Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Pratus ruled this region for the king and even with a brief glance Dar could see Pratus was not seeing to his duties.
Dar reined his horse in before the closed gate, his men fanning out behind him in disciplined silence. The guards stiffened at the sight of Hunters—hands drifting toward weapons they would not dare draw.
“I am Dar of Venngraith,” he said, his voice carrying without effort. “Open the gate.”
There was a pause—long enough to be deliberate.
Then iron scraped stone.
Pratus awaited him in the courtyard, dressed in fine wool and leather trimmed with unnecessary ornament, looking much finer than the castle itself. His expression was practiced confidence, the kind worn by men who ruled small lands and mistook it for real authority.
“You arrive without summons,” Pratus said. “This is my holding.”
Dar dismounted in one smooth motion and walked with firm strides to stop in front of Pratus, a glare in his eyes. “Wrong. All of Scotara belongs to the king and you answer to him.”
Pratus’s mouth tightened, his chin went up.
“And you are subjected to King Dravic’s law,” Dar reminded sternly.
Silence followed. Pratus waved his guards back with a sharp flick of his hand, unwilling to look weak before them.
“What do you want, Hunter?” he asked.
Dar wasted no time. “A wanderer came through Ancrum. Short. Thick of build. He did not linger. Did not speak as wanderers do. Instead, he came here.”
Pratus’s eyes flickered—briefly, but enough. “A great many pass through my lands. I do not keep account of every ragged traveler.”
“You do,” Dar said, stepping closer, Pratus taking two steps back, “when they ask about old paths.”
Pratus scoffed. “Old paths interest many.”
“Not those leading toward Driochmor,” Dar countered.
Pratus straightened, drawing himself up as though height might grant him leverage. “You accuse me of harboring suspicion without proof.”
“I ask questions,” Dar replied. “Your answers determine whether suspicion grows.”
Pratus answered, reluctantly. “Aye. A man who fits your description stopped here. He stayed one night and was not seen after morning light. He asked about roads recovered by the forest by now. I thought him a fool for chasing tall tales.”
“Yet you let him remain,” Dar said, not believing his words.
“He caused no trouble.”
“Men seeking forbidden lands rarely do,” Dar said. “Until they do.”
Pratus bristled. “You overstep, Hunter.”
Dar leaned in just enough for the threat to land without spectacle. “You overestimate yourself, Chieftain Pratus. You govern fields and villages… I answer to the king. If this wanderer threatens Scotara, your silence makes you complicit.”
Pratus held his ground but sweat had begun to bead at his temple.
“As I said, he was gone before dawn,” he said tightly.
“And none saw where he headed?”
“None cared to know,” Pratus said, annoyed.
“If he returns, you will send word to Venngraith at once,” Dar said, turning to his horse, then back again at Pratus. “Not to Caerith. Not to the king—to me.”
“And if I refuse?” Pratus asked, regaining his courage.
Dar’s gaze hardened. “Then the king will hear of your refusal to obey me. Along with why you fail to maintain the king’s holdings and why a man of your standing thinks himself above concern.”
Pratus swallowed hard.
Dar turned away, already done with him. “You will find your importance lies in how useful you are—not how loudly you claim authority.”
He mounted and rode off without another word.
Behind him, Pratus stood very still, the illusion of power cracking quietly at his feet.
Brice stepped forward, placing himself squarely between Elara and the figure that had emerged from the trees.
“I asked,” he said again, his voice hard, unyielding, “what are you doing here?”
The man went to answer when a dagger suddenly struck him in the chest with a brutal sound. He gasped, shock widening his eyes, as he staggered backward and fell to the ground.
“Elara—” Brice said, turning as he drew his sword.
Too late.
Another dagger flashed from the shadows of the trees, driving straight into his chest. The force of it stole the breath from him and still he struggled to stay on his feet. Then—he fell hard, the sword slipping from his grasp as he hit the ground.
Elara went to run; two, three steps, then a pain exploded through her chest.
The impact was sudden, devastating, knocking the air from her lungs as the dagger drove deep. Her legs buckled. The forest tilted, spun, and rushed up to meet her as she fell to the ground.
Cold seeped into her bones.
Her vision blurred, darkness closing in at the edges, but before it claimed her, she forced her eyes open one last time.
A man stood over her.
She saw his face.
And then everything went black.
Dar rode out from beneath Pratus’s gate with his jaw clenched and his thoughts locked on what had not been said. Pratus was hiding something. He was sure of it. He would send word to his da to send a troop of men to Pratus and question him until they get answers while he continued to pursue the wanderer and the stranger.