ wits about them. Garec bolted forward, dagger in hand. Ten paces from Royce, an arrow came out of nowhere and struck him in the chest. He stumbled to one knee, grasping at the arrow.

  “No!” Elethe cried, rushing toward him and Sirona chasing after.

  Weynon cut his channeling, too stunned to continue. What was happening? Were they about to fail?

  “Yes, I know you’re here,” Royce continued as though nothing were happening. “However you might be concealing yourselves, this was always going to be the inevitable outcome.”

  Another arrow came, and Elethe yelped as it grazed her arm.

  “Where are they shooting from?” Sirona asked.

  “I don’t know!” Elethe said, eyes darting wildly. “I can’t sense anything. Hurry up and heal him!”

  “I have to get the arrow out first. Light, it’s wedged deep.”

  Weynon forced his legs to move. He felt Dowyr try to grab him, but he slipped away and charged at Royce.

  “You should say your final prayers,” Royce said. “Not that they’ll be heard. Just wasted breath. Ultimately, from the beginning to the end, I am the mightiest of all.”

  Two more arrows came, one just missing Weynon, the other striking Garec’s right shoulder. He gasped and dropped his dagger, letting it clatter to the floor. Sirona and Elethe were trying to help him up and pull the arrows out.

  “Channel so I can heal him too,” Elethe said.

  “I am channeling!” Sirona said.

  “I don’t see it!”

  Weynon ignored them as he scooped up the dagger and made a mad dash towards Royce. Another arrow zipped past his ear, but he didn’t hear or notice it. Fixated on his target, he jumped, stabbing at Royce’s neck. Steel met flesh, and out came a gurgling croak. Weynon looked up and saw Royce’s shocked eyes. Who was this? This was just a young man. He was the evil to be destroyed?

  “What?” Royce gasped, then collapsed forward, blood spurting from his neck.

  Weynon stepped back from the corpse, leaving the dagger embedded in its oozing resting place, and all else became a blur as he stared at it. They had finally won. He heard doors bursting open, shouts, screams. One was Dowyr’s garbled cry. Was one his own? There was blood on his hands. He shook them, but it did not come off. He wiped them on his coat, but it did not come off. They had finally won. A voice rung in his mind, pleading, but he might as well not have heard it. Turning his head, he saw another corpse with an arrow sticking out of its back. Where had Elethe and Sirona gone? They should’ve been celebrating, and yet for some reason he didn’t really want to celebrate. He wondered why. They had finally won. Something struck him on the head. He was so tired. The floor came crashing forward.

  Finally, Weynon thought, I can go to sleep.