Chapter 29: The Battle of Ember Ravine, Part 5
The ground rolled under his boots like a chest drawing breath. Torches shook in their brackets. The cage bars rattled under small hands. The Wardens' formation frayed as men looked down instead of forward. Elias felt it in his ribs where the hum lived now, a thick chord stretched taut, the Loom holding a note and refusing to let it go.
"Close to me," he said. Not loud, not soft. Just a line the children could grab.
The oldest girl shoved the youngest behind her. Both clutched the bars, knuckles white. The boy between them stared through the wood with wide, unblinking eyes. His lips moved as if to pray, but no sound came out.
The nearest Warden tried to steady his men with a chant. His voice cracked around a practiced cadence. Two more joined him, the sound smoothed, spearheads lifted. Discipline climbed back over fear.
The tremor didn't care. It came again, deeper. Branches clacked together in the dark like teeth. Dust sifted down the bank and streaked Elias's arm with mud.
"Hold the line," the sergeant barked. Brave because men were watching. He pointed his spear at Elias. "Take the Outsider. Secure the cage."
Orders were a raft men clung to when the river ran too fast.
Elias rolled his shoulders. The spear felt heavy but right. The burn in his back was old wire pulled tight. He drew a breath that tasted of iron and wet bark. He told his body to listen. Not to rush. Not to break.
The first two Wardens came together. Shield and spear. Classic. Good angles. The kind of drill that wins when the ground is honest.
The ground wasn't honest.
The fog ahead bulged. Then broke. Brush thrashed. Saplings bowed. And the first of them hit the road like a gray river snapping its banks.
Threadbeasts.
Wolves the size of hounds grown monstrous. Boars with plates of dull sheen along their ribs. A cat lean shape whose tail moved like a whip. More behind them. More behind that.
The Wardens' chant died. A handful threw spears on reflex and missed. Nerves turned aim into waste. The beasts didn't flinch. They flowed. Not a blind stampede. Not a mindless flood. They flowed around Elias and the cage as if he were a stone and they the river that had always known his shape.
The first rank of Wardens met the horde in a crash that hammered the night flat. Iron screamed. Men screamed louder.
Elias didn't move. Not moving was the smartest thing he had. Spear angled, body between the bars and the teeth.
The youngest girl sobbed into her sister's dress. The boy gripped the wood harder, eyes fixed on Elias.
A plated boar thundered past so close he could have touched it. It didn't even look at him. It slammed into a Warden broadside and folded him into his shield like a hand crushing a cup. Behind it came wolves. One leapt for a torch arm. Another for a knee. The line collapsed in a tangle that turned the road into a grinder.
"Back!" the sergeant screamed. "Fall—"
He didn't finish. The cat lean beast took him at the hip and kept going. A clean motion that left red where order had been.
Elias tracked it all. He saw the lines like wind through grass. A path here. A break there. The horde ignored him and his charges. It should have felt like relief. Instead it felt like standing in a house fire where the blaze had agreed to spare one room, for now.
Three Wardens broke for the cage. Smart. Ugly work. Faces set not to see anything except the children they meant to take.
Elias leaned into them. Point low. The first man took the thrust under his shield rim. The hum split his weave. He folded and made bad footing for the next two.
The second swung high, desperate. Elias rolled his wrist, baring his bones to the shaft. The blow skittered. He stepped in and struck the throat with the buttcap. The man went down hard.
The third tried to vault the shaft. Elias angled, caught him in the chest, and shoved him back into the mud. His spear buzzed with resonance, steel singing like a plucked string.
The horde hit the second file and tore it wide. Wolves and boars worked like soldiers who didn't need orders. Efficient. Fast. Merciless.
One wolf's eyes caught his. Silver. Too much like another pair that blinked up at him from the past. Elias's chest went cold, then hot. He shoved the thought aside. Survival didn't leave room for ghosts.
"Did you call them?" the boy whispered. Awe dulled the edge of fear. "Did you call the Loom?"
The sister hushed him, but never took her eyes off Elias's back.
"Eyes on me," Elias said. The words were steady. The lie was steady too. He hadn't called anything. But if they believed it, if it kept their breath from breaking, then he would wear the lie like armor.
Back at the ravine, the ground shuddered under their boots again. Not the rhythm of men. This was deeper. Older.
Rook was the first to feel it. His hackles bristled, teeth bared at fog that suddenly smelled wrong, or right, depending on which side you were on. He growled low, the kind of sound that gets inside your ribs and makes you want to step back.
Hale glanced down, then at the dwarf. "That's not us."
"No," Thorek said, knuckles white around the hammer haft. "That's the bloody forest waking up."
The Wardens noticed too. Their line wavered mid step. Some shifted their feet, glancing over shoulders, but discipline pulled them back into rhythm.
"Arrows," Hale ordered. Elvi shook her empty quiver. Her mouth was set like iron. She drew the short sword strapped at her thigh instead, blade plain, grip worn. "I'm not done yet," she said.
Noll's ward trembled. He felt the pulse under the soil and thought it was his own heart breaking time. "It's coming closer," he whispered.
Lysera's veil flickered once, threads stuttering like nerves. She caught herself, set her shoulders, and bound it tighter. "This is no Warden march."
The next wave came anyway. Shields up. Faces grim. They pressed into the choke with stubborn legs, refusing to give ground just because the air felt wrong.
"Hold them," Hale barked. "Whatever that is, it's not here yet. These bastards still are."
They obeyed. Spears struck. Hammer fell. Ward glowed faint and fierce. Elvi stepped into the line, sword flashing, every strike efficient, no wasted flourish. Lysera bent torchlight again and sent two thrusts wide.
The Wardens still pressed, shoulder to shoulder, and for a moment it felt like the ravine itself might crack under the weight.
Then the sound changed.
It wasn't just tremor now. It was motion. Branches snapping in rhythm. Rocks knocking loose from ledges. A drumbeat of earth itself.
The Wardens faltered. A lieutenant shouted them back into order, but fear ran quicker than orders.
Rook lunged forward, barking sharp and furious, tail stiff as a spear. He wasn't warning them. He was announcing. Something was here.
The fog at the far bend bulged. Torchlight flickered. Men shouted.
Then the first beast came through. A wolf, but not Rook's kin, bigger, leaner, silver-gray hide striped with dark threads glowing faint in the mist. It didn't look at the Ashborn. It went straight for the Wardens.
The line broke like glass struck from the inside. Screams tore up the ravine as the horde poured in, wolves, boars, hulking things with claws like hooked scythes. The ground turned into teeth.
"Saints preserve," Elvi breathed, but her blade never wavered.
"They're ignoring us," Lysera said, disbelief sharp in her voice. "They're only killing Wardens."
Hale didn't waste wonder. He slammed his spear into the gut of a man who tried to bolt past him, then jerked his chin toward the chaos. "Hold your line. If the beasts want the Wardens, let them have em."
Thorek laughed, half hysteria, half religion. "By the Forge, I'll take it."
Rook snarled again, ears flat. Not at the beasts. At the men still trying to force past. The wolf knew the difference.
The ravine turned into slaughter. Wardens scattered, but the choke trapped them. Wolves pulled men down in the mud. Boars rammed through lines like siege engines. Screams echoed, tangled with the deep thunder of paws and hooves.
The Ashborn stood in place. For once, the killing didn't need them.
But every eye shared the same question, unspoken, heavy in the air.
Why were they spared?
The fog reeked of iron and wet fur. Smoke curled from the last fires. The ravine no longer echoed with men's chants, but with the tearing sound of beasts finishing their work. Bones snapped under teeth. Armor crunched like brittle bark.
Elias stood at the cage. His knuckles were white on the spear haft, shoulders heaving. The children clung to his legs, too spent for tears, too wired for silence. Their eyes never left him.
He had expected the beasts to turn on him the moment the Wardens fell. But they didn't. Not one came near. Wolves barreled past him, jaws dripping. A boar rammed a Warden into the cliff wall, tusks splitting steel. A great striped cat padded through blood and torchlight, its fur humming with faint threads, and it glanced at him only once. Then it leapt into the fog after fleeing prey.
The horde poured around Elias like a river finding every stone but not him.
He swayed, spear point dragging a line in the mud. His Resonance Sense pulsed raw, battered by the flood of threads in motion. Every beast was a knot of resonance, primal and fierce, and he felt them as if the Loom itself had shifted into claws and tusks. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself upright.
The last Warden at the caravan tried to crawl. A wolf ended him with a mercifully quick bite. The children flinched, but Elias stepped between them and the sight. His hand went to the iron bars, steadying himself.
"You're safe," he muttered, though the words tasted fragile. He said them again, louder, because they had to believe it. "You're safe."
The little one, dirt streaked and wide eyed, whispered, "You called them."
Elias blinked. "What?"
"The beasts," the child said, voice trembling but sure. "You cut the Threads. You said you'd keep us safe. And then the forest came."
Elias opened his mouth, then shut it. He wanted to say no, wanted to explain that he hadn't called anything. But the words lodged in his throat. The way they stared at him, hopeful, desperate, clinging to something bigger than fear, it hit like a blade under the ribs.
If denying it stole that hope, could he afford the truth?
He set his jaw, turned to the ravine below, and let silence be his answer.
At the choke, Hale's squad had gone still. The beasts ripped through the Warden reinforcements with savage precision. Wolves darted in and out, hamstrings cut before steel could turn. Boars smashed lines apart. Smaller, stranger beasts slithered through gaps, pulling men down into the fog.
The Wardens broke. Not in formation. Not in order. They shattered like pottery dropped from a shelf. Men clawed over each other to flee, trampling shields, abandoning spears. Torches fell and hissed in blood wet mud.
The Ashborn watched, frozen in their line.
Rook crouched at Hale's boots, hackles still high, but his tail gave a short, stiff wag. His nose twitched, reading the scent in the air. It wasn't rage that rolled off the horde. It wasn't hunger either. It was something older. A force moving through Thornveil with intent not their own.
Elvi's knuckles were white on her short sword. She'd fought too long to relax now. "They're not touching us," she breathed. "Not one."
Lysera's veil shimmered faint, then faded. Her eyes tracked the shapes moving through fog, cold and unreadable. "They aren't blind. They're choosing."
"Choosing us?" Noll's voice cracked. His ward flickered, then died out entirely. His arms dropped, trembling. "Why?"
Hale didn't answer. His face was carved stone, eyes narrowing as he measured the slaughter. He'd seen battlefields where men left each other alive for ransom or truce. But this wasn't mercy. This was indifference.
Thorek spat into the mud. "Forge take me, I'll not complain. Let the bastards get eaten. Less work for my hammer."
But even his grin was thin, uneasy.
The horde finished as suddenly as it had begun. Screams dwindled to moans, then to nothing. The beasts pulled back, dragging corpses into the fog. Wolves padded silent, blood painting their muzzles. The great boar's tusks dripped as it vanished between trees. The striped cat leapt a fallen trunk and disappeared without sound.
Then quiet.
Not peace. Quiet like a forge cooling, heat still hidden in iron.
Rook gave a final bark, sharp and short. Then he sat, silver eyes locked on the place where the beasts had gone. His ears twitched. He wagged his tail once more.
Hale lowered his spear, slow and deliberate. "Line down," he said. His voice carried steady. "We're done here."
Noll sagged, legs folding. Elvi let her blade tip rest in the mud. Lysera drew a long, slow breath and pressed her bleeding forearm against her cloak. Thorek exhaled through his nose like a bellows.
No one spoke for a long moment.
Elias's boots squelched in mud as he led the children down the slope. His spear dragged behind him. The little ones clung to his hands, eyes flicking at the blood and fur littering the ground. He kept them moving, slow, steady.
When he reached the others, Hale stepped forward. His eyes scanned Elias once, then the children. "You live," he said.
"Barely," Elias muttered. His chest still heaved, but he straightened his shoulders. "The caravan's gone. Kids are safe."
Thorek whistled low. "Safe? With that lot around?" He jerked his thumb toward the fog.
Elias's jaw tightened. "They didn't touch us."
Lysera studied him, gaze sharp. "They touched only the Wardens."
Noll's eyes widened. "Then… then he did call them."
"No," Elias snapped, too quick. He felt the children's grip on his hands tighten. He bit back the next word. Looked at their small faces, pale and streaked with soot, and swallowed the truth again. "No. I just kept them alive."
Elvi sheathed her sword. Her voice was dry. "Alive's more than most tonight."
The children still stared at him like he was something more than flesh. Something more than a man. Elias hated it and needed it, both at once.
They gathered on higher ground, away from the ravine's reek. Hale set the perimeter. Elvi cleaned blades. Lysera bound Noll's arms. Thorek checked the last of the gear.
Elias sat apart, back against a stone, Rook pressed against his side. The wolf's fur was damp with blood that wasn't his. Elias scratched behind his ear, slow, steady. His other hand gripped the spear tight.
He stared at the children curled under cloaks near the fire. They whispered to each other, too low to hear. Every so often, one glanced at him and then away, like they feared to be caught watching a god.
A laugh broke from his throat, bitter and low. "God," he muttered. "I'm no one's saint."
Rook's ear flicked. The wolf huffed, warm breath against Elias's wrist.
Hale crouched across the fire. His eyes were hard. "You cut threads," he said. "They saw it."
Elias didn't look up. "Yeah."
"And then this happened."
"Yeah."
"You know what that means."
Elias finally met his eyes. "That the Church will never stop hunting me?"
Hale nodded once. "That's the shape of it."
Lysera's voice slid in, cool and sharp. "They've chained the story of Saint Caelus for centuries. Only he could cut threads. Their saint, their lie. Now a stranger does it, before witnesses? They'll burn half of Velros just to keep that veil intact."
Noll flinched. "Then what do we do?"
Hale's gaze swept them, one by one. "We use it. We make it ours before they do."
The night dragged on. The beasts never returned. The fog thickened until torches guttered low.
Elias sat awake, spear across his knees, the Loom humming faint in his chest. Every cut, every weave, every breath he had spent tonight thrummed in his bones like a ledger he could not close.
The children slept. The squad rested in shifts.
The ravine below was still. A graveyard of steel and bones.
And in the silence, Elias whispered to the dark. "If this is what you left me, Soldier… if this is the weight you carried… then I'll carry it too. But I'm no saint."
The Loom answered with nothing but the faint hum of threads in fog.
And Ember Ravine slept uneasy.