Lyrien Nightwalker's Arc

Chapter 6 of 6

Two days after the temple, Lyrien walked with Elara along the winding stair of a slender tower he had given her. Fresh clothes hung on her now, a blue gown with silver lace at the collar. She had folded the ragged white dress into a dark oak chest by the door. Lyrien watched her turn the gold necklace over in her hands. The red stone caught the light. "I can move against the raiders," he said. "But not on a dream and a crest. My court needs proof of who killed your parents' kingdom. A name." Elara set the necklace down. "No one goes there," she said. "That is why they still hold it." She was right. Lyrien had asked. Not one man at his court had crossed the Duskcrown border in twenty years. He could not send soldiers blind. He could not name an enemy he had never seen. Without proof, his lords would call this another fool's errand and move against him. "Someone has been there," Elara said. "The woman who raised me traded with a man who cut wood at the edge of the occupied land. She bought my white dress from him. He crossed the border to sell." Lyrien leaned forward. "You know his name?" "A dwarf. Grey hair. He wore a torn apron and never stopped whittling." She touched the chest. "He carved the clasp on this." Lyrien rode out at dawn and followed her word to a low house past the tree line. Wood shavings covered the yard. Inside, a short dwarf sat carving a spoon. He did not rise. His orange eyes flicked to Lyrien's fine cloak and stayed cool. "Kings don't come to my door," the dwarf said. "You want something I have." "You crossed into the Duskcrown lands," Lyrien said. "You sold there. I need to know who holds it now." Kael Ironshave set the spoon down. He studied Lyrien a long moment. Then he reached under his bench and drew out a folded square of cloth. He spread it on the table. Burned into it was a mark. A black wolf's head over crossed axes. "Their banner," Kael said. "I saw it on every gate. Their war chief took the crown twenty years back and never let go. I heard his name shouted at the market. I can give it to you." He tapped the cloth. "But if you name him, he will hear. And he will want the girl before you can reach him." Lyrien folded the cloth and put it inside his coat. He had his proof. A banner, a name, a witness. He could stand before his court now and be believed. He rode back knowing the cost. The moment he spoke that name aloud, the war chief's eyes would turn toward Elara's tower. He had won the right to move. He had also started the race.