Bonner snorted, standing up and brushing non-existent dust from the knees of his robes. “Auramancy. We can try, but I doubt healing spells will be your forte, given the circumstances of your affinity. We’re better off starting smaller anyway. Much smaller. He frowned down at Declan, eyeing him carefully. “Feeling better, then?”

  “Feeling fine,” Declan said with half-a-laugh, still astounded and looking down at himself. He was pleased they’d thought to purchase spare clothes in Ranheln, because on top of being shredded, his new shirt was stained almost-black with more blood than he had realized he’d been losing. “Absolutely fine.”

  On his other side, Ester closed her eyes and exhaled in relief, sitting back and covering her heart with a hand like she meant to steady it. Clearly he’d given her a fright.

  When she’d gotten ahold of herself, she turned to her father. “What happened?” she demanded. “Ryn and I were making for the wereyn when the Vigil rose. And those weren’t ghouls, were they?”

  Bonner grimaced. “No. Wights, and as well made as any I’ve ever seen. This wasn’t liche’s work, at the very least. As for what happened…” He glanced at the dragon, who nodded.

  A bone charm, Ryn said darkly, crossing his arms. His claymore he still held, sheathed now in one hand. Declan told me. So it’s true?

  “Unfortunately. This isn’t good, Ryndean. Sehranya’s reading our moves, or at very least her necromancer is. They knew we’d want to find out where the wereyn got their steel from.”

  Ryn nodded, but Declan cut in. “Wait. Explain, before you send me back down the hole I just started to climb out of. What’s a ‘bone charm’?” He thought he’d heard them mentioned before, but with everything else he’d had to intake since the previous evening…

  “Black magic,” Bonner told him at once, and Declan was relieved there would apparently be no more hesitation when it came to giving him the truth. “Old magic. Sehranya’s own, and hers alone. There were some fools that tried to imitate the spellwork after the war, before and after Elysia banned the practice of magic, but with little success.”

  It’s a binding weave, Ryn picked up. Similar to the enhancement magics we saw used on the drey, but much more intricate, and much more dangerous. The charms were Sehranya’s more subtle means of extending her power beyond her own body, how she often managed to turn great numbers at once without actually being present on the field of battle. He met Declan’s eye steadily. Do you recall how we described her first assault on the Vigil? The way she raised the dead they’d been keeping preserved in the bluffs all at once?

  Declan nodded, hardly thinking he would ever forget the image that terrifying retelling had cursed him with.

  Bone charms. Ryn said simply. That blow and many others throughout the war she raged against her own people, then us. Done with bone charms.

  Declan would have liked to scream in frustration at this particular piece of news, if he’d thought it appropriate. It had been bad enough a necromancer had been dogging them—likely since he and Ryn had set foot upon what could only have been the drey’s feeding ground—but if the Queen now involved herself…

  “Does this change anything?” Ester asked aloud, standing up on Declan’s right and offering him a hand. He took it even as she continued. “With our plans, I mean? Aletha is still the safest place in Viridian, even if Sehranya herself has her eye on us…”

  Not for the first time, Bonner and Ryn exchanged a glance.

  Are we still being scryed, do you think?

  “Undoubtedly.” Bonner’s grunt was annoyed, and he frowned up at the sky. The cut over his eye was almost completely healed, now, leaving a wet sheet of fresh blood to stain the left side of his face with no apparent source. “It’s the only explanation.”

  Can you detect it? Can you shield us from it?

  “Not on the move, no, and I don’t think hunkering down and finding a place to hole ourselves up in is an option anymore if Sehranya is sending wights after us.” The mage frowned. “We’re being too predictable, if they were able to foresee something as minor as this. We’ll need to adjust, and certainly stay off the High Road.” He looked out over the trees they could all make out from atop the hill, the vast sprawl of Viridian’s woodlands sweeping out before them, with a dent in the distance that marked the far-off fairway. “Maybe south, back into the forest? Then east again after we’ve lost them?”

  Ryn looked dubious. How would we know if we’d lost them before it was too late? And that’s exactly what they’ll expect following this attack, if anything. I wouldn’t be surprised if their intent is to deliberately take us off the beaten path. He pointed towards the scattered bodies of the wereyn. The Queen’s made no secret of the beastmen pressing into the country, obviously, but we haven’t heard anything of the draugr. Even this place is practically in the middle of nowhere. I don’t think she’s intent on letting the world know just yet of her return, and if she can’t take us down with the wereyn…

  “She’ll try again with the wights.” Declan was the one who finished for the dragon, groaning at the idea and not-altogether pleased he was able to finally follow the thread of Ryn and Bonner’s conversations.

  “Or worse,” the mage added with a slow nod. “If one drey survived the war, there are likely more. And that’s only if Sehranya hasn’t found a means by which to start fabricating them anew. Not to mention we’ve yet to see so much as a hint of the liche…”

  “I see this is going to be a ‘glass-half-full’ sort of day,” Ester said sardonically. “What are we going to do, then? Continue along the High Road and hope we’ve out-thought one of the greatest mages the world has ever known?”

  “Probably the greatest…” Bonner added under his breath unhelpfully.

  Still, no one else spoke, the four of them looking at each other without so much as an idea to share.

  That is until Declan voiced the question he thought might have been teasing the tip of everyone suspicions.

  “Is Aletha really our best option, then?”

  Ester, Bonner, and Ryn all turned to look at him, and Declan winced under the combined intensity of their gaze.

  “What do you mean?” the half-elf asked, her face set in something between confusion and bemusement. “Mathaleus is in Aletha. I thought we agreed he needed to be told what was happening.”

  Mathaleus is hardly without his own fonts of information, even in regards to the Endless Queen, Ryn offered, not for the first time. There’s a fair chance he’s already aware of much of what we might tell him, and just hasn’t spread it to the populace in order to avoid a panic. And Declan makes a good point: if it’s likely we aren’t going to live to see the capital, it may not be in our best interest to make for it. At least not directly…

  “But then where else would we go?” Ester asked with a touch of incredulity. “You two—” she gestured between the dragon and her father, who was now tending to Ryn’s own injuries “—seem to be in agreement that we can’t ‘wait this out.’ Is there some other human city I’m not aware of that would have even a fraction of Aletha’s defensive value? One that could hold out if Sehranya comes after us in force?”

  Ryn winced as Bonner’s fingers prodded what must have been some nasty slashes along his low back. No, he said truthfully, his face slackening in relief when the mage began to mutter under his breath, and Declan knew the dragon was experiencing the same wash of magic he himself had earlier. Ebadon might have held a candle to Aletha five-hundred years ago, but it’s hardly more than a figurehead for the Viridian’s western border anymore.

  “Kanrys and Edford are well-defended,” Declan brought up tentatively, looking between the group. “South of us, along the Vyr’en. They’re the only other walled cities in the country, and the al’Dyors have always kept them well-manned in case the elves… the elves push out of…” He stopped, his new awareness of the complexities of the world he’d grown up in suddenly catching up to his words. “Hang on.” He looked at Ryn. “Why do we have a defensive line along the Vyr’en’s frontier, if the elves are as bound by the Accord of Four as the al’Dyors are?”

  “Perception, boy,” Bonner answered from behind the dragon, still working on Ryn’s back. “You think our esteemed royalty was going to let the people know of the Accord after it was so easily taken advantage of by the noble houses? No. If anything, Elysia squashed that knowledge even more thoroughly than she squashed the teaching of the arcane arts. And if the commonfolk were to think the southern borders of their nation were completely open to assault…”

  Despite the only partial explanation, Declan followed. All-in-all there were four cities built within a dozen miles of the Vyr’en, with staggered outposts between them to cover the two-thousand miles of forest border. Kanrys, Edford, Sethylles, and Dover, the latter two having been raised along the coast of Borel’s Sea to double as trading ports with each other and Vasteel, nine-hundred miles to the north. With how deep the distaste for elves could run in Viridian, Declan had no trouble imagining what sort of civil disaster might have budded if the line hadn't existed and the Vyr’en had been left—in the people’s eyes—unchecked by their monarchs.

  “It’s the same for Ebadon, then?” he asked of Ryn. The mountain fortress was a figurehead, he knew, but he suspected now it may have stood for much more once, at least in the minds of the commoners.

  The dragon nodded, breathing easier as Bonner finally came out from behind him. It is. Or would have been, when the city was built in the decades after the war. One of Elysia’s sons had it constructed, to convince the masses that the Reaches had been ‘tamed’.

  Declan grit his teeth at the idea, realizing he was starting to feel some empathy for what he imagined was Ryn’s own fury anytime the twisted history of his race was brought up and expounded upon.

  “Does that help us?” Ester asked pointedly, dragging the conversation back. “Are Kanrys or Edford an option?”

  Ryn grimaced, considering, then shook his head. I don’t see an advantage to it. We’d have to cut south, far south, giving Sehranya at least the initial opportunity she would need to try again for our lives. We might make it if she assumes we were then going to make east again, but what value would we have there? We could send a bird to the capital, but we could have done that from Ranheln, and it would have been met with equal suspicion and disbelief. I doubt such a missive would so much as make it to the steward, much less the King. We’d likely just be trapping ourselves like rats and…

  He paused, suddenly thoughtful, turning slowly to Bonner. The old man was wiping bloody fingers off on his robes, the stains he left behind vanishing into the patterns of the strange fabric almost as soon as they appeared.

  What about the Vyr’en itself? Would the Matriarch have us, do you think? If we could make it?

  The question had Declan’s stomach jumping into his throat, and he was outright relieved to see Bonner’s doubtful answering expression. He’d been told his entire adult life of—had seen with his own eyes—the contempt the er’enthyl held for mankind. He was about as keen on willingly stepping within the sacred boundaries of the wood elves’ forest as he would have been facing off another hundred wights.

  “I can’t imagine so, no…” Bonner was saying, obviously pondering the words while he stared at the ground. After a few seconds his green eyes lifted to Ryn’s. “Even Ester and I weren’t allowed to accompany Arathia when she was called back. You might be welcome—I don’t think the er’enthyl have any reason to resent the dragons—but I would be surprised if we—” he indicated himself and his daughter “—weren’t thrown into chains and Declan wasn’t killed outright the moment we crossed into their lands, even with the signet.”

  Ryn looked disgruntled, but unsurprised. Of course. I suppose I should have assumed as much, but you’d think after seven-hundred years even the ehn’Vyr’en could get over a grudge.

  “If any descendants remained of Sevus Kant’s, or Tyrel al’Behn’s or Thana Vostyk’s, would you so easily manage to set aside your resentment?”

  Ryn bristled, then relaxed. No. I suppose not. He snorted, looking around at the corpse-strewn field like he was searching for something. Then we keep making for Aletha? Perhaps swing north instead of south? It would add days, maybe weeks to the journey, but it might throw Sehranya’s ilk off our scent…

  He looked at Declan and Ester, as though seeking their input, which Declan found both alarming and encouraging.

  “Elghen is almost due north of here,” he offered quickly, pleased to be able to provide any information that might be of use. “It’s a small valley town, and it will be more winter than fall in the foothills, so we’d have to suffer a few days of the cold, but we can resupply there and buy warmer clothes. It would make the journey much easier, at the very l—”

  “You’re forgetting something, the both of you,” Ester cut in sternly, eyeing them both with a raised eye. “Even if we lose the necromancer and Sehranya’s own eye—assuming that’s already upon us—there are who-knows-how-many wereyn coming off the Tears, and a horde numbering in the tens of thousands holed up in Sevyll, which we would be marching straight towards if we followed such a route.” Her already pale features had lost what little color they had. “The Queen may not need to track us at all, if we find ourselves fighting for every mile gained towards Aletha…”

  There was another silence, Declan suspecting Ryn—like him—was seeing the pitfall in their plan.

  “Does she have us?” he asked eventually, quietly, considering each approach they could take towards the capital—even backtracking beyond Ranheln again—and seeing doom along every road. “Will it mean a fight any which way we go?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  Declan, Ester, and Ryn all turned to Bonner. The old mage had put his back to them and was looking north, staring off into the distance with a thoughtful purse of his lips.

  “When it comes to a fight, I think we can depend on that no matter what we do. Between the wereyn, the draugr, and the necromancer, I don’t foresee whatever path we choose spending itself without incident. But as for Sehranya trapping us… I don’t think that game is up just yet.”

  He looked over his shoulder at Ryn and Declan. “I think you both might be right. Aletha may be a foolhardy goal for us now, given what we know, but north—” he swept a hand before him, over the trees “—could well be the easiest direction to take.”

  “Heading where, then?” Ester demanded, definitely getting impatient at what even Declan felt was a conversation that was starting to turn in circles. “If there’s no advantage to pressing south and at least having a chance at finding some stone walls to put between us and whatever the Queen throws our way, what’s the point? I can’t imagine there’s much more along the slopes of the Mother’s Tears than this ‘Elkhen’ Declan mentioned.”

  “Elghen,” Declan corrected absently, his mind already moving ahead as he considered Bonner’s words.

  He had a nasty feeling he wasn’t going to like where the mage was going.

  “Elghen,” Ester repeated with a curt nod, like he had somehow helped prove her point. “I don’t know it, and I’d at least heard of Ranheln before we made for the city. I can’t believe it could provide us more of an advantage than taking the risk and pressing south would.”

  “You’re assuming I mean to suggest we hold firm there,” her father said with a sly smile. “That’s not the case. Even if Elghen was some grand, walled fortress Declan and Ryndean had both somehow forgotten to mention.”

  This had Ester take pause, the half-elf looking at her father in clear confusion. She hadn't yet followed the mage’s thinking, an idea that Declan was himself only just starting to form, and dreaded putting into words.

  Fortunately, Ryn beat him to it.

  Bonner. The dragon’s voice was a hiss of astonishment and doubt, like the concept he had just pieced together was simultaneously ingenious and deranged. Are you… You’re saying you want us to… to keep going?

  Finally, Ester caught on. Declan saw the understanding dawn even as the woman’s father nodded with a calm confidence that would have fit well in the countenance of a madman who believed whole-heartedly in the verity of his own delusions.

  “You suggested the Vyr’en because we can only assume the wood elves have as little love for Sehranya as mankind and the dragons do, neither of which is in a position to help us right now. There is another people, though, that we have yet to consider. One that despises the Endless Queen with every fiber of their blood and being.”

  He lifted his left hand—absent of any hint of the earlier wound that had split it, save for a little dried blood—to point north and slightly upward, like he was indicating something overtop the unseen peaks of the Tears, invisible to them in the hundred-and-some miles between themselves and the far-off mountains.

  “If our ultimate goal is to see Sehranya cast back to whatever black hell she’s somehow crawled out of, the er’endehn would have us without question. If anything, we should have thought of it before. To see to the final end of the Queen, I can only believe the dark elves would vie one and all to lend us their blades…”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The fact that no qualifying argument immediately came to mind following the mage’s words was as alarming to Declan as the idea itself. There were the wereyn that undoubtedly lurked in the woods between themselves and the Tears, but Bonner was right in that respect as well: a fight was unavoidable no matter what path they chose. There were the mountains themselves, of course—commonly considered insurmountable and unconquered for hundreds of years—but somehow the potential dangers of the snow-swept crags seemed utterly mundane after the attacks they survived from ghouls, drey, wereyn, and now wights. That, and between Ryn’s innate magic and Bonner’s power, they would have a healthy advantage no traveler in the last seven centuries had certainly enjoyed.