Three days passed.
The patrols continued. The drills continued. The waiting continued. Ashen Dawn moved between the Keep and the city’s edge, watching for signs of the coalition, finding nothing but cold streets and silence. The Veil held. For now.
Alistair called them in on the fourth night.
The briefing room was empty except for the team and a new map spread across the table. This one showed the northern territories—forests, mountains, old battle sites. A red circle marked a location near the border.
Cora frowned at the map. "What’s up north?"
"Trouble." Alistair pointed to the circle. "Intelligence reports another demon prince moving through the region. Na’s Malachar. He’s been quiet for years, but now he’s mobilizing."
Mason leaned forward. "Valentine’s ally?"
"Rival. Different bloodline, different ambitions." Alistair’s voice was flat. "But rivals can beco allies when it suits them. Valentine’s coalition is still forming. If Malachar joins, the Guard will be facing two fronts."
Sera looked up from her crossbow. "We’re going to stop him?"
"You’re going to investigate. Find out what he’s doing, who he’s eting, whether he’s planning to link up with Valentine." Alistair tapped the map. "The northern territories are neutral ground. The Guard has no presence there. You’ll be on your own."
Derek’s grip tightened on his staff. "What if he finds us first?"
"Then you run. You’re scouts, not soldiers. Don’t engage."
Lucian studied the map. "What’s Malachar’s bloodline?"
"Belial." Alistair’s jaw tightened. "The Lawless. His kind don’t follow rules. They don’t make alliances lightly. If he’s moving, he has a reason."
Cora crossed her arms. "Any relation to Valentine?"
"Distant. Lucifero and Belial have a long history—sotis allies, more often enemies. Malachar is younger than Valentine, less experienced, but more reckless."
Mason grunted. "Reckless can be worse than skilled."
"Which is why you’re going north. Keep your distance. Watch. Report." Alistair looked at Lucian. "Leave at dawn."
---
The drive north took six hours.
The roads narrowed as they left the city, then turned to gravel, then to dirt. Trees pressed close on both sides, their branches scraping the van’s roof. The sky was grey, heavy with clouds that didn’t break.
Cora sat in the passenger seat, watching the forest pass. Mason drove, silent. Sera was in the back, her crossbow across her lap, her eyes on the shadows between the trees. Derek sat beside her, his staff planted, his ghosts hovering close.
Lucian sat alone in the middle row, the map spread across his knees.
"Stop here," he said.
Mason pulled over. The engine died.
The forest was quiet.
---
They walked for an hour.
The path was old, overgrown, barely visible. Lucian led, his blades drawn. Cora stayed close, her hand on her sword. Mason and Sera flanked Derek, whose ghosts spread wide, sensing the cold.
The first sign of Malachar’s presence was a body.
A demon. Low-rank. Throat cut.
Cora crouched beside it. "Fresh."
"The bloodline marks," Lucian said, pointing to a symbol carved into the creature’s chest. "Belial."
"He’s killing his own?"
"Or soone else is."
They moved on.
---
The camp was hidden in a clearing.
Tents. Fires. Demons in rough armor, their faces scarred, their weapons drawn. At the center, a larger tent—black canvas, trimd with silver. Guards stood at the entrance, their eyes scanning the trees.
Lucian motioned the team to halt.
They watched from the shadows.
The tent flap opened. A figure erged.
Malachar was tall, lean, younger than Valentine. His hair was dark, his eyes pale. He wore a long coat and carried no visible weapon, but his hands were bare, and the nails were black. A symbol burned on his chest—Belial’s mark, flickering faintly.
He walked to the fire. Sat. Stared into the flas.
Another figure joined him—a witch, her face hidden beneath a hood. She spoke low. Malachar listened, then nodded.
Cora whispered. "What are they saying?"
"Too far," Lucian said. "We need to get closer."
"Too dangerous."
"Then we wait."
---
They waited until the camp settled.
The fires dimd. The guards rotated. The witch disappeared into her own tent. Malachar sat alone by the flas, his pale eyes fixed on the dark.
Lucian moved first.
He slipped through the trees, silent, low. Cora followed. Mason and Sera stayed with Derek, ready to cover their retreat.
Lucian stopped at the edge of the clearing. Close enough to see Malachar’s face. Close enough to hear.
"You can co out," Malachar said.
Lucian didn’t move.
"I know you’re there. I’ve known since you crossed the tree line." Malachar’s voice was calm. "You’re not very good at hiding."
Lucian stepped out of the shadows.
Malachar looked at him. His pale eyes were empty, but not cold. Curious.
"Hunter?"
"Scout."
"Sa thing." Malachar gestured to the fire. "Sit."
Lucian didn’t move. "I’ll stand."
"Suit yourself."
Cora erged behind Lucian, her sword drawn. Malachar glanced at her, then back at the flas.
"Two of you. There are more, but they’re staying back. Smart." He poked the fire with a stick. "What do you want?"
Lucian studied his face. "Valentine."
"Everyone wants Valentine. He’s got a talent for making enemies."
"Are you one of them?"
Malachar was quiet for a mont. "I’m not anything yet. That’s why I’m here. Watching. Waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"To see which way the wind blows." He looked at Lucian. "Valentine’s coalition is unstable. Vampires, werewolves, witches, revenants—they all want different things. He can’t hold them together forever."
"And you?"
"I want my own territory. My own alliance. I don’t need Valentine’s scraps." Malachar stood. "Tell your masters I’m not their enemy. Not yet."
He walked back to his tent.
The guards moved aside. The tent flap closed.
Cora lowered her sword. "That was strange."
Lucian watched the tent. "He’s not lying."
"How do you know?"
"Because he didn’t try to kill us."
---
The drive back was quiet.
Derek spoke first. "So Malachar isn’t joining Valentine?"
"Not yet," Lucian said. "But that could change."
Mason kept his eyes on the road. "We report to Alistair. Let him decide."
Sera nodded. "One demon prince is enough."
Cora looked at Lucian. "What did you see in his eyes?"
"Nothing."
"Everyone has sothing in their eyes."
Lucian was quiet for a mont.
"Ambition," he said. "He wants power. But he’s patient. He’ll wait until Valentine weakens, then strike."
Cora frowned. "That makes him more dangerous."
"It makes him predictable."
She didn’t argue.
The van drove south.
The trees pressed close. The sky was grey. Sowhere behind them, Malachar sat by his fire, watching the flas, waiting for the wind to shift.
User Comments
0 comments from readers