Page 23 of In Darkness Forged

His lank, disgusting hair, filled with the dirt and smells of the prison.

He was not yet free, Tal reminded himself grimly. He was still bound, this time to a deadly task that had likely already claimed too many lives—one that might yet claim his own life in the end.

Wild aranthas were as lethal as their domesticated counterparts were harmless. They built their nests wherever darkness and food were plentiful, which meant caves, cliffs, or the oldest, thickest parts of the forest. A queen, however, would need space for a large colony, hidden from predators, which meant…

The Darkspring Caves. Lying east and north, with multiple entrances and a vast maze of tunnels, the caves had long represented both a haven and a source of danger. Many night elves had been lost to its depths over the centuries, while many others had made it their home, particularly when humans had first come to Abreia.

But to make the journey to the caves, Tal would first have to hope that Cuan had not abandoned him. Vanadar had said they were unable to catch him, which meant they’d tried. Hopefully, he was still out here. Still waiting.

Slinging the pack and traveling kit over his shoulders, Tal glanced up at the moon and thought back to the rhythms of life in the Marlord’s prison. It had been only a few hours since the midnight meal, so there should be three to four hours of darkness remaining. Enough to put a significant distance between himself and the settlement. When he reached deep enough woods, he could try calling for Cuan, then sleep for the day and resume his journey.

As he broke into a run, he heard a cry of “Stop!” from behind him but did not slacken his pace. The human could thank him later. She had no idea what she faced, so leaving her behind now was probably the kindest thing he could do for her.

But before he’d taken too many strides, he knew the journey would not be as simple as he’d hoped. Despite the effort he’d dedicated to maintaining his fitness, there was only so much he could do in the narrow confines of a prison cell. After only an hour of steady running, Tal was forced to drop to a walk, while sweat drenched his chest and his breath came faster than it should.

For the moment, he would simply have to keep to the road to make better time, and ignore the siren call of the ravenleaf trees. The darkness beneath their branches beckoned, begging him to lose himself in the shadows. Seducing him with visions of a quiet pool where he could wash away the stench of his captivity.

But for now, he simply breathed the night air and let the tension seep from his bones and sinew. Let himself revel in the dim glow of the emberwood trees that lit from within as he passed.

There were no emberwoods in Sion Dairach. No beds of shimmering mushrooms, no sinuous bloodwing vines. And while that land had given him all that he needed to survive to adulthood, it would never be home. Only his grandmother had ever accepted him completely—his grandmother, and Cuan…

A far-off howl echoed through the night, and Tal stiffened as he stopped to listen.

Could it be?

Throwing his head back, he cried out in kind, letting his longing and pain echo into the darkness. If only he could join that chorus in truth. If only that part of his ancestral magic had not been denied him.

But then, he would never have met Cuan, and his life would be poorer for the lack.

Deliberately slowing his pace, Tal waited and hoped. Imagined Cuan’s long, liquid stride eating up the miles between them.

In truth, his friend might not be in Dunmaren at all. When Tal did not return, he may have given up and returned to Sion Dairach, to his own kind and his own homeland. Tal would not blame him.

He walked on as the moon sank, hope growing gradually dimmer until he paused for a moment to listen to the forest.

It had gone suspiciously silent. No nightbirds, no quiet rustling from opalescent glowmice or the nearly invisible fisher cats—only an ominous, lurking presence not far off the road ahead. It could be a night elf scout in hunting form, or a storm cat hoping for a quick meal.

But it wasn’t.

With barely a sound to betray his passage, an impossibly large wolf burst out of the brush only a few strides away. Before Tal could dodge to the side, he was knocked violently to the ground. A moment later, he found himself staring up into huge yellow eyes, cringing away as drool trailed from a mouth full of fangs that could have ripped his head off without a second thought.

Any other night elf might have fainted in terror. Even their wolf hunting forms were nowhere near that large.

But Tal had no time for anything but a sigh of relief before his face was being quite thoroughly washed by a slobbering pink tongue that stank of fish.

“Cuan!”

The dreadwolf whined low and deep in his throat as he allowed Tal to scramble to his feet and wrap both arms around his neck in a fierce embrace. Gods, how he’d missed this. Burying his face in thick, black fur, Tal took a moment to simply lean on Cuan’s horse-sized bulk and feel… joy. Relief. And a renewed sense of determination.

Suddenly, he felt as if he might just have a chance. Not much of one, but better than none at all. Riding would be difficult with no harness, but he could manage.

Whining again, Cuan nudged him with his cold nose and cocked his head in the direction of the settlement.

Dreadwolves were far more intelligent than horses and had been used as mounts by the elves of Sion Dairach for centuries. They were fierce warriors in their own right and made deeply loyal companions for those who took the time to befriend them.

So when Cuan tried to warn him of something, Tal knew better than to ignore it.

“What is it?” he murmured.