CHAPTER 74: HIGHGROUND

The high ground was theirs, but the cold offered no victory.

Leon stood beneath a jagged outcrop, the wind whipping across the cliff face as the vanguard reorganised below. The ridge they’d claimed stretched far to the east, curving like a broken spine above the enemy camp. From here, they could see everything—tents torn down in haste, the last remnants of a routed force fleeing into the deep pine forest.

He watched the treeline. Too neat. Too fast.

"They’re not running," he murmured.

Elena, standing just behind him, followed his gaze. "They’re leading us."

Leon didn’t reply. He already knew.

Behind them, the soldiers moved with grim efficiency. The dead had been cleared from the ridge and lined in silence. Kellen had begun setting up a temporary camp, barking orders in low, clipped tones. They had no plans to stay long. The earth here was too loose for trenches, and the high ground too exposed for fire mages to anchor spells.

Naeve returned as the grey light began to dim. Her cloak was soaked, her breath short.

"Tracks go north," she said. "Not many. Small force. But deliberate. They want to be seen."

Leon nodded. "Scouts only."

She hesitated. "But they’re leaving signs behind. Banners. Burn marks. A retreat, but marked."

Elena stepped forward, brow furrowed. "Then what’s the game?"

Leon didn’t answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the woods.

"They want us to follow. Not to chase them, but to choose it. To think it’s ours."

Kellen approached from the camp. "Even if it’s a trap, it may be the only chance we have to strike the second line."

Leon turned to him. "I want the vanguard split. Thirty stay and hold the ridge. Everyone else, prepare for pursuit at dawn. Light rations. Full armament. No fires tonight."

Kellen nodded. "Understood."

Elena crossed her arms, watching Leon closely. "And if they don’t lead us to a battle? What if they vanish into the forest and bleed us dry with skirmish lines?"

"Then we’ll burn their forest," Leon said. "And drag them out by the roots."

She didn’t flinch at the answer. Neither did he.

That night, sleep did not come.

The wind whistled through the rocks, moaning like distant voices caught in ice. Soldiers huddled beneath oilskin cloaks, faces pale, eyes restless. The sky above was clear and pitiless, the stars sharp like frost-tipped daggers.

Leon sat alone at the edge of the ridge, his back to a stone wall, his sword lying across his knees. He didn’t sleep. He hadn’t since the crossing. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the capital gates burning.

Footsteps approached. Familiar.

"You need rest."

Elena stood over him, arms folded beneath her cloak.

He didn’t move. "I need to stay ahead."

"You won’t stay ahead if you collapse."

He looked at her. No warmth in his eyes, but no anger either.

"We can’t afford mistakes."

"Then don’t make one by breaking," she said.

The silence between them stretched, only the wind to fill it.

Finally, Leon stood.

"You take first watch, then. Wake me when the moon falls."

She nodded, stepping into his place as he walked back toward the tents. But she didn’t watch the woods.

She watched him.

And when she was sure he was gone, she whispered quietly into the dark:

"You were never meant to carry all of it alone."

Dawn came without colour.

A pale light filtered through the trees as the vanguard began their march. Snow crunched beneath their boots, now mixed with black ash. Signs of fire, faint but deliberate, marked the route north. Burned sigils. Abandoned cloaks. Trail markers disguised as wreckage.

Leon said nothing, but each step tightened the feeling in his chest.

The enemy wanted them to feel like they were winning. And that meant one thing.

Something worse was waiting at the end of this trail.

And he would meet it, blade drawn.

The snow deepened as they moved, the path narrowing with every step. Trees loomed taller, darker, their bare limbs clawing at the sky. The trail twisted through a gully now, walls of frozen stone rising on both sides, pressing the vanguard into a single column. It was the kind of terrain Leon hated—no room to manoeuvre, no line of retreat.

But it was the only path forward.

At his side, Elena glanced upward, her brow furrowed. "Too quiet."

Leon didn’t answer, but he heard it too. No birds. No distant animal sounds. Just the wind. Even the forest held its breath.

A call came from the middle ranks. Marcus, one of Kellen’s unit leaders, pushed forward through the column.

"Lord Thorne," he said, lowering his voice. "One of the scouts found something. You’ll want to see it."

Leon followed him without a word, weaving through the narrow trail until they reached a bend in the path. There, partially buried beneath a snowbank, was a crude totem—wood and bone lashed together with black thread. Burned sigils were carved into its surface, some still faintly smoking. Blood had been smeared at its base in a strange, spiralled pattern.

Elena stared at it. "This isn’t just a marker."

"It’s a warning," Marcus said. "Or a curse."

Leon crouched, his fingers hovering just above the blood. Still warm.

"Not a curse," he muttered. "A message. They’re watching."

From the treeline, Naeve emerged, her movements quick and clipped.

"We saw more of these," she said. "Seven of them. Forming a circle around this path. No tracks beyond that point."

"Meaning we’ve already crossed into the zone," Elena murmured.

Leon stood, his breath clouding the air. "Then we stay alert. They’re not trying to scare us. They’re trying to shape what we see."

He turned to the column. "Double the scouts. No noise. We move at half pace until the pass opens again."

Kellen relayed the order, and the vanguard adjusted without complaint. These were seasoned fighters. The kind who didn’t flinch at superstition—but didn’t ignore it, either.

The forest thickened, branches arching overhead like ribs. The snow here was untouched, as if even the weather had chosen to avoid this place. Leon’s eyes never stopped moving. Every shadow seemed to stretch a little too long. Every whisper of wind too measured.

Then he felt it.

A change in pressure. A pause in the world.

His blade was half-drawn before the first arrow hit.

It struck a soldier two rows back, burying itself in his neck. The man didn’t cry out. He just dropped, soundless, into the snow.

Another arrow whistled through the trees, and then another.

"Shields!" Leon snapped, his voice calm but firm.

The vanguard closed ranks instantly, shields snapping up. Arrows clattered against steel and stone, but few found their mark now. The ambush was sparse—too sparse for a kill trap. Just enough to stall them.

Elena turned, already scanning the upper ridges. "They’re testing response time. Measuring the formation’s speed."

Leon’s jaw tensed. "They don’t care about damage. They want delay."

He moved to the front of the column, sword fully drawn now. The steel looked black in the dim light.

"Form split columns," he ordered. "We move through in staggered groups. No clusters. If they’re tracking our rhythm, we give them none."

Kellen barked the order down the line, and the formation rippled into motion once more.

The forest watched them pass.

No more arrows came.

But Leon knew—this wasn’t the ambush.

It was the prelude.

The path widened slightly as they pressed forward, revealing an old hunting trail carved through frost-hardened underbrush. The trees here grew denser, their trunks black with age, bark split like scars. The kind of place that remembered violence.

At the front, Leon slowed his horse, raising a hand. The column responded at once—no words, just the dull crunch of boots halting in snow.

"I smell pitch," Elena said. She’d dismounted, her hand pressed to the bark of a nearby tree. Her fingers came away slick and dark. "It’s fresh."

Leon dismounted too, scanning the woods. "They want to burn it behind us."

"Or around us," Naeve said, appearing beside them. She was pale, even by her standards. "We found fire starters hidden beneath the roots. Oilstones and soaked cloth. It’s a trap, Leon."

Kellen arrived just behind her, his breath misting. "Do we turn back?"

"No," Leon said. "We push through before they light it. How far until the tree line breaks?"

"Maybe a mile. But the terrain worsens before it clears."

Leon looked around. "Then we move like our lives depend on it. Because they do."

He mounted again and turned to the column. "No formation now. Break into units of five. Fan out. Stay within sight of the central line, but move fast. No torches. If you hear flame, you run."

The orders moved down the line like a ripple, the disciplined cohesion fracturing into swift, controlled movement. Soldiers scattered among the trees, quiet as ghosts, threading through thickets and over frostbitten roots. The air thickened with anticipation.

Then—behind them—a crack like thunder.

Fire roared to life in the distance.

Not one point—three. Flames leapt into the air like grasping hands, the smoke black and oily, rising fast. It wasn’t the slow crawl of a wild blaze. This was something planned. Fed.

Leon turned his horse hard. "They’ve lit the back! Move! Now!"

Elena was already sprinting, cloak trailing behind her like smoke. Kellen shouted for the rearguard to regroup. The trees groaned as heat spread.

And then it happened.

A second blaze erupted to the left. A controlled burn. A wall of fire that arced too evenly, too perfectly.

A spell.

Leon’s eyes narrowed. Not just fire.

Fire magic.

"Get the mages to the front," he barked. "I want a wind veil, now!"

Naeve drew an arrow, aiming into the smoke. "There’s someone in the trees, controlling it!"

Leon didn’t wait. He charged, his horse bucking beneath him as they broke into a sprint toward the edge of the blaze. Behind the flame, a flicker of movement—dark robes, sigils glowing faintly.

A wizard.

Leon didn’t think. His blade was already up.

He didn’t shout.

He struck.

Steel met flesh.

The figure fell, and the flame wavered.

The path forward cracked open like a wound in the woods, and Leon drove the horse through it, his eyes scanning ahead.

They were not surrounded yet.

But the forest was closing.

And it meant to bury them alive.