The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Elara's flinty eyes held me pinned, dissecting my story, my posture, the very fear that was no longer entirely an act. The body of the Mossback Boar lay between us, a testament to her effortless power.
Finally, she spoke, her voice a low, cool murmur that carried perfectly in the evening quiet. "You are not from the city."
It wasn't a question. It was an observation, sharp and precise. My new clothes, the traveler's pack—they were a costume, and she saw right through it.
"I… I wasn't," I stammered, sticking to my story but layering in truth. "I was passing through. Looking for work. I didn't find any." That, at least, was something the original Zane would have said.
Her eyes flicked to the trampled patch of silver-leafed mint in her garden, then back to me. A minuscule tightening of her lips. "The road is that way," she said, gesturing with the practice sword towards the main path, still hidden by the tree line. "The bandits are not my concern. Leave."
Dismissal. Cold and absolute. This wasn't going to plan.
Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through me. If she sent me away now, I'd have nowhere to go as darkness fell. I'd have wasted my only chance to make contact. I had to give her a reason to care. Something that would prick the conscience of the disciplinarian, the protector she used to be.
I took a half-step back, bowing again, deeper this time. "Of course, Maestra. Forgive the intrusion. I will… I will find another way around." I made a show of looking towards the darkening woods, letting genuine apprehension color my voice. "I just hope the bandits are content with one traveler today."
I turned to leave, my movements slow, deliberately showcasing my reluctance to re-enter the dangerous forest.
"Wait."
The single word stopped me in my tracks. I turned back, hope flaring cautiously.
She was still watching me, her expression unreadable. "You mentioned bandits. How many? Where exactly?"
This was my chance. I furrowed my brow, as if concentrating. "I didn't get a good count. Three, maybe four? They were hidden in the rocks near the creek ford, about a half-hour's walk into the woods along the main path." I described the location from the novel perfectly. "They were waiting for someone. I was just… in the way."
A faint frown touched her lips. The creek ford was a known ambush point. And her son was due back from his herb-gathering… along that very path.
A conflict warred behind her eyes. The desire for isolation against the ingrained duty of a warrior. The fear for her son against the walls she had built.
"You will stay," she said, the words sounding like they were pulled from her. "Until first light. The woods are no place for anyone at night, least of all a boy who attracts trouble."
It wasn't kindness. It was pragmatism. I was a variable, a loose end. Keeping me close was the most efficient way to manage me. But it was enough.
"Thank you, Maestra," I said, injecting as much gratitude as I could muster.
She gave a short, sharp nod towards a small, open-sided woodshed stacked neatly with split logs. "You can sleep there. There is a stream behind the house for water. Do not touch anything. Do not approach the house. You will be gone at dawn."
With that, she turned her back on me and walked into her cottage, closing the door firmly behind her. The sound of the bolt sliding home was unmistakable.
I was in. Barely. I had a roof of sorts and a measure of safety. But I was also on probation, watched by a woman who could likely kill me with a piece of firewood without breaking a sweat.
I walked over to the woodshed. It was dry and smelled of pine. It was a palace compared to the sewer or the flophouse. I sat on the earth floor, leaning against the stacked logs, and pulled out the remains of my ration brick. I chewed slowly, watching the light fade from the sky.
My plan had worked, in a messy, precarious way. I was at Elara's doorstep. But now what? I couldn't just wait for Kaelan to show up bloodied and traumatized. I had to be proactive. I had to prove my value.
An idea began to form. A gamble. But everything here was a gamble.
As full darkness fell, the cottage door opened again. Elara emerged, carrying a wooden bowl. She walked over and placed it on the ground just outside the woodshed without a word. It contained a portion of thick, hearty stew and a chunk of dark bread.
I stared at it, then at her retreating back. "Maestra… thank you."
She paused at her door but didn't turn. "Eat. You will need your strength to leave in the morning." Then she disappeared inside.
The gesture was utilitarian, devoid of warmth, but it was food. Real food. I devoured it. It was simple but delicious, flavored with herbs from the garden I'd trampled. The irony wasn't lost on me.
I was finishing the last of the bread when I heard it—a distant shout, followed by the unmistakable clash of steel on steel. It came from deep within the woods, in the direction of the creek ford.
My head snapped up. Elara's door flew open. She stood there, no longer in simple clothes. She wore worn but well-maintained leather armor. The practice sword was gone. In her hand was a real blade, its edge gleaming faintly in the moonlight. Her face was a mask of cold fury and terrifying focus.
She was every inch the Sword-Saint.
Her eyes met mine for a fraction of a second, and in them, I saw the truth she was trying to suppress: it was Kaelan. She knew it.
She moved to sprint into the woods, a mother's instinct overriding a hermit's solitude.
"Maestra, wait!" I called out, scrambling to my feet.
She froze, impatience and anger radiating from her. "What?"
"This," I said. I reached into my inventory and pulled out the Iron-Tipped Spear, offering it to her, grip first. "It's not much. But it's better than nothing if they have archers. Please."
It was a calculated risk. The spear was a cheap, common weapon, but offering it was an act of alliance. It showed foresight. It showed that I wasn't just a scared boy, but someone thinking tactically.
She stared at the spear, then at me, her expression unreadable. The sounds of struggle from the woods grew louder. A cry of pain—young, male.
She didn't take the spear. Instead, she gave me one last, piercing look. "Stay. Here."
Then, she was gone. She didn't run into the woods; she simply… flowed into the shadows, moving with a silence and speed that defied belief. One moment she was there, the next, she was a flicker between the trees, then nothing.
I stood alone in the clearing, the offered spear still in my hand, the sounds of battle echoing in the distance. I had set the pieces in motion. I had brought the protector out of her shell.
Now, I could only wait and hope my intervention hadn't just made everything worse. The script was unraveling. I just had to pray it wasn't unraveling into a noose.