Chapter 154

  What Lies Beyond

  On the back of the Ferrax, the journey to Harriston was a blur of wind and motion. What would have taken two days on horseback—longer through rough terrain—Hralvek devoured in hours. The beast moved with an unnatural speed, bounding across ridges and cutting through frost-hardened fields like a shadow unbound by the laws of physics. Even the Reldoni Royal Family’s couriers, with their relay systems and tireless mounts, couldn’t match the raw momentum of this creature. By midday, they had already reached the wide valley that marked the transition from the Balfold into Duke Rivers’ lands.

  For Daegan, it was a miserable ride.

  There was no saddle to brace against, no familiar rhythm to fall into—only the relentless pounding of powerful limbs and the ever-present sensation that if he lost focus for even a second, he’d be sent tumbling into the dirt. So he gripped onto the beast's fur and endured it.

  When they finally stopped for a break, Daegan all but rolled off the beast, landing stiffly on the frozen ground. He let out a breath and just lay there for a moment, letting the cold seep into his back, grateful for solid earth beneath him again.

  They had stopped in the ruins of a village. Not the crumbling ruins of the Balfold—this was fresh. Smoke still clung to the charred timbers. Maybe two days old, if that. The kind of destruction that spoke of a hasty retreat, a village emptied in fear before it was ransacked and burned by the rakmen.

  Daegan forced himself to his feet, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. He was grateful for the reprieve from ferrax’s back but he didn’t want to linger here. It made him think of how he’d failed at Bluewater Wall—this was the cost. Innocents driven from their homes, their lives reduced to ashes in his wake.

  He knew that Bluewater Wall had never been his responsibility. There were a hundred reasons it had fallen, a hundred choices made by men with more power and influence than him. If anything, it was his efforts—his recruitment of Torvin and his battalion—that had maybe given these villagers the time to flee.

  Maybe.

  Or maybe someone else might have done better.

  Maybe Landryn could’ve held that wall.

  He exhaled sharply and turned to find Rowan crouched near the outskirts of the village, his hand resting lightly on Hralvek’s neck. The beast was sniffing the air.

  “Hralvek reckons the rakmen passed through here two days ago,” Rowan said, “raided the place, burned what was left. Looks like they moved northeast, towards Novarek, same as the other war parties.”

  “And the villagers?” Daegan asked.

  “No blood. No bodies. Hralvek would’ve caught the scent if they’d been slaughtered here… Maybe they all got to Harriston.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  “Aye,” Rowan responded, then cast a glance toward the valley beyond, where Harriston could be just about seen on the horizon.

  “Torvin has sent messengers to General Mattice in Nordock requesting support. Hopefully, they’ll send enough soldiers to end this.”

  Rowan didn’t look convinced. He tightened the strap on his pack. “You reckon your brother will allow that? With his war?”

  It was a fair question—one Daegan had been mulling over for days now. A fresh force of rakmen pushing south from the Balfold should have been every Duke’s concern. But for King Landryn? This was an opportunity. The more the Dukes bled defending their lands, the thinner they spread themselves, the weaker they became. The rakmen weren’t his problem—if anything, they made his conquest easier.

  “I don’t know,” Daegan exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair.

  That was the truth of it. He didn’t know. He liked to think his brother wasn’t the sort of man who’d let innocent commonfolk burn for the sake of strategy. But Landryn had been the one to send his bloodshedders to assassinate Daegan so that he could start this damn war. So maybe he never knew his brother that well at all.

  At least Landryn wouldn’t do this. Daegan looked around the destroyed village. He wouldn’t sack and burn innocent peoples homes. He’s an aspiring conqueror and tyrant, sure, but he isn’t a monster. Hopefully.

  Not as bad as the rakmen anyway. The lesser of two evils. Daegan couldn’t even guess what the rakmen even wanted. Was it just more land? From what Daegan knew the rakmen came from lands further to the north. A frozen wasteland called Jok and a desert of black sand beyond that.

  “What do you think the rakmen want?” Daegan asked Rowan. He crouched near Hralvek, absently resting a hand on the creature’s side.

  “They’ve always raided,” Rowan shrugged, “but never moved in these numbers before—not like a real army. If they keep razing everything in their path, there won’t be anything left to defend. I’ve not seen anything that implies they’ve got supply lines back to where they came from. They’re raiding for what they need. Only now seem to care about taking cities or holding ground…” Rowan trailed off.

  “And then what?” Daegan’s hand went to the dagger at his waist. Maybe now was the time. He’d been reluctant to talk to Tanlor about it. Tanlor was always against Daegan using the dagger. Despite the clear advantages it gave them in battle.

  “They keep spreading like the plague,” Rowan grimaced.

  If he’d spoken to Tanlor about what he felt when he used the dagger, Tanlor would’ve made him get rid of it. And Daegan hadn’t been ready for that. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was useful. That he wasn’t just some broken thing dragging behind men stronger and more capable than him. And a big part of that was the dagger.

  He realized he’d drawn his fingers over the hilt, gripping it without thinking. Rowan’s gaze flicked to the movement, but he didn’t tense. Didn’t look concerned at all. Which was a comfort—most men would react poorly if you reached for a weapon while standing within stabbing distance.

  “What is it?” Rowan asked, scanning their surroundings, his stance shifting slightly, though not out of fear. “You hear something?”

  “Like you and your ferrax wouldn’t hear it first?” Daegan gave a half-hearted grin. He slowly drew out the dagger.

  Daegan didn’t miss how Hralvek’s head spun toward him immediately. The great beast’s golden eyes locked onto the blade, pupils narrowing. Its lips curled back, baring its sharp fangs, a deep growl rumbling in its chest.

  Don’t worry, I’m not going to use it. You oversized mongoose.

  Daegan didn’t dare say that aloud. Hell, he didn’t even like thinking it. If Rowan could talk to the creature in his head, who was to say Hralvek couldn’t hear him? Maybe the damned thing could read minds as well as outrun any horse and fight draega better than an entire squad of soldiers.

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  “I… I think,” Daegan began. “There’s something… powerful driving the rak forces.”

  Rowan silently listened, nodding for Daegan to continue.

  “I don’t think they’re being controlled,” he admitted, rolling the dagger between his fingers. “Not the way they control their draega. But there’s… something. I think I can feel it when I use the dagger.”

  “Feel what?” Rowan’s voice remained steady.

  “It’s like… a pulse,” Daegan muttered, brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of it. “I’ve never felt what it’s like to have an edir. But it’s been described to me. Everyone gives off something. Like a heartbeat. Or… or a noise that makes no sound.” He let out a short breath. “Does that make sense?”

  Rowan nodded once. “And you feel it off me?”

  “Yes.”

  “How about now?”

  The sensation changed. The subtle pulse Daegan had been feeling off Rowan suddenly sharpened—focused. It strengthened, drawing his attention toward Rowan’s outstretched hand.

  Daegan blinked. He hadn’t even realized he was tracking it until Rowan followed his line of sight and smirked. “You’re sensing my edir,” Rowan explained. “Most runewielders can do this, though it takes years of practice. I could do this even before I soulbonded Hralvek. It’s normal.”

  Daegan frowned. “There’s more to it.” He turned his gaze northward, fingers tightening around the dagger. “There’s something else. Something distant. I can’t tell where exactly, but it’s strong. And the dagger… it’s feeding it.”

  “Feeding it what?” Rowan asked, his expression darkening.

  “It’s hard to explain… When I draw in using the dagger. I can feel it pulling in something from people. It’s taking something from them. Something… something I shouldn’t take. It feels… wrong. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

  Rowan glanced at Hralvek, then back to Daegan, his jaw tightening.

  “I think I know what it’s taking,” Rowan said after a long moment. He held out a hand. “May I?”

  Daegan hesitated, but only briefly. He trusted Rowan—wholly. He turned the dagger hilt-first and placed it in his friend’s hand.

  Rowan turned it over, studying the gemstone blade. His sharp eyes traced its edges, lingering on the part of the weapon that remained perfectly clear, like polished diamond.

  “This part here,” Rowan murmured, pointing at the translucent section but avoiding touching it. “It’s soulstone. The rest of the blade is bloodstone, with some bondstone worked into the base. I don’t know exactly what all three together are supposed to do.”

  “Soulstone?” Daegan echoed. Something about it stirred in his memory but he couldn’t place it.

  Rowan nodded, weighing the dagger in his palm. “The soul’s a complicated thing,” he said quietly. “There are… layers to it. And I think I know what this dagger takes. There’s a name for it—umbra. The Aeth call it a person’s life essence. It’s what gives power to a person’s edir and through that, their runewielding ability.”

  “How do you know all of this?” Daegan asked. He eyed Rowan carefully but not in distrust. This was part of what had changed in Rowan. He seemed to hold depths of knowledge that wasn’t there before.

  Rowan exhaled, running a hand through his hair before resting it against Hralvek’s flank. “Through him,” he said. “There are… things the creature simply knows. He’s been alive a very, very long time. And I’m not the first to share a soulbond with him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hralvek has bonded with many before me,” Rowan explained. “Aeth. Men. Even ocelix. I’m just the latest in a long line. And I think…” He hesitated, still running his hand along the creature’s fur. “I think parts of their knowledge still live in him. And through our bond, I can access that. But it’s… hazy. Like trying to remember something from a dream.”

  Daegan let out a low laugh. “And here I was thinking my thing was strange. That’s a lot take in, Rowan. You’re telling me you—what? Have their memories?”

  “Not exactly,” Rowan said. “They’re fragmented. Some clear. Some not. Last night, I dreamt I was standing on the edge of a vast ocean, a tower rising in the distance. A coastline I’ve never seen before. A tower I’ve never seen before. In a stranger’s body.”

  “You were someone else?”

  Rowan nodded. “Hralvek understands says this is normal. The ones who bonded with him before—they joined their souls to his. When they died, their umbra, their life essence, didn’t simply fade. It remained with him. And now, that same essence is connected to me.”

  “That sounds…” Daegan hesitated, searching for the right word. “Intimate.”

  Rowan scoffed. “Of course it’s intimate. We’re talking about mushing two souls together.” He cocked his head slightly, as if something had just occurred to him.

  “You alright?” Daegan asked.

  Rowan blinked, then shook his head. “Sorry… déjà vu. I’ve been having a lot of that lately. I feel like I’ve had this conversation before.”

  Daegan glanced between Rowan and Hralvek, then exhaled. “So… this is a lot more than just finding a fancy new mount to ride.”

  Rowan chuckled, but Hralvek let out a sharp, irritated snort, his fangs bared. Rowan patted his thick neck in a placating gesture.

  “Hralvek insists you show him proper respect,” Rowan said, smirking. “He is no mount. He is a Guardian of the Wood.”

  “Right… um, sorry,” Daegan muttered, giving the beast a half-hearted incline of his head.

  “There’s more here, Daegan,” Rowan shifted back, holding up the dagger. “More than we understand. You’ve seen it yourself—Ferath Vitares, your brother’s bloodshedders. They surpass what was once thought possible with runewielding. I didn’t understand it at first, but now… I can feel the power of Hralvek’s umbra. Strength built over generations. Each soulbond has added to it, making him stronger. And now, that strength is mine to draw from.” He paused, considering his words carefully. “I am… soulforged. Changed.”

  Daegan studied him, brow furrowed. “So you think Ferath secretly had some Ferrax he was bonded to?”

  “No.” Rowan’s expression darkened. “No, that was a different kind of soulforging. And Hralvek is repulsed by it.” He turned the dagger over in his hand, running his thumb over the smooth gemstone blade. “I am soulforged through a bond. I think those bloodshedders were created through something else—soulrendering.”

  “And what’s that?” Daegan’s throat tightened.

  “It’s the opposite of bonding. It rips apart the soul, siphoning the umbra and absorbing it. Instead of two becoming one, it’s theft. One stealing from another. And I think… I think that’s what your dagger is doing.”

  Daegan felt something cold coil in his stomach. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers.

  “But it’s not going into me,” Daegan murmured, the realization settling like a stone in his stomach.

  That strength. That surge of power whenever he let the dagger drink. He had felt it rush through him during the battles when he’d used it. He’d thought maybe it was simply adrenaline, but deep down he’d known it was something more. Something malicious. But it never lasted. It always faded.

  Because it was going somewhere else.

  “This is a dangerous weapon, Daegan,” Rowan said, handing the dagger back. Daegan swallowed, feeling the weight of the dagger in his hand.

  Yeah.

  That much, at least, was obvious.

  But what wasn’t obvious—what unnerved him—was the question twisting like a blade in his gut.

  Where is that power going?

  “Let’s continue this conversation later,” Rowan started, glancing up at the sky, judging the position of the sun. “Right now, we should get moving. Hralvek can carry us through the night, but I’d rather not startle the sentries on Harriston’s walls by arriving after sundown.”

  “Good point,” Daegan muttered. He didn’t want to get back on the Ferrax’s back, but he didn’t hesitate either. He tucked the dagger back into its sheath, climbed onto the beast, and braced himself as Rowan vaulted up behind him.