After that brief but charged exchange, Torvil clapped his hands together and said, “Come, let’s get something to eat while we wait for a reply. No use starving ourselves with nerves.”

  Kett turned to a nearby soldier and gave crisp orders. “Send word to the men at the bridge. Leave only three scouts watching the tree line. The rest are to return, eat, tend to wounds, get some rest. Then come back and report to me directly.”

  The soldier saluted and jogged off, boots echoing on the cobblestones.

  The inn stood quiet when they returned. Most of the townsfolk were still at the barricades or at home fearing for their lives behind locked shutters. The fire in the hearth had been stoked earlier, and though the common room was warm, it felt hollow without the usual bustle of conversation.

  They sat at a table near the window. Riven was sent off with a half-loaf and a nod from Torvil. The boy protested at first, but a promise of sweets later distracted him enough to run off in search of stones to toss near the well.

  With only the three of them left, Torvil leaned forward, fingers steepled under his chin.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he began. “About everything we saw in that cursed forest. I’ve got two thoughts I can’t shake.”

  “Only two…” Kett said.

  Brann watched him silently.

  “First,” Torvil continued, “that operation, whatever it was, wasn’t just some rogue magic gone wild, it was organized. The stone dial, the time distortion the way the ritual was structured it wasn’t for show. It was designed to extract suffering and do it slowly. Not just a soul ripped clean from the body, no, this was something else, something that feeds over time, months even years.”

  Brann felt a chill creep down his spine.

  “And second,” Torvil went on, “the creatures, those wooden things, corrupted ones…they never crossed the bridge even when we were vulnerable and they had the numbers to wipe us out.”

  Kett grunted. “You think they were ordered not to?”

  Torvil nodded slowly. “Yes. And I don’t know by whom. But whoever it was… they were powerful…very powerful.”

  Kett rubbed his jaw. “That’s troubling.”

  Brann spoke up, his voice quieter than before: “Then why not attack the town? Why hold back? What could be the motive? ”

  Torvil looked at the dying coals in the hearth. “Because… I don’t think they were ready. Everything we saw was a test or better said experiments, controlled environments, that’s what the other places on the dial must have been. I’d wager that by the time the army gets here, they’ll find nothing left…nothing at all.”

  Brann and Kett exchanged looks of stunned silence.

  “You’re saying…” Kett began slowly, “you think it was a mistake to send the report?”

  Torvil shook his head. “No…It had to be done. We can’t act like we know more than we do. We need to keep up appearances. Let them think we’re just scared locals dealing with wild beasts. We can’t afford to be a threat to whoever is behind this, or they would try to burry us and this entire town…plus we don’t need them to rush their plan.”

  Kett scowled. “And when the army finds nothing, I’ll be the fool who cried shadow-wolves. I’ll take the blame.”

  “I’m sorry, brother,” Torvil said softly. “But it had to be done…for the kingdom’s sake.”

  Kett’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Torvil looked at both of them now, his face grim.

  “Don’t you see? Whoever orchestrated this is building something…an army, one that can survive outside of Duskmire or any other forest. That metal-clad giant, the one we barely escaped, it wasn’t just a monster…it was a corrupted tree, infused with suffering. That pain was fuel, energy and it didn’t need the forest’s heart it had a will of its own, a twisted will to fight and seek death, put an end to its suffering and torment. It could draw power from its victims alone, the battlefield was a perfect environment for it…a war is full of dark energy, suffering and pain.”

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  He paused, letting the weight of that sink in.

  “If they perfect that…they won’t need the forest anymore. They’ll bring the seeds of corruption with them into the kingdom, and when they win the war, those giants will spread roots, and this region will become just like the grove we saw, the victims of war twisted in agony and feeding the forest…a blood forest”

  Silence settled around the table, heavy and cold.

  Brann leaned forward, hands clasped. “If that’s true…what sort of magic did they use, how did they manage this and how should we proceed?”

  Torvil looked at him, quiet for a moment, as if weighing the weight of the days to come.

  “I do not know, the runes can be combined in many different ways with the right ingredients and that is exactly what those poor souls were…ingredients. That is why I think the two of us should leave,” he said with pain in his voice. “You’ve got your own reasons not to be here when the army arrives, too many eyes and questions, but I also have one…you need to learn the ways, and we both need to train”

  Brann gave a slow nod. He didn’t need to answer, his silence was confirmation enough.

  “I’ll take the children, if they want to come,” Torvil continued. “If not, I’ll leave them with you, Kett…Riven, I’m sure, will follow, but Lysa… she’s older, she’s made friends here. She might choose to stay. If that is the case, I’ll respect her wish...” Torvil’s voice faded, the weight of it pressing into his chest like a stone that would not be dislodged.

  He looked away jaw tight, what he saw was a girl with braids in her hair, chasing wind through apple trees, laughing like she had never known sorrow...he saw Lysa clinging to his hand the first time she had called him father.

  Torvil’s heart ached, not the ache of a wound or age, but the deep, gnawing kind, the kind that comes when a man must step aside and let the world take what he would shield with his own body…the kind that tore at the roots of his soul and asked him to stand still, to do nothing, when every breath in him screamed to act.

  “She’s not a child anymore,” he said softly, more to himself than the others. “I taught her to be strong, to think for herself and now that she does... I have to let her choose.” He swallowed the words bitter on his tongue. “Even if every part of me wants to carry her out of here, kicking and shouting, just to keep her safe.”

  He shook his head slowly, then glanced at Brann: “Being a father isn’t about keeping them in your shadow. It’s about standing in front of the storm long enough for them to learn how to weather it and when they do... you pray they choose the right path.”

  Kett looked like he had swallowed something bitter, the weight of his task pressing on his shoulders: “Leave? Now? When everything’s gone to shit? And where would you even go?”

  “We have to,” Torvil said firmly. “Brann needs training. And I need to brush the dust off my shoulders. We both need to grow stronger…quickly.”

  Kett narrowed his eyes: “Why the rush?”

  Torvil didn’t blink: “Because I intend for us to be the kingdom’s eyes and ears…spies, if you prefer the word.”

  Brann sat up straighter. “You want us to find whoever is behind all this…”

  “Exactly” Torvil said. “We must search and infiltrate this organization, this is too big for one person to do it all, someone must be kidnaping people for the trials, we will start there.”

  Kett scoffed, slamming his tankard down. “That’s suicide. You think they don’t already know your faces after last night? You could be walking into a trap.”

  “That’s a risk,” Torvil admitted. “But if the master was present last night… we’d already be dead. I think we stumbled in that grove when no one was there to control it...so we were lucky in that regard. Plus someone has to undertake this task…I don’t see anyone else with the will, or the ability.”

  Kett sighed, rubbing his eyes.

  “We’ll go south,” Torvil went on. “To the small forest near Avenwall…There’s a druidic glade there, hidden and quiet. We’ll train and learn the ways of the forest. When the time is right, we’ll come back.”

  Kett frowned. “How long will that take?”

  “That depends on Brann,” Torvil replied. “Could be four months…Could be years.”

  Kett shook his head. “Won’t it be too late by then?”

  “I pray it won’t be,” Torvil said softly.

  Kett leaned back in his chair, silent for a time, then said, “Fine…But there’ll be no easy way to reach you…Ravens only, so keep an eye on the skies. I’ll send word when I can.”

  “Understood,” Torvil said.

  Just like that, the conversation was over. They finished their meal in silence, shared a pint of ale each, and then scattered to make preparations.

  By the time they were ready, bags packed, supplies loaded, horses secured, a runner from the town hall came sprinting to the inn with the army’s reply.

  Kett read it aloud, his brow furrowing with each word.

  “They’re sending fifteen men,” he said, voice thick with confusion…“Only fifteen. And one of them is the general himself.”

  Brann felt it then, a cold ripple across his gut, a sense that something wasn’t right. The general… He remembered the man’s face, his voice. Or thought he did. But memory was a slippery thing now.

  “I don’t like this,” Torvil muttered. “That’s too few men for a full investigation…Something’s off. Keep us informed, Kett. I sense things will take a turn for the worse”

  Kett folded the letter. “Figures… and I will.”

  The three men exchanged a final look.

  “Now there is just one last thing to do before we depart” Torvil whispered…”The hardest part…tell the kids.”