The monastery lay silent in the deep hours past midnight. Just the whisper of cold wind curling through the hallways as Vencian led them past the guest quarters.
Quenya drifted ahead, nearly invisible against the dark. Only when the torchlight caught her pale outline did she seem real at all, like a flicker of snow behind stained glass.
"Two in the cloister ahead," she said, voice barely audible. "They’re talking. Armor under robes."
Vencian nodded once and held up a hand to halt the others. They paused by the curve of the corridor, crouched low behind a large stone pillar. The scent of burnt wax still lingered. Cold stone pressed against Vencian’s palms as he steadied himself, and sowhere in the distance ca the faint scrape of tal on leather, a sword being adjusted in its sheath.
"Back route through the herb courtyard," Larik breathed, leaning close. "Gets us around to the refectory. Then one hallway to the stables."
Talor grunted. "And three more corners to get spotted."
"Well, I didn’t say it was elegant."
"We follow Larik’s route," Vencian said quietly. "Stay low, no sound."
They moved carefully through the herb courtyard, past the trimd plants. Their boots made soft sounds on the frosted ground, each step unnaturally loud in the quiet. The monastery walls surrounded them, stone saints carved into alcoves along the way. Above them, the monastery bell shifted slightly in the wind.
A distant footstep echoed from the main corridor, and all three n froze. Vencian’s heart hamred against his ribs as they waited, counting seconds. The sound didn’t repeat, but the air felt charged.
Through a partly open window, Vencian spotted a robbed man on a bench, crossbow beside him, hands tucked under his arms for warmth.
"Quenya," he breathed.
"I see him," ca her soft reply. "He’s cold. Not alert. We’re fine if we don’t run."
Vencian adjusted his grip on the scabbard as they moved. The sword felt awkward at his hip, requiring constant attention. Walking normally, he could manage it with careful thought. But creeping through these passages ant splitting his focus between watching for figures and keeping the blade from scraping stone or catching on doorfras.
Another hallway. Another turn. The temperature dropped with each step deeper into the monastery’s heart, their breath misting in small puffs.
At last, the stables ca into view. A squat, low building lit from within. The horses stirred restlessly, visible through the open slats of the wall.
Vencian motioned them forward, and they slipped into the stable’s shadow. Sothing felt wrong. Too convenient. Too easy.
"Looks clear," Talor muttered.
"Too clear," Larik said, voice tight. "Why are the horses already saddled?"
That stopped Vencian cold. He looked again. Leather straps buckled. Saddle bags prepped. Even reins looped neatly.
They were going to move .
The drugged food. The assailants. The prepared horses. All pieces of the sa plan.
"We need to—" Talor began.
Boots crunched on gravel outside.
Vencian reached for his sword, but Quenya’s voice ca fast.
"Trap. They’re surrounding the doors."
The stable door slamd shut behind them. Steel scraped. Movent from every side.
Nobody moved.
Then Larik stepped forward fast and steady.
"Run."
Vencian turned to protest, but Larik was already moving. He tipped a barrel over with one kick, spilling hay and tools into the main walkway. He yanked down a beam brace, letting it fall across the passage, then drew his sword in a single fluid motion.
"Not long," he muttered. "Just get out."
Talor grabbed Vencian’s arm. "Let him do his job. Move."
They sprinted through the ss toward the horses. Vencian stumbled slightly on a loose board, his legs not quite where his mind expected them to be. Behind them, Larik collided with the first attacker entering the stable and drove him backward into the wall with a shout.
A second ca in from the side. Larik blocked the swing with his forearm, took a shallow cut, and drove his blade into the man’s ribs.
The sound of steel on steel faded behind him. Larik was buying ti with his life, and they all knew it.
Vencian hesitated at the horses, looking back. It felt wrong to leave him.
Talor swung around and batted Vencian’s shoulder. "Mount up."
They vaulted into the saddles. One ard man appeared at the gate with a blade drawn.
Vencian’s fingers fumbled on the reins. The saddle felt awkward. His sword was strapped but unused.
I know what to do. I’ve seen it all in his mories. But my body doesn’t listen.
The figure ca closer.
Vencian yanked the sword free, held it up clumsily. His grip was wrong. Talor noticed.
Without a word, Talor surged forward, blocked the attack ant for Vencian, and brought his elbow into the man’s face. The attacker crumpled.
"Two more coming from the left," Quenya said sharply.
"Don’t freeze," Talor said, already wheeling his horse around.
Vencian followed, biting back frustration.
All that mory, and none of the skill. I’m useless like this.
They rode hard. Quenya darted ahead, then dropped down in front of a second ard man at the gate. The man jerked back, startled.
Talor was already swinging. The flat of his blade slamd across the attacker’s helt, knocking him out cold.
They cleared the stable and bolted into the orchard field. The path was tight. Trees blurred past. Hoofbeats thundered behind them. The monastery gates appeared ahead—barely open, unguarded now after the scuffle.
Talor led the way, pushing his mount harder. Vencian stayed close, his grip unsteady, body jostling in the saddle with every gallop. The gate rushed toward them.
"Almost there," Talor called without turning.
They broke through the gates and hit open terrain beyond the monastery walls. A sloping field stretched before them with patches of low brush and scattered stones.
Behind them, no pursuit yet. The clash from inside had quieted.
Larik had given them ti enough ti. Had bought this mont. Vencian didn’t look back.
Then the sharp whistle cut the air.
Whung.
The arrow struck Talor’s shoulder blade and punched through his backplate. He jolted hard, like soone had slamd a plank across his spine. His grip on the reins wavered. The horse stuttered a step, then kept going.
Vencian looked over. The shaft was still quivering, sunk halfway into Talor’s back.
"Talor—"
A second one ca with a harsh hiss.
Thock.
It drove into his lower back, just above the hip. Talor sucked in air through clenched teeth. His body twisted slightly, almost falling, but he managed to right himself.
He blinked fast, his face pale under the night sky.
"Go," he said, voice low and flat.
Another arrow tore through the grass beside them. Vencian tensed.
Quenya flashed to his side.
"He’s hit," she said, her voice tight. "I hate this, but he’s not making it far. You have to go, Vencian. Please."
Vencian looked at him one more ti. Talor’s sword was halfway out of the sheath. His head dipped forward, then ca back up, barely.
I brought them into this.
Vencian kicked his horse forward.
Talor stayed mounted only by instinct. His horse slowed, hooves losing rhythm. He drew the sword fully now, hand shaky but still functional.
Vencian didn’t look back again. He crossed into the trees.
No more arrows ca.
No one followed yet.
He didn’t stop.
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