Aldric Thornmoor's Arc

Chapter 4 of 16

Aldric and Wanda left the bar at dusk and headed north. He meant to scout the north gate house before Thursday, but the road bent them past the tree line first. The floating stone tower with the brass telescope hung over the trail, spinning slow rings of colored light through the branches. He had used it as his marker for years. Tonight it felt like a lantern held over him. Someone had known he'd take this road. Wanda noticed it before he did. She slowed and put a hand on his sleeve. "Behind us. Two turns back. Same boots." Aldric didn't look. He tapped his broach twice, the old herald sign for keep walking. His throat still gave him nothing. Word had traveled fast. The councilor with the missing thumb tip had friends, and one of them was close enough now to hear a branch snap. Between the trunks, a pale orb drifted at shoulder height. Faceless. Silver-blue. It moved with them at a walking pace, threading the trees without touching them. Wanda flicked her fingers at it. Nothing came off her palm. She frowned and tried again. A weak curl of smoke, no flame. "That's new," she said. They reached the old well in the clearing, its stones half-swallowed by moss. Aldric had planned to leave a coin and ask it which road was safest. He saw the trap before Wanda did. The rim was scrubbed clean. Fresh wax sat on the lip, pressed with the same thumbprint from his broach. Not an offering site. A marker. Bait. He grabbed Wanda's wrist and pulled her back. Too late. The trees behind them leaned in with a slow wooden groan and knit their branches shut. The clearing sealed. The drifting orb settled above the well and brightened until the grass went white. Wanda shoved past him and threw both charred hands at the nearest trunk. Her mouth moved through the shape of her fire word. Nothing caught. She tried again, closer, pressing her palms flat to the bark. The bark stayed cold. Her hands shook. "It's eating my heat," she said. "The orb. It's drinking it." Aldric pulled the paper stub from his cloak and scratched one word. WELL. He pointed at the wax. At the thumbprint. He wanted her to understand that the councilor already knew he was coming, and that this clearing was the answer. Footsteps circled outside the wall of trees. Two sets. Then three. Aldric unpinned his broach and dropped it into the well. The wax print went with it. The orb dimmed a fraction, confused by the loss of its scent, and Wanda's next strike caught. A thin line of fire ran up one trunk before it guttered out. It was enough. The branches parted a hand's width. Wanda dragged him through. They ran. The broach was gone. His only proof was gone. And whoever had set the wax knew his face now.