77

“Prepare to move out,” he said. “We’ll traverse the tunnels under cover of darkness. The traitor will be dead before dawn.”

More hoots and howls of agreement and thrill. It wasn’t much of a speech—but these wolves didn’t need much encouragement. These were the finest wolves Frasia had to offer.

The outcropping of boulders by the lake concealed a pit, which contained a simple wooden ladder descending into the depths. Elias went down first, carrying a single torch. Then Ealric and Kodan, a few more wolves, and then finally Fina and myself.

As I descended, nerves began to crawl up my spine. The tunnel was strangely familiar, deeply dark and rough-hewn, with only the flicker of Elias’ torch ahead to illuminate the path. The light cast the soldiers ahead of me in shadow. I crept quietly behind them, feet soft on the dirt.

The tunnel stretched for what felt like miles. I had no idea how long I walked for, quiet and tense with nerves. It must’ve been hours. Finally, we stopped walking where the tunnel suddenly narrowed.

“We’re close,” Elias growled, low, to the wolves behind them. “I can feel wolves’ presence. Where does this lead?”

I stepped closer. “The dungeons,” I said quietly. “There’s a secret door in one of the storerooms.”

Elias nodded gratefully over his shoulder at me, then he told Ealric, “Stay close.”

At the dead end of the tunnel was a rough-hewn, dusty door. It didn’t take much work for Elias to pop the lock with a small knife and slowly, slowly, he pushed it open.

I held my breath, but there was no reaction. As it had said on the map, the room behind the entrance was dark and quiet. But with the door in the tunnel opened, sound from the dungeons filtered in: the drunken idle laughter of the guards, the crackle of a fire, the rattle of chains.

Energy and anticipation rustled over the soldiers. Ahead of me, the wolves widened their stances and drew their weapons. At my side, Fina exhaled slowly and withdrew her own sword, too.

I drew mine. The weight of the short sword was a small assurance. But there was no turning back now.

Elias shouldered the storeroom open with a roar.

Ealric was right behind him, and then the other wolves rushed out of the storeroom. For a long moment I was pinned by my nerves, my feet feeling as if they were nailed to the dirt path, as the remaining soldiers rushed around me, gnashing their teeth with their weapons drawn. The laughter in the dungeon was replaced by shouts and growls as the clanging of steel on steel filtered in.

At my side, Fina looked as terrified as I felt, her short sword shaking in her hand.

“For Frasia,” I whispered to Fina, but also to myself. “And for Nightfall.”

I rushed into the dungeon.

Inside was chaos. Battles raged around me, drunken soldiers swinging their axes sloppily at the wolves as they dodged easily; one struck a soldier in the temple right in front of me and the man collapsed into a heap. In the cells, Nightfall wolves yipped and howled, slamming their great wolf shapes against the bars like they could break free. The room smelled of vomit and blood, and the heat made sweat break out across my forehead.

In the center of the room, Elias dragged the sharp edge of his knife across a soldier’s neck. He spun to the side and the man collapsed into a heap. He bared his teeth, growling, his eyes savage with anger as he whirled onto the next guard that dare approach him.

“Fall back,” he snapped at me, eyes blazing. He drove his foot into a guard’s chest, sending him clattering back toward the cells. “Wait by the door. It isn’t safe here.”

He planted his foot on him and sneered down, knife in hand as he put enough pressure on the guard’s chest to make him wheeze and scrabble uselessly at Elias’ ankle.

Behind him, a short, stocky guard buried his blade in the chest of one of the Sienan soldiers. The wolf crumpled to the dungeon floor, and the guard, invigorated, dragged his blade from the body and then whirled toward Elias. His eyes blazed with rage as he lifted the bloody blade again, shoulder height, ready to drive it into Elias’ back where he stood over his fallen enemy.

I didn’t think at all. It was pure animal instinct that guided me as I charged forward, sword drawn, and clanged my blade against his before he could strike. The guard bared his teeth at me and shoved forward, trying to set me off balance, but I easily shifted my weight, then ducked to the side. I pulled my sword with me, swinging it at an angle to knock the guard’s weapon out of his hand. Then, still moving with muscle memory and pure instinct, I drove my blade into his ribs.

It was a sequence I’d learned from Barion ages ago—parry, rebalance, redirect, strike. It worked beautifully. The guard groaned and staggered back, hand on his gushing wound, and fell to the ground.

There was no guilt that ran through me, no question, no lack of certainty. I gripped my sword and took a step closer to Elias, blade up, prepared for the next attacker.

Maybe in Draunar’s cave, I learned I wasn’t an assassin. But I was a warrior.

“I won’t fall back,” I said.

Elias huffed a small, surprised laugh, but said nothing else.

Soon enough, we’d dispatched with most of the guards. Ealric rounded up the ones that weren’t dead and shoved them into the cells after the Nightfall prisoners were released. One of the prisoners was a young soldier, no more than eighteen; his eyes blazed yellow when he shifted back into his human form.

“What was your crime?” I asked.

The young man pulled the clothes and armor off one of the guards and put them on with no hesitation.