Page 36 of In Darkness Forged
Something did break then, and she heard a quiet hitch in his breathing as he fought to regain control. His sister’s death had clearly ravaged him, and even now, he could not escape the memories.
“There was no sign of the coward who had lured her away from safety,” he continued finally, “and when I reached the settlement, I was not allowed to see him. The Marlord would acknowledge no responsibility for her death, so when I attempted to challenge Paendreth as tradition allows, I was imprisoned for making such an accusation without proof. I was only released because they have nothing to lose—should I die, they will only breathe a sigh of relief that they need not consider whether my demands are just.”
After an initial rush of pain and sympathy, all Aislin could think at that moment was how strange—how ridiculously unlikely that she should feel more kinship with this angry, impossibly powerful night elf than with any of her own people.
“Then we are here for the same reason,” she blurted out. “To prove that our lives are worth more than our deaths. In the end, we are not so different.”
Not that he would agree with her. The very idea was likely to offend him deeply. But the realization breathed life into the fragile remnants of her hope. Perhaps theycouldfind a way to work together. Perhaps he would eventually understand her enough to see why shemustdo this. Why she would never choose to quit. Never walk away.
His reply was not encouraging.
“We could not possibly be more different,” he responded harshly. “You are a moth, attempting to prove yourself to the flame. Perhaps you are in the right, but the flame does not care. It will consume you without thought, and your family will still die.”
His disdain battered her determined optimism and left a surge of empty humiliation in its wake. Perhaps it was not so much that he didn’t understand her as that hecouldn’t. He’d experienced injustice, yes, and great loss, but even in the midst of his losses, he had never been truly powerless. Now that he was free, he had an immense well of magic and skill to rely on. A terrifying wolf companion who would never leave him.
And revenge was a far colder motivation than fear.
So it was not with any hope of an answer that she whispered one final question.
“Perhaps I am no better than a moth, but is it not better to risk the flame than remain in darkness forever?”
His back seemed to stiffen at her words, but perhaps that was only a coincidence. As her whisper died away into silence, they finally emerged from the trees onto a narrow ribbon of road that gleamed faintly in the moonlight. The night elf took a deep breath of the cool night air as the wolf turned his head towards the east—towards their ultimate goal, or their deaths.
“Go,” the night elf murmured, and the wolf leaped ahead into a joyous, ground-devouring run.
It was nothing like riding a horse. Nothing like anything Aislin had ever experienced. Both easier and impossibly more difficult, it was at once exhilarating and utterly terrifying to fly through the night at such speeds. With no saddle beneath her, she could feel the wolf’s muscles bunch and lengthen with every stride. Could feel the tension in the night elf who bent lower over the wolf’s neck and clung to his back as if they were not two creatures but one.
Aislin began to feel like something of an interloper—a clinging nuisance who ruined what might have been a moment of pure poetry. She was the off-key note in an otherwise perfect harmony between the night, the forest, and these two who moved through the darkness, both a part of it and yet somehow distinct.
But she was alive and on her way to where she needed to go. The road was still open, and she would take it. Even if no one else thought she should be here.
* * *
It did not take long for wonder to be replaced by pain. Aislin was unaccustomed to riding for long hours, the wound in her arm was jostled with each step, and even her face had begun to ache despite the liquid smoothness of the wolf’s stride. Not to mention, it was night, and even though she’d slept all day, the darkness continually sang to her of sleep.
But even after what felt like hours of travel, her companions showed no signs of tiring. They occasionally slowed to a walk or a jog, but soon returned to that ground-devouring lope that brought them ever closer to the mountains looming ominously up ahead.
Two nights’ travel, Vanadar had said, which even on her stumpy human legs was not so very far. Perhaps he had actually meant at night elves’ speed, but even so, he could not have predicted Cuan. They had to be drawing close to their destination.
“How far to the caves?” she asked, in a voice that came out small and wobbly and pathetic sounding.
The wolf slowed, almost as if he’d heard the plea behind her query.
“The entrance is not far,” the night elf said brusquely. “We’ll make camp soon and enter the cave at next nightfall.”
Aislin was exhausted enough to agree with whatever he said. “Fine,” she murmured, her head falling forward until her forehead rested on the night elf’s back. “Wake me up when we stop.”
Miraculously, she almost fell asleep then, and drifted through the very edge of dreams as the wolf moved on. She dreamed that the moon sank and the night was suddenly filled with color. Glowing purple lichen, vines that dripped with deep red flowers, golden sparks that swirled together beneath the trees…
And she dreamed that where her arms were wrapped loosely around the waist of a grimly gorgeous night elf, a strong, warm hand held her wrists in a gentle grip. Holding her close. Keeping her safe.
It was a lovely dream. One that was suddenly shattered when Aislin found herself flying through the air to land on her knees in the dirt.
Her eyes jerked open.
She knelt in a forest clearing, Cuan behind her, ears flattened to his skull and fangs bared.
A hint of dawn lightened the sky, revealing the taut, angry lines of her companion’s face where he stood in front of her, sword in hand, facing the trees with his pack flung to the ground at his feet.