Rhiannon eased back on the reins, slowing Ashwind down to a trot. The horse snorted, her flanks shuddering from the long gallop. Her hooves skidded across the damp rocks as the human guided her away from the riverbank and toward the treeline.

The pouch at her side rustled, and Veyran stuck his head out, hair wild and pale in the moonlight.

"We're stopping? But we were covering so much ground," the Deepshy protested.

"The horse isn't a clockwork golem. She's done for now," Rhiannon insisted.

Ashwind let out a whinny in agreement, steam rising from her sweat-slicked hide. Rhiannon dismounted in a practiced slide, but her knees nearly buckled as her boots hit the uneven terrain hard. She winced, only now noticing how much her legs were shaking.

"Besides," she added, "I need time to think and rest. So do you."

She unhooked the saddlebag and eased it to the ground, pulling out the rolled tarp and travel pack. She chose a spot at the riverbend, shielded on three sides by thick brambles and an overhanging river boulder. Not ideal, but better than being exposed on the muddy bank.

Veyran climbed out of the pouch with a grunt and glided down her thigh like a pole. He landed with a soft thump on the tarp edge, fastidiously brushing dust off his sleeves.

"This is your idea of keeping a low profile?" he muttered, eyeing the struggling fire she barely coaxed to life with damp twigs.

"We're improvising," she snapped. "You're welcome to pitch your own camp. At least six inches away from mine."

He gave her a tired look and sat down cross-legged, folding his arms.

"Must be hard, not being the most powerful person around anymore. Almost sounds like you need my help."

Rhiannon let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh.

"I need a lot of things. A warm bed. A hot bath. Stimulating company."

Veyran watched her in profile—tired but alert, sharp edges dulled by exhaustion. He realized how much she had changed since the day they made their deal.

But that didn't mean he believed he could trust her.

Just above the mouth of the camp, the Shy's lookout post had a clear view of the bend in the river.

Alvon gently adjusted the scope—a hollowed beetle abdomen with a droplet of clean water held at one end by surface tension. The makeshift lens offered a blurry but usable view for about half a mile, resolving just enough to track movement,

"She's settling in," he told Callan, who was shifting between squinting and yawning beside him.

Callan crawled forward on his elbows to grab the scope.

"No sign of any reinforcements following her?"

Alvon shook his head.

"Maybe she's lost. Or bait," Callan speculated.

The rider had come to a stop nearly an hour after Alvon had first spotted her galloping upriver on horseback. She hadn't ventured far from the bank or done anything to conceal her path.

"Her setup looks pretty sloppy," Callan added.

A rustle behind them brought Sunna up to the outcropping. She knelt beside the two other Sunbraves without a word, gaze following their line of sight.

"She still hasn't done much," Callan said, gesturing to the human. "Just keeps rebuilding that miserable fire whenever it goes out. Twice now."

"Obviously isn't a guard or a scout," Sunna muttered, borrowing the scope to look at their target. "She seems on edge. Anticipating an attack? But she hasn't readied any defenses, prepped any weapons."

The human's fire died out again.

Then came a small burst of violet light next to the kindling—almost imperceptible, but unmistakable. Arc-spark.

"There!" Alvon whispered.

"We all saw that?" Sunna confirmed.

Alvon nodded. "Someone's using Shy magic at that camp. Maybe from our stolen shard gear?"

"Could it be Veyran?" Callan suggested.

Alvon exhaled. "He made a deal with the human overseer. But we don't know the terms. Who knows what's become of him," Alvon said carefully.

"He wouldn't be helping the humans to find us…" Callan insisted, but didn't sound too sure.

"Maybe not willingly," Alvon said. "Or..."

Sunna chimed in. "Garret did say the horse sounded familiar. Could've come from Greyhold's stables."

"We could wake him up now and have him look again," Callan offered, glancing back. "He could confirm who she is."

"It's too dark for him to see much," Alvon said. "And we're too exposed. A big bumbling human up here might draw her eye."

"You're right." Callan sighed, nodding. "Niva's gonna kill me if she finds out I agreed to sneak up to the human… Well, if the human doesn't kill us first."

The fire crackled, its heat a comfort in the cooling forest air. Rhiannon sat with her boots off, one leg stretched out, the other drawn up to brace her elbow. Her coat lay folded beneath her on the tarp.

Veyran sat perched on the saddlebag, legs crossed, arms resting on his knees. The shard lay beside him, still showing a faint afterglow from being used.

"I cannot believe," she muttered, poking at the coals with a stick, "that I am trudging through the woods like… some hard-up courier girl."

"We'll have to cut inland," Veyran replied. "Or get on the river."

"I don't like either option," she scowled into the fire.

"Tired already? Scared?" he asked.

"I am not built to wander through the wilderness. You're the one traveling in cushioned comfort!" She poked Veyran's velvet-lined conveyance.

"Hey! You should try getting jostled around, earning bruises with every turn and jump!"

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"If we stop riding Ashwind, you won't be the one who'll end up walking the rest of the way, lugging you and that lode around," she shot back, running her fingers through her matted curls. "I'm not looking forward to growing blisters on my feet."

"I'd trade if I could," he lied.

"No, you wouldn't," she retorted. "You're enjoying this!"

"I'm barely amused," he corrected.

Rhiannon let loose a genuine chuckle, her first moment of levity since their escape. but it faded quickly. She sighed, leaning forward to rub one calf.

"We'll need to find another way upriver," she said. "Ashwind's not going to keep up once the trail turns. "Do you even have any idea what we should look out for? Where we should start looking?"

"I have… a few hunches," Veyran said, carefully. "There were records of old transport routes… Carved out when the Shy still crossed to trade—or flee."

Rhiannon poked the fire again, watching the embers jump.

"So, while we were building roads and bridges above, you lot were digging little burrows and backdoors under our feet?"

"I only learned about them from my readings," he replied. "Most of our records from those times seem to have been lost, forgotten, or weren't written for clarity."

"What about the others?" she asked. "The escaped Shy. You think they're up there somewhere?"

"That's the hope," he said. "The Veilwoods are vast. They've had weeks. If they're hiding, they've had time to dig in. I don't know exactly where they'd go. But if they're out here too... I'd rather find them before someone else does."

"Will they even trust you?" she asked.

"I'm not sure I would," he admitted.

"They definitely won't trust me."

"They shouldn't," Veyran agreed.

She looked back at him sharply, one brow rising.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"They'll still hold a grudge about Greyhold and the workshop. Some of them more than others."

"And you?"

"They may question my motives. I… really didn't make any close friends among the Sunshy," he explained. "Mostly kept to myself."

"That I can believe," she dryly remarked.

"Anyway, I'm not expecting a welcome parade," he mused.

"I'd rather be greeted by hugs and a marching band than a flurry of tiny arrows," Rhiannon rummaged through her gear. "Damn, I really should have grabbed a leather vest at least."

Veyran stood and paced toward the edge of the firelight, scanning the dark between trees. "They need to know what's coming," he said.

"The ones loyal to Ruth…" Rhiannon added. "They won't stop now until they bury us. All of us. We'll need to warn your not-quite-friends somehow."

"If they'll even listen," Veyran said.

"Then let's make sure we don't look like a threat," she stared into her hands. "Although it might be a bit too late for that."

The three Shy retreated slowly from the bush they were hiding behind, their boots seeking out patches of moss to step softly on.

They kept up their silence until the firelight was obscured behind the thickets. Only then did Callan whisper, shaking his head. "I don't like it. Not the way they talked to each other. Like they were… a couple."

"He didn't seem restrained," Alvon replied. "Or afraid. At all."

"She could still be manipulating him," Callan argued.

"If so, sounded like he's just as good at manipulating her back," Sunna countered.

"Could be," Alvon said, but remained unconvinced.

They stopped where they left the improvised raft of tied-up branches that they drifted down on, the river slowing at this point in the bend where it was thick with reeds.

"You two head back," Alvon insisted. "I'll continue to keep watch."

Callan blinked. "Alone?"

"We shouldn't leave them unobserved for too long. We can't take the raft back upstream. So, by the time you get back and send out a new sentry, something might have already happened," he reasoned. "Don't worry, I'll stay out of sight. If they move, I'll try to follow. But I don't think they'll go far."

Callan hesitated. "What if… If they—"

"I'll signal," Alvon cut him off. "Jerrick left me a speck of arclith, just enough to ping Mara."

"And if they spot you?" Sunna pressed.

Alvon scoffed. "Those two? They didn't spot the three of us. And Callan isn't exactly the stealthiest Sunshy."

"No fair!" Callan scoffed, turning away and heading towards the undergrowth.

"Aw… I'm sure Alvon didn't mean to say that, big guy!" Sunna punched the burly Sunbrave in the shoulder before pulling on his arm. "Come on, let's get you back to Niva..."

As the two began the trek up toward the cave camp, Sunna looked back once to wink at Alvon as he watched them leave.

Now alone, Alvon slowly released a breath and returned to his vantage point on the ridgeline. From his shadowed perch, he had a clear view of the odd couple below.

The fire still smoldered, warming the human stretched out on her blanket while Veyran puttered around their packs.

Crouching into a patch of thick moss, Alvon watched and wondered. What in the shards are you up to, Deepshy?

Farther down the river, another fire burned. The combined Greyhold group had set up a rough camp in the middle of a grove of stubby pines.

Griff sat at a distance from the other on a half-rotten stump, sharpening a hunting knife with slow, deliberate strokes.

Darren stood beside the fire, rubbing his arms for warmth. "How hard should it be to keep going in one direction?"

Roddick threw a stick into the flames. "Not exactly a trailblazing team, are we?"

A third guard, named Tomas, spoke from where he leaned against a boulder, chewing on some jerky.

"You think maybe they fell into the river? That water's really strong. Could've swept 'em downstream."

No one answered. The only sound was the faint scrape-scrape of Griff's whetstone against steel.

Tomas shifted, uncomfortable with the silence. "Griff?"

The whetstone stilled. Then Griff spoke—calmly, but with a rough edge.

"We keep going."

Darren frowned. "You sure? We could tell Ruth they all got swept away by the river."

"If you go back empty-handed, Ruth will just kick you back out like she did to me!" Griff snarled. "And I'd rather not keep on living in the woods with all of you stinking it up."

Roddick stammered. "B-but, but… I only signed up to be a guard! Not to stomp around the woods the rest of my life!"

Griff tested the knife's edge against his thumb as he spoke. "The sooner we deal with our quarry, the sooner you'll be back in your bunks, swigging mead in the mess. But first, we let the overseer and her little pet look for his friends. That'll save us the trouble of sniffing them out ourselves. She'll be much easier to track than those tinies."

"What do we do when we find them?" Tomas asked.

Griff slowly stretched as he stood. His eyes were hollow in the flickering light, his knuckles white as he tightened his grip on the knife handle.

"Whoever fights back…" he drew the sharpened blade across the air in a deliberate motion, leaving an invisible line where a throat would be. "The rest, we take back. Maybe have some fun with them first. Didn't Ruth give you permission to… improvise?"

Roddick swallowed hard. "The Shy won't be easy to find, especially if they've gone to ground."

Griff's expression hardened. "Then we'll burn it all to the ground." He gestured toward their packs. "Pour some lamp oil on a pile of dried leaves, light a match... and they'll all come running to the river."

He stared into the flames with unblinking intensity. In his mind's eye, he could already see the forest ablaze, and at the center of the inferno, his prey scurrying in panic, nowhere left to hide.

Veyran glanced up from where he was fiddling with one of the drilling devices Rhiannon had managed to grab in their escape.

He tilted his head and turned toward the shadows at the edge of their camp. His hand moved slowly to the shard beside him.

Rhiannon caught the sudden tension in his shoulders, the shift in his expression.

"What is it?" she whispered.

Veyran rose to his feet. "Someone's here."

Before she could reach for anything, a voice came from the shadows.

"We need to talk."

Alvon stepped into the firelight, his spear held out in front of him. As the flames illuminated his face, he gave Veyran a look that could cut glass.

Rhiannon sat up, her hand moving to the bag where she kept her shard and dagger. Then she realized it was a lone Shy, armed with a weapon smaller than her middle finger.

Alvon's gaze flicked from Veyran to the woman and back again. "So, it's true. You're still alive. And consorting with… this human."

"She's not like the others," Veyran explained.

"Have you forgotten what they did to Jerrik? To all of us!?"

The words landed like stones.

Rhiannon flinched—the small movement strong enough for Veyran to feel it from where he stood.

"No, I haven't forgotten," Veyran said quietly. "And I'm sorry. But that's why we're here."

Alvon's face didn't change.

"Are you here willingly?"

"Yes."

"Is she?"

"Yes, you do know who she is, right?" Veyran nodded. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough." Alvon crossed his arms.

Rhiannon didn't like being spoken about like she wasn't there.

"You're alone. And I don't think you've come to fight," she said calmly, leaning closer but trying not to loom over the Shy. "So, I'd rather we skip the drama and get to the point."

Alvon took a breath, steadying himself.

"I came to make sure that what I've witnessed is real. To hear from you directly. Before I decide what to tell the others."

"They're close, then?" Veyran asked.

Alvon didn't respond, but his silence was answer enough.

"Then they need to know what's coming. Griff's alive and prowling around the woods. Ruth wants her gone so she can take over everything," Veyran explained, pointing to Rhiannon. "We barely escaped from the guards who betrayed her. Now… they're hunting all of us."

That gave Alvon pause.

"How do I know you're not lying, or doing all this just to please her?"

Veyran stepped forward, enough to be closer to the firelight.

"If she meant to control me, would I be standing here now, unbound, with a shard at my feet?"

"I wouldn't put it past you. You've always been too clever for the rest of us," Alvon said bitterly. "Spinning words like silk. I'm sure that's how you wormed your way into her favor."

Rhiannon bristled. "Favor is not the word I'd use."

"Then what would you call this?" Alvon pressed.

"An alliance…" Veyran stated, looking up into Rhiannon's eyes. "A partnership."

Rhiannon glanced down at the Deepshy.

Alvon's fingers gripped the haft of his spear, then relaxed. "I'll let them know."

"Tell them we're not your enemies," Veyran said.

"That's not my call," Alvon replied curtly as he turned and melted back into the darkness, his retreating shadow stretching tall like a giant against the rocks.

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