An Unexpected Twist

  A ranger’s worth is not defined by blade nor bow, but by their willingness to protect others—to throw themselves into danger when need arises. Rangers trust and protect their allies at all costs. To serve the Avonmora is the highest honor. This is what makes us Swiftfalcons.

  — Elder Ellren Oa’runue of the Warrior’s Triangle

  Bahhamin signaled for his squad to tighten formation.

  The Kabretch had lost the party twice already, each time when the old one had used his magic. Both times, they’d been forced to run through the night to catch up, fanning their numbers wide so as not to miss the trail.

  He had thought them truly lost the second time. But just as he’d considered abandoning the chase, a distant grunt had drawn them back to the path.

  If nothing else, the beast traveling with them had made tracking far easier. Bahhamin didn’t like the look of it—too large, too alert. If provoked, it would be a fearsome opponent.

  Not that it worried him. He had dealt with creatures of its kind before, and with their numbers, it would fall.

  He studied the rest of the group as they moved.

  The girl—young, uncertain—was no threat. Likely an apprentice.

  He grinned, imagining the tenderness of her flesh.

  The warrior was different. Dangerous. Fluid in his movements, sharp in his gaze. No doubt he was just as deadly with his bow as with his blades.

  Several times now, he had nearly spotted the newest member of his squad.

  More than once, he’d been forced to look away, disgusted by the careless spy’s bumbling.

  This Kabretch was nearly as much a liability as the last newcomer, before that one had vanished in the forest weeks ago.

  If he didn’t need her, he would’ve cut the young fool’s heart out in front of the others.

  Mistakes were intolerable.

  The stakes were far too high.

  Returning his focus to the real threat, Bahhamin fixed his gaze on the old druid, menace flickering in his eyes like cold flame.

  There was no doubt the elf was powerful, and the spy found himself wondering how many of his squad he’d have to sacrifice to bring the old one down.

  With an irritable shrug, Bahhamin dismissed the thought. It didn’t matter.

  He could always train more.

  Even so, the notion soured his mood, and his baleful glare drifted once again to the newest recruit.

  Weeks ago, Bahhamin had received orders: no one was to leave the forest alive.

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  The death of the Mother Tree had apparently emboldened Plaguelord Remuel—soon, the true war effort would begin.

  The thought pleased him, even if skulking and shadow-work remained his forte.

  Watching the party below, Bahhamin concluded it was nearly time.

  If the travelers kept their pace, they could reach the border by tomorrow. That would not be allowed.

  But for now, he would wait.

  They would have to make camp soon, and then, he thought with relish, his squad would feast.

  With a series of intricate hand signs, his long, thin fingers moved through the air like blades. The signal was given: prepare.

  One command, and the hunt would begin.

  All around him, the squad grew still.

  They waited hungrily, minds fixed on the slaughter to come.

  They shadowed the party until dusk.

  Just as Bahhamin’s patience wore thin, their quarry still showing no signs of making camp, the young female veered away from her companions.

  Good, he thought. If they won’t rest, we’ll take them one by one.

  With a quick gesture, he signaled one of his veterans to pursue the elf.

  Then, without warning, blue light flared to life.

  One moment, the girl was reaching toward a tree, then the next, she was engulfed by what looked like a sun.

  Bahhamin reeled, stunned. The air rippled with the wild, ancient release of primal magic.

  She wasn’t an apprentice. No… she was far more powerful than the old druid.

  His eyes widened in horror.

  Too late.

  He flung his hand forward in a frantic signal. Take them—now!

  He dropped from the canopy, talons flashing, and made a beeline for the girl.

  She was already halfway fused with the massive oak before her, her body aglow and bark creeping over her skin.

  He raised a clawed hand to strike at her now-wooden throat.

  An earth-shaking roar split the air.

  From beside the blinding light, a mountain of fur and fury reared.

  The bear!

  How had he forgotten the beast?

  Before he could retreat, a paw the size of a boulder crashed into him. Bone snapped like twigs.

  With a single blow, Bahhamin’s head was torn clean from his shoulders.

  His scaled body crumpled sideways, twitching.

  Draefus roared again and turned, blood-spattered and wild, to face a second assassin.

  The Kabretch froze mid-step.

  She trembled but held her ground, resigned now to dance death with the enraged beast.

  Meanwhile, Portean and his opponent bled from a series of wounds, but the spy fared worse, clearly wary of the ranger’s blades.

  They spun, parried, and struck—silver light flashing in bursts, too fast for the eye to follow.

  Then Portean seemed to stumble.

  The spy lunged, eager to land the killing blow.

  But in an instant, the ranger reversed his momentum, catching the assassin’s blade with his own and pivoting. With a vicious thrust, he drove steel through the creature’s neck.

  Not far away, Grimus shimmered green and vanished.

  His two would-be killers swung wildly through empty air, then froze.

  A heartbeat later, the ground beneath them erupted.

  A pillar of thorn-covered vines, twenty feet tall, exploded from the soil. Like serpents, they coiled around the Kabretch, lifted them high, and constricted with sickening force. Bones snapped.

  A storm of gore rained down upon the forest floor.

  Grimus reappeared—blood-spattered and alone—then collapsed, his head striking a fallen branch as he fell.

  Portean spun at the sound, eyes wide.

  Draefus was still mauling the lifeless body of the second assassin, and his father lay unmoving.

  The ranger raced to Grimus’s side and dropped to a knee.

  He was breathing… barely.

  Scooping him up, Portean shouted for Draefus and sprinted toward the blinding blue light that Aehyl had become.

  Terror clawed at him. She was too bright, radiant beyond reason, beyond anything he’d ever seen. The light of the Oakspace burned his eyes, made his vision swim, but he pressed forward.

  This is Aehyl, he told himself, over and over. She would never hurt us.

  He stepped into the glow.

  Behind them, the forest warped, blurred, then stilled.

  Everything was consumed in light.

  Then, in a single breath, the world went dark.