Thornak reined in his mount. They had just reached the edge of the vale of thorns. He recognized the men, scouts he'd sent to Ashmoor. But they were only two now. Just two.
Dain moved first, intercepting them as they staggered, half-falling to their knees before shifting back to human form.
"Sire," one choked out, blood drying in thick smears down his cheek.
"Tell me." Thornak commanded.
The man swallowed hard. "When we arrived... There was no sign of an enemy. But then… it started. We began hearing things. Seeing things. Voices in the dark. Faces we buried long ago. Orders from commanders who weren't there."
His companion looked up at Thornak, desperation in his eyes. "They twisted us and before we knew it, we were at each other's throats."
Then Thornak nodded once, slowly. "How many escaped?"
"Just us," said the second scout. "And barely."
Dain exhaled sharply. "Ashmoor was a trap."
Ruvan muttered a curse under his breath.
Thornak's eyes narrowed as he turned toward the east, towards Ashmoor. Lara was right.
Then he gave the only command that mattered.
"We march for the Vale."
The Vale of Thorns was a dark, hollow place, hidden between sharp ridges. Dead trees stood along the edges, their bare branches stretching like claws. The ground was black with ash and rot, tangled with thorny vines that seemed to move and breathe on their own.
No birds sang here. No wind moved. The air felt heavy as if something was wrong. It was a place forgotten by light, spoken of only in fear, where curses are laid and no living soul dared to walk.
They moved quietly. It was silent.
Even the wind seemed to hesitate there, and Jax shifted uneasily beneath Thornak's skin.
Then they saw them.
Rogues. Hundreds of them scattered across the vale like statues, motionless. Their eyes were wide yet unfocused. Some bled from their mouth, others trembled faintly, their bodies straining as though held back by invisible chains.
Not a snarl. Not a growl.
It was only breathing. Slow and shallow. Each breath rising and falling at the same time.
It was too even, and too wrong.
Ruvan whispered, "They're not… I think they are asleep."
"No," Thornak muttered. "They're waiting."
Dain knelt beside one, watching the rogue's lips twitch, as if reciting something unheard.
"They are in a trance."
These rogues were weapons. Ready, but not yet unleashed.
"Blood magic," Ruvan said grimly, pointing to a nearby tree. The bark was carved with twisting signs that gave off a faint red glow, like a dying fire.
"They're not in this place by chance," he said. "They're gathering for an attack."
Dain's jaw clenched. "We should break the spell. Study the runes. Learn what holds them."
"No," Thornak said, voice like flint. "We don't study vipers lying in wait. We crush them."
Ruvan's brows knit. "I think they're linked to each other."
"They are linked," Thornak agreed. "That's why we burn them. Before whatever holds them snaps."
He turned to his commanders, gaze like a drawn blade.
"We don't give the sorcerer his war, we destroy his army."
With swift commands, oil casks were dragged to the ridge. Archers lit their arrows, the flames painting their faces in gold and red.
Across the vale, the rogues continued to stand silent and still.
Thornak raised his arm.
"For Vargorath."
He let it fall.
The arrows flew.
And the Vale of Thorns ignited like a funeral pyre.
They burned, every last one of them.
Thornak watched the flames climb high into the sky.
Suddenly the sky darkened, from an even thicker smoke...
Then it came.
From the heart of the smoke, it slipped through. Not walked, slipped. Like it didn't belong to the world it stood in.
The sorcerer's familiar.
Its arms were too long. Its body was far too thin. Shadows clung to it. Its clawed feet touched the burnt ground gently, almost as if it enjoyed the ash.
Its head turned once. Slowly. It had no eyes. Just hollow slits.
The air filled with the sound of growls as they shifted into Lycans.
Dain exclaimed. "What in the Goddess's name..."
Ruvan didn't speak. He couldn't.
The creature opened its mouth and let out a small, piercing sound.
Thornak didn't flinch.
"Tell your master this," he snarled, "he'll die before the end."
The familiar tilted its head, as if amused.
Then it vanished, melted backward into the smoke, leaving nothing behind but scorched prints and a whisper...
"I see you."
The creature's scream echoed long after the flames had swallowed the vale, a sound that left the men pale.
None of them spoke as they left the vale.
They were warriors, hardened by wars, but what they saw today was something else. Unnatural.
Still, it was a victory. The rogues were gone. The threat, for now, reduced to ash.
They turned toward home, hearts lifted with the weight of triumph. In their minds however they knew whatever had stirred in the vale of thorns will definitely stir again.
But as they neared the mountain pass, the sky shuddered. Black clouds rolled in like a tide, swallowing the sun. In a blink, day fell to total darkness.
"Turn back," Thornak commanded.
They rode their mounts, pushing hard and broke free of the smoke storm. A wall of black smoke stretched around them across the valley.
"What is this?" Dain muttered.
"I think someone doesn't want us to leave." Ruvan responded.
The smoke shifted like it was alive.
"Smoke doesn't move like that," Dain growled. "Not unless it's being controlled."
"Or conjured," Thornak added. "There's sorcery in this."
Dain's lip curled. "Cowards' tricks. Show yourself, whoever you are!"
The smoke thickened as if answering him.
Ruvan glanced sideways at him. "Don't provoke what you can't see."
They stood at the edge of the smoke, its shadow pressing close like something alive.
The air hung heavy, and the world ahead was fading. Each step forward vanished into the dark.
So they waited, caught between the vale of thorns and the smoke.
Trapped.