Two hours later, Elion sat astride a horse that was only marginally less exhausted than its rider. His mana had recovered to about forty percent—not ideal, but enough to command his shadow legion and execute a few more extractions if needed. The ribs still hurt like hell, but Lyssa's herbal poultices had reduced the sharp agony to a dull, manageable ache.
Behind him rode what remained of Silverwood's fighting force: Garrick and three other guards, all sporting fresh bandages and grim expressions. Kael rode with casual confidence, his armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. Lyssa brought up the rear on a dappled mare, her staff tied to her saddle.
The shadow legion followed at a distance, moving through the forest like liquid darkness. Elion could feel them through the bond the system had created—thirteen points of cold awareness at the edge of his consciousness. They didn't tire, didn't complain, didn't question. They simply obeyed.
It was simultaneously comforting and deeply unsettling.
"How far to Millford?" Elion asked Garrick, who knew the local terrain better than anyone.
"Three hours at this pace, my lord. We should arrive well before sunset." The old guard's face was troubled. "Dire wolves are nasty business. Smart as men, some say, and twice as vicious. If there's really a dozen of them..."
"Then we'll deal with it," Elion said with more confidence than he felt. "That's why we brought the... mercenaries."
Garrick glanced back at the forest where the shadows lurked. "Those are some mighty strange mercenaries, if you don't mind my saying."
"I don't pay them for normalcy."
"Fair enough, my lord."
They rode in silence for a while, following the dirt road that wound through Silverwood's territory. The land here was beautiful in its wildness—rolling hills covered in tall grass, stands of ancient oak and elm, streams that burbled over smooth stones. It was also poor land for farming, which explained much of the barony's poverty. The soil was thin and rocky, better suited to grazing than crops.
Lyssa rode up alongside Elion. "I've been thinking about your shadow soldiers," she said without preamble.
"And?"
"And I'm trying to decide if what you're doing is an abomination against nature or simply a new form of magic." She tilted her head, studying him. "Druids are taught to respect the cycle of life and death. What you're doing disrupts that cycle—keeps the dead from returning to the earth, traps their essence in eternal service."
"I know," Elion said quietly. "Believe me, I've thought about it."
"But?"
"But right now, I need to choose between philosophical purity and keeping people alive. And I'm choosing life." He met her eyes. "Does that make me a monster?"
"I don't know yet," Lyssa admitted. "Ask me again in a year, when I've seen what you do with this power. For now..." She made a complicated gesture with one hand that left glowing green traces in the air. "I'll reserve judgment and hope you prove worthy of such a gift."
"Or curse."
"Those are often the same thing."
They fell into companionable silence, and Elion found himself grateful for Lyssa's presence. She was perhaps the only member of their small group who could truly understand the weight of supernatural power—druids wielded magic that could reshape entire forests, call down storms, or coax life from barren soil. She knew what it meant to hold the power of life and death.
The sun was slanting toward the western horizon when Millford Village finally came into view. It was a modest settlement of perhaps fifty buildings, centered around a stone well and a small wooden temple dedicated to the agricultural goddess Ceres. Smoke rose from chimneys, and Elion could see people moving in the streets—more people than usual for this time of day. They were gathering in the village square, and even from a distance, Elion could see the fear in their movements.
As they approached, a group detached from the crowd and hurried to meet them. At their head was Elder Marcus, a weathered man in his sixties who'd been Millford's informal leader for as long as Elion could remember.
"Lord Crestfall!" Marcus's relief was palpable. "Thank the gods you've come. We feared you wouldn't arrive in time."
"Tell me what happened," Elion said, dismounting. His legs protested after three hours in the saddle, but he forced himself to stand straight.
Marcus gestured toward the forest that loomed at the village's edge. "Last night, just after moonrise, they came. Dire wolves, at least a dozen of them. They killed Old Martha, young Peter, and..." His voice broke. "And they took little Sarah. Dragged her into the forest. We tried to follow, but..."
"But dire wolves in the forest at night is suicide," Kael finished. The mercenary's expression was grim. "Smart. The beasts knew you'd have to choose between defending the village and rescuing the girl."
"She's only eight years old," Marcus said, tears streaming down his weathered face. "Her mother is beside herself."
Elion felt ice form in his stomach. An eight-year-old girl, taken by monsters. He looked toward the forest, trying to calculate odds and strategies. Dire wolves were intelligent pack hunters. If they'd taken a child alive, it was either to feed their young or to use as bait for a trap.
Either way, the girl was likely already dead.
But he couldn't say that to Marcus or to the desperate villagers watching from the square.
"We'll find her," Elion said. The words came out with more certainty than he felt. "Kael, Lyssa, Garrick—with me. The rest of you, help the villagers fortify their defenses. If the wolves come back tonight, I want this village ready."
"And your... mercenaries?" Marcus asked, glancing around nervously. "Where are they?"
"Scouting the forest perimeter," Elion lied smoothly. "They'll join us after dark. Trust me, Elder Marcus—we're prepared for this."
Marcus didn't look entirely convinced, but he nodded. "The temple has a small cellar where the children and elderly can shelter. We've been moving everyone there during the day. The militia..." He gestured at a ragged group of fifteen men and women holding farming implements and a few actual weapons. "They'll fight, but they're not soldiers."
"They don't need to be," Elion assured him. "They just need to hold until we return with Sarah."
If we can return with her, he thought but didn't say.
The four of them—Elion, Kael, Lyssa, and Garrick—left their horses with the villagers and entered the forest on foot. The moment they passed beneath the canopy, the temperature dropped noticeably. Ancient trees blocked out much of the sunlight, creating a twilight world of shadows and whispers.
Elion reached out through his mental link to the shadow legion. Follow. Stay close but hidden. On my signal, attack.
The acknowledgment came back as a cold pulse of understanding. His shadows melted into the forest, becoming one with the natural darkness.
"I can track them," Lyssa said, kneeling to examine the forest floor. Her fingers traced patterns in the dirt that Elion couldn't quite see. "The wolves left a clear trail—they wanted it to be found. This is definitely a trap."
"Then we spring it," Kael said, checking his weapons. "On our terms, with your shadows as backup."
"The girl might still be alive," Garrick added, though his tone suggested he doubted it. "We have to try."
They followed Lyssa deeper into the forest. The druid moved with confident grace, reading signs in bent twigs and disturbed leaves that were invisible to Elion. After perhaps thirty minutes of careful movement, she held up a hand.
"There," she whispered, pointing ahead.
Through the trees, Elion could see a clearing. In its center was a small, still form—Sarah, bound to a tree, her head slumped forward. Around her, barely visible in the gloom, were the dire wolves.
They were massive beasts, each the size of a large horse, with fur the color of storm clouds and eyes that glowed with unsettling intelligence. Elion counted thirteen of them, arranged in a loose circle around their bait. The pack leader—distinguished by a white scar across its muzzle—sat directly in front of the girl, watching the forest with patient malevolence.
"She's breathing," Lyssa said quietly, her eyes better suited to low light than human vision. "They kept her alive."
"Of course they did," Kael muttered. "Can't bait a trap with a corpse."
"Can you tell if she's hurt?" Elion asked.
"Bruised, terrified, but alive. They didn't harm her—yet."
The word "yet" hung heavy in the air.
Elion studied the clearing, running through scenarios. A direct assault would fail—the wolves would kill Sarah the moment they detected a threat. They needed a distraction, something to divide the pack's attention.
"I have an idea," he said. "But you're all going to think it's insane."
"Given what we've seen in the last day, I doubt anything will surprise us," Kael said.
"I'm going to walk into the clearing. Alone. The wolves won't attack immediately—they'll want to toy with me, maybe try to communicate. Dire wolves are smart enough for basic speech."
"That is insane," Garrick said flatly.
"While they're focused on me, Lyssa, you use your magic to free Sarah and get her clear. Kael and Garrick, you cover her retreat. And once she's safe..." Elion smiled without humor. "I unleash my shadows. All of them at once."
"You'll be in the middle of the killing zone," Lyssa pointed out.
"The shadows won't harm me. And I can defend myself long enough for them to tear the wolves apart."
It was a terrible plan, full of assumptions and risks. But Elion couldn't think of a better one, and they were running out of daylight.
Kael studied him for a long moment, then shrugged. "You're the boss. Try not to die—you still owe me payment."
"I'll do my best."
Elion stood, checked his sword, and took a deep breath. Through the mental link, he gave his shadows their orders: Wait for my signal. When I call, kill every wolf in the clearing. Avoid the human child.
Acknowledgment rippled back, cold and eager.
"Give me two minutes to get into position," Elion said. "Then be ready to move fast."
He walked into the clearing before fear could root him in place.