The hills soon gave way to abandoned mines like dark mouths clawing into the stone. The wind sighed through them, heavy with rust and dust.
George pulled his horse to a stop, eyes scanning the maze with a soldier’s caution. “Too many paths. We could spend a day here and still find nothing.”
But Lily had already slipped from Merry’s saddle, crouching low to the ground. She brushed her fingers across faint scuffs in the dirt, the crushed edge of a fern, a streak of ash too clean to be natural. “They came this way,” she observed, sure of what she saw. “The mage tried to hide their tracks with a masking spell. But see here?” She pointed at a smear of boot-sole in the dust. “The edges blur like smoke. Magic disguises… not erases. They’re fresh.”
George studied her, then gave a small, approving nod. “You’ve the eyes of a hound. Lead on.”
They followed the trail deep into the brush until Lily raised a hand. She sank low, signaling silence. Ahead, voices whispered: guards watching the rear.
George gripped his sword. “No dawdling, then. The armored bastards are mine.” He launched forward with a roar, barreling into them. Their struggle crashed through the underbrush.
Lily sprinted past him, her focus fixed on the mage already breaking into a run. He didn’t look back. His palm flared with sudden light, then a white shard of magic burst backward like a spear of glass.
Lily twisted aside, but too slowly. The bolt smashed into her shoulder. White fire exploded through her arm, and she stumbled, biting down on the cry clawing at her throat. For a moment, her vision went dark, and her knees threatened to buckle. She nearly dropped her sword.
“Damn it,” she hissed, clutching the wound. Blood ran hot down her sleeve. But she didn’t stop. Her legs pounded the earth, fury burning through the pain. Each heartbeat sharpened her focus to a single thought: stop him.
The mage burst into the clearing toward the great circle etched in the dirt. Two heavy crates already sat at its center, runes flickering around them. Dropping to his knees, he dragged his hand across the soil, frantically scrawling the last of the symbols. Lines flared to life, the air shimmering with unstable energy.
“No, you don’t,” Lily growled.
She hurled her dagger.
It spun true, but too late. With a violent flash, the crates vanished, sucked into the glow before the blade could strike his palm.
“Damn you!” Lily cursed.
The dagger pinned his hand to the ground. His scream tore through the clearing, raw and guttural. Blood splattered across the runes as he wrenched the blade free with a shaking breath, stumbling back, nerves sparking through every movement. Broken fingers scrabbled toward the circle again, anything to escape.
But Lily was faster.
Her second dagger flew in a blur of steel. It sank deep into his torso, straight through the heart. His eyes went wide, the breath ripped from him in a single wet gasp. The circle flared, swallowed him in light, then collapsed, empty.
The mage was gone, but there would be no destination for him. His body would never rise again.
George crashed into the clearing just behind her, breathing hard, red smeared across his cheek. His eyes snapped to the still-glowing lines. “Shit... the crates. He got them through.”
Lily panted too. Her shoulder burned, blood soaking her sleeve.
George’s expression widened when he saw it. “You’re bleeding.”
She shook her head, muttering low. “It’s nothing, just a scratch.” Already, the cut was knitting as the minutes passed. “He won’t survive it.”
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Hidden beneath a thin net of illusory leaves lay the missing wagon and the remaining crates, stacked, their seals unbroken.
She moved forward cautiously, checking for wards. The circle’s dying light left the air unnaturally heavy.
Then, a glint.
Beside the churned soil where the mage had fallen, her first dagger, slick with blood. And next to it, a badge.
She bent to pick it up.
Royal blue, not in Sun Peninsula’s symbol.
Her chest locked for a beat. She knew which symbol it was. The mark of a guild from another kingdom. Once, she had known it well. One she wished she could forget. Her fist closed around the badge.
George approached, still scanning the treeline for threats. “Well? What did you find?”
Lily hid the badge behind her back. “The wagon’s here.”
George exhaled, grim. “Aye. At least something.” His eyes hardened. “But this was no simple theft. Whoever that bastard was, he’s no ordinary thug. I’d wager he’s working for someone powerful, maybe a syndicate, or worse.”
Lily said nothing. But in her mind, the memory surged, heavy, dark, clawing up from the depths. She turned away, silently.
Two crates were gone. Two remained. Not a victory. Not a loss.
George hauled the mage’s two surviving accomplices against a boulder, binding them with rough rope as they spat curses through swollen faces.
Lily stood apart, her fingers closing tight around the badge hidden in her palm. The metal felt ice-cold against her blood-stained skin.
Then the memory struck again: the cold marble stone floor under her knees, the flicker of torchlight on the walls, the bite of chains digging into her wrists. A figure above her with a crown, his voice echoing like iron on stone, demanding, condemning, tearing her apart word by word. And then his hand was heavy, merciless, pressing her down, torturing her with fire that burned her skin.
Lily’s breath hitched as she forced it in, forced it out, willing her body to obey. She swallowed hard and steadied her grip, hiding the tremor that threatened to give her away.
George watched her. He said nothing, only pulled from his flask with a low grunt, eyes never leaving her.
Lily crouched low to meet the eyes of the two captured men. “Who do you work for?” she demanded.
One man sneered through a split lip. “Not for the likes of you.”
Her palm shot forward, grabbing his jaw so hard his teeth clicked. Her nails dug into his skin as she forced his head back. “Why are you here? What’s your true purpose? Don’t tell me this is only for herbs. Speak!”
The man spat blood, defiance in his eyes.
Something inside Lily broke. Her vision darkened from anger, the badge feeling hot against her pocket. She hit him, once, twice, her knuckles sharp against his face until his nose broke with a wet sound. She pressed her blade to his throat, “Tell me the truth! Why Heliosa? Why now?” Her hand shook, fury spilling out unchecked. She thought this wasn’t about herbs at all. It was about her. It had always been about her.
George’s heavy hand clamped onto her shoulder. “Holloway!” His voice was sharp enough to cut through her focus. “That’s enough!”
She stiffened, blade still trembling against the prisoner’s throat. Her eyes burned, not only with anger, but with something else.
George crouched beside her. “Don’t lose yourself over scum like this.” He uncorked his flask and shoved it toward her. “Here. Take a pull. Calm the fire.”
Lily looked at him, lips pressed tight. She never drank. But tonight, the trembling in her fingers, the thundering of her heart, she snatched it and swallowed. The burn clawed down her throat, harsh and unfamiliar. She coughed once, breathless.
George gave a crooked smile. “Your father warned me. Said you were wild. Hard to tame. Now I see what he meant.”
She didn’t answer. She only lowered her blade, forcing her hands still.
The first captive, bloody and broken, coughed raggedly, bitterly. “You’ll never see those herbs again. They’re gone. Far beyond Heliosa’s walls. You’ll never recover them.”
“Where?” George asked aggressively.
“Somewhere you’ll never reach. Far from your shining coast.”
The second captive rasped through cracked lips. “He speaks truth. The crates are gone. Even if you chase them, you’ll never bring them back.”
“Where exactly?”
But both men clamped their mouths shut again, defiance settling back over them.
Silence stretched. George’s hand twitched toward his sword.
“I know where.” Lily answered, calmer now.
George’s head snapped towards her. “What?”
Lily reached into her pocket and drew out the badge, opening her palm. The royal blue gleamed in the dying light. Its emblem showed a lion’s claw catching a soul flame.
Recognition tightened George’s features, “The Golden Claw Guild…” a trace of fear crossing his face. “Gods above. That far? What business have they here?” He paced once. “This isn’t a raid. It’s something deeper indeed. If they’re reaching their claws into our lands…”
Lily’s face was unreadable. She remained silent.
George exhaled sharply, decision made. “We’ll take this to the king. No delay. This isn’t for Guildmasters alone. This is war business.”
Lily slid the badge into her pocket, still masking the tremor in her hand behind a controlled expression. She only prayed George wouldn’t notice—because that symbol wasn’t just foreign. It was something from her past.
🔮 What do you think the Golden Claw Guild wants with Heliosa?
