"…You've got terrible timing."
"Or perfect timing." Slyas retorted, already picking up to a steady jog. "Solara is soon to set, darkness favours us."
"I'm starting to think we're cursed... No rest days anymore."
"Perhaps. I know an expert on curses, if you'd like to get checked."
"No, not now. Zack comes first. Curses be damned."
The shadows begun to stretch wider, an orange glow peeked over the tall city walls. By now, the hustle and bustle of civilization had all but settled, the air colder than it had been before.
As the duo rounded the first corner, the faintest horn sounded in the distance. The horn echoed through the streets.
Argon's jaw tightened.
Ashford.
Horns like that had never meant anything good.
Their steps did not slow, passing through the streets of Valthar as wooden windows slammed shut.
"We are almost there." Hopeful of his families safety, Argon picked up the pace, his breathing heavy.
Soon, the unlikely duo burst into the infirmary.
Its frame was small, but clean. A faint smell reminiscent of the little shack hung around it, a promise of herbs and fire.
Before the second foot could even land, Lyra's short blade found itself pressed lightly against Argon's throat.
"...A warm welcome." An uneasy chuckle came from the gentle giant, his hands raised.
Only after a quick glance between the two, did Lyra sheath when blade, a flourished spin putting it neatly within her belt.
"Who?" Valen's voice seemed thick with the promise of violence. His eyes noticing the blood hanging on their weapons.
"Orcs. Five of them, some sort of disguise magic. Ambushed us after we left the market." Spoke the Genius.
"Good news, Sylas here isn't useless in a fight." Argon chimed, "Bad news, we left five orc corpses laying there."
"Wow. Two beat five." Zack spoke slightly shocked at their victory. "But doesn't that mean the city is under attack-" Before he could finish his line of thoughts, his body rebelled, sending him into a fit of coughing.
"Hush, child. Don't think too hard." Sylas winced slightly at the boy.
"Okok. And nice to meet you, Sylas. I'm Zack."
***
Valen's face sunk deeper into his hands, memories surfacing of a peaceful time.
His body lay still, under the stars. Head resting on top of thighs, eyes watching the stars.
"Once upon a time, there was a knight.
And this knight was a special knight,
His spear never lost, his sword never dulled.
But one day, when the world began to dry.
He set out on a journey, a journey to save his family.
Alas, his overconfidence was his downfall."
***
"Now that everyone's here, we have to move." Valen finally spoke. He rose from his seat, eyes faintly shimmering.
"The cure is in the Elven Kingdom of Lathindor. According to mother, that's the northern reaches of the Thornveil Forest."
"It is." Nodded both Argon and Sylas.
"But we know the forest is dangerous. Between the orcs and rendlings, we cannot travel along it." Valen continued. His eyes darting around the group. Sweat was trickling down his nape, but he was careful not to show it.
"Instead, we will travel through the ridge. It is a lengthy detour, but the chances of outrunning the Forest is low." His eyes set on Zack.
"In other words, we will travel the long way? It will add a few months to our journey." Elara spoke, her aged eyes alight with wisdom.
"Yes. We will wrap around, passing through the ridge, the dwarven fields, whatever we must in order to get there."
"Your father always knew when to fight, and when not to. I see you do too."
"My father would never have let him be poisoned in the first place." Valen spun towards the door, "We must leave. This city is no longer safe."
Gradually, each member of the party made their way out of the small infirmary, Argon carrying the young boy in his arms.
As they stepped into the dimming streets, the horn sounded again.
Louder.
Closer.
The streets were no longer calm.
What little life remained had shifted.
Doors shut faster. Voices dropped lower. Shadows stretched not just with the dying light, but with unease.
Argon adjusted Zack's weight in his arms, grip tightening slightly as the boy stirred. Each breath he took felt fragile, borrowed.
"Left," Slyas said quietly.
He didn't slow.
He didn't look back.
But he knew.
A pair of guards crossed the end of the street ahead, steel catching the last light of Solara. Their pace was hurried, their voices low but urgent.
"…found near the market-"
"…not human-"
Argon turned before the rest of the sentence reached him.
They slipped into a narrower path, barely wide enough for two. The walls pressed close, stone swallowing sound as they moved.
"You've done this before," Argon muttered.
Slyas didn't answer immediately.
"Planning is… transferable," he said at last.
Another horn sounded.
Closer this time.
Two.
Then three.
Elara's gaze lifted slightly. "That is no signal of peace."
"No," Slyas replied. "It isn't."
They emerged onto a wider street near the outer ring of the city. The gates were not closed but movement around them had changed.
More guards.
More tension.
Too many eyes.
"Straight through won't work," Slyas said. "Too exposed."
Valen stepped forward. "Then we don't go through."
Slyas' eyes flicked to him.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Follow-"
A blaring born boomed from across the distance, prompting dozens of heads to turn towards the open gates.
There, behind the panicking lines of refugees, a wall of red banners painted with white tusks rose.
With the backdrop of the setting sun, the army on the horizon seemed oddly... Enraged.
A slightly more melodious horn responded, the armies of Valedryn storming out, slowly forming a human wall of steel to protect their civilians.
"A chance."
"Let's move. We will break off to the left and wrap around the city."
Following the river of steel that flowed outwards, the group made their way out the fortress.