The skiff cut through the river's surface, its wake shimmering in the moonlight as we drifted farther from Rivenloch. The sound of the town—of boots pounding cobblestones, of shouts and curses—faded into the distance until there was nothing left but the steady rhythm of oars in water and the whisper of the night wind.
For a while, none of us spoke.
I kept rowing, my shoulders burning with each pull, unwilling to glance back at the town we'd just fled. Arya crouched low at the bow, her hood up, her eyes darting from bank to bank as if expecting a shadow to leap out of the reeds and drag us under.
The informant sat across from me, his face pale and pinched, his fingers white-knuckled on the edge of the skiff. His gaze stayed fixed on the black water rushing beneath us, as though it might offer him an escape he was too afraid to take.
Soren was the first to break the silence.
"Well," he drawled, leaning back against the side of the skiff with his usual irreverence, "that was about as subtle as a hammer through glass."
Arya shot him a look, but didn't answer.
I bit down a retort of my own and kept my eyes on the river.
"Where does this lead?" I asked finally, my voice low.
"East," Arya said. "If we follow the current, it'll carry us into the marshlands by dawn. From there… we disappear."
I nodded, but didn't feel reassured.
Because even if we disappeared, I knew whoever Sigma had sent after us wouldn't stop.
Not now.
---
An hour later, the banks began to change.
The sharp hills and farmland surrounding Rivenloch gave way to thick stands of willow and black alder, their tangled roots jutting into the river like gnarled claws. The moon disappeared behind a bank of clouds, and the world dimmed to gray and black, shadows blending into one another.
A thin mist rose from the water, clinging to our clothes and skin with damp fingers.
It was Arya who signaled for me to stop.
"There," she whispered, pointing to a break in the reeds ahead.
I angled the skiff toward it, the hull gliding into the narrow channel. Branches scraped against our shoulders as we ducked low, and soon the roar of the river behind us faded into still silence.
We drifted into a hidden pool surrounded by tall marsh grasses. Above us, a canopy of low-hanging branches hid even the faintest light of the stars.
Safe. For now.
---
We secured the skiff and climbed onto a strip of soggy ground.
Arya immediately began inspecting the perimeter, her boots barely making a sound in the muck. Soren leaned casually against a tree, though his eyes stayed sharp, scanning the darkness.
I turned to the informant.
He was shivering now, his arms wrapped around himself as he leaned against the trunk of a dead willow.
"Sit," I told him, though he already was.
He glanced up at me then, his eyes darting nervously from me to Arya and back again.
"You don't understand," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "You think you've won something by dragging me out of Rivenloch? You think the guild can protect me?"
His laugh was bitter and short.
"Sigma's reach doesn't stop at the edge of a town. Doesn't stop at the edge of a continent. If he wants me dead, I'm already dead."
I crouched in front of him, my blade still in hand.
"You've managed to stay alive this long," I said evenly. "That means you're either useful or lucky. Which is it?"
His mouth opened like he was about to argue, but he stopped himself. His gaze dropped to the mud at his feet.
Finally, he spoke.
"Both," he said.
Arya returned then, stepping into the faint light cast by the small lantern I'd lit.
"We're clear for now," she reported. "But that won't last. He's right—Sigma won't let him go that easily."
She crouched next to me, her eyes locking on the informant.
"Tell us what you know," she ordered.
For a long moment, he didn't answer.
Then he sighed.
"They call him the Blackblade," he began quietly. "Most of the men who serve under him don't even know his face. To them, he's a myth. A story to frighten children."
His gaze lifted, and I saw the faintest glint of fear in his eyes.
"But he's real. I've seen him. Once. Long ago."
I exchanged a glance with Arya but said nothing, letting him talk.
"He has… agents. Everywhere. Merchants, soldiers, even guild members. Most of them don't even realize who they're working for. They just take gold and ask no questions. The network is vast. Bigger than you can imagine. And at its heart is him. Everything moves at his word."
His hands curled into fists.
"I thought I could play both sides. Feed a little information here, a little there. But the deeper I got, the more I realized there was no way out."
Soren snorted.
"There's always a way out," he said dryly. "You just have to be willing to fight for it."
The informant didn't respond.
---
We kept watch through the night, taking turns while the others tried to catch a few hours of sleep.
When it was my turn, I sat perched on a low branch just beyond the hidden pool, my sword resting across my knees as I listened to the sounds of the marsh.
The night was quiet. Too quiet.
And though no one came, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched.
---
Dawn broke gray and cold, the mist still hanging thick over the water.
We ate a meager breakfast of dry bread and jerky before packing up. The informant moved slower than the rest of us, his eyes sunken, his shoulders hunched.
It wasn't long before Arya pulled me aside as Soren walked ahead with him.
"He's not telling us everything," she said under her breath.
I glanced at her.
"You can tell?"
She nodded.
"He's holding something back. Something big. He's scared, yes—but not just of Sigma. He's scared of what happens if we find out whatever it is he's hiding."
I looked at the man ahead of us, his figure a dark shape in the fog.
"We'll find out," I said.
Arya gave me a faint, grim smile.
"Yes," she agreed. "We will."
---
By midday, we reached the edge of the marshlands and found a quiet village where we could stop to rest and resupply.
The villagers barely looked at us as we passed through—travelers were common enough here, though I could feel their eyes on our weapons, their quiet murmurs following us down the street.
We secured a pair of rooms at a small inn and locked the informant in one of them while Arya and I sat in the other, discussing what to do next.
Soren had gone to the tavern to listen for rumors and keep an ear to the ground.
"I don't trust him," Arya said bluntly.
"I don't either," I admitted.
She tapped her dagger idly against the table, her eyes distant.
"When we get back to Ashvale, Elara will want answers," she said. "And if he can't—or won't—give them…"
Her voice trailed off, but I understood.
The guild had little use for liars or cowards.
And even less use for traitors.
---
Later that night, after Arya and I retired to our separate rooms, I lay awake in bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling.
The sound of wind rattling the shutters was the only thing that broke the silence.
Until I heard it.
A faint creak of wood.
The whisper of footsteps outside my door.
I rolled out of bed silently, my blade already in hand.
The door opened a crack.
And the informant slipped inside, his eyes wide, his breath shallow.
"We have to go," he hissed. "Now. They're here. They found me."
My blood turned to ice.
I didn't even have time to speak before the window behind him shattered inward, and a black-cloaked figure came crashing through in a storm of glass and steel.
The last thing I heard before steel met steel was the informant's terrified scream:
"Blackblade sends his regards."