Silvain Ironleaf's Arc

Chapter 5 of 7

The scrap said two days. Silvain wanted to know the enemy before that. A name meant nothing. A face meant everything. "We march at him blind," Silvain said. "That gets us killed." Thaelis nodded and opened the worn ledger. His finger dropped to a line near the bottom. "Old mine," he said. "His people meet there. If he keeps a base, it's that gate." They left the cut and climbed. The wolf cub ran ahead, then froze. It stared down a slope of gray stone and growled low. Below stood an old dwarven gate, cut deep into the mountain. Heavy stone framed it. Runes crossed the arch, worn but proud. Silvain knew the work. His dwarf blood knew it. "That's a mine gate," Silvain whispered. "Sealed once. Someone opened it." Thaelis crouched beside Silvain and studied the dark mouth. "Two guards," he said. "Inside the shadow. He likes old halls. Feels like a throne to him." He said it flat, but his jaw was tight. Silvain had learned to read that. Thaelis had stood in halls like this, under the man they hunted. "You know who he is," Silvain said. It was not a question. Thaelis kept his eyes on the gate. "I know his face," he said. "I want you to see it before you swing." He would say no more. Silvain let it lie. Silvain sent the lynx down. The cat slid through the rocks and vanished into the gate's shadow. Silvain waited, hand on the staff, cub pressed to his boots. Minutes passed. The lynx came back low and fast. It brushed Silvain's leg, then turned its head toward the gate, ears flat. A signal. Someone stood just inside. A figure stepped from the dark. Tall. Armored in old dwarven plate that was never made for him. He carried himself like the mountain was his. Two guards flanked him. Silvain watched from cover and finally saw the enemy whole. A pale man with a cold, still face. Not a dwarf. Not an elf. He wore the mountain's craft like stolen skin. Thaelis went rigid. "That's him," he breathed. "He came early." The date on the scrap was a lie, or a lure. The man scanned the slope, then spoke to a guard and pointed up. Right at their cover. "He knows," Silvain said. Silvain did not run. He had the face now. He had the place. The mine gate, the guard count, the false date. "We pull back," Silvain said. "Quiet. He wanted us blind and early. We leave knowing him." They slid down the far side, cub and lynx close, before the guards climbed. Safe in the rocks, Silvain marked the gate in the ledger. A cold, still face. Old dwarven plate. Three men. The trap had a shape now. And the man who sealed the road had a home Silvain could reach.