Lyonel POV
The sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon, leaving only a fading glow in the west. Now the world belonged to the night.
The moon hung pale and watchful above them, casting a cold silver light across the road and the rolling hills beyond. The air had cooled, and the sounds of the day, birds, wind through leaves, had quieted into something softer. Crickets chirped in the distance, and the occasional gust of wind reminded Lyonel that the world did not sleep, even if it seemed to.
Lyonel stood beside Thunder, running a hand along the stallion's neck.
The horse breathed steadily now, no longer as strained as before. The rest had done him good.
"You did well," Lyonel murmured quietly.
Thunder snorted, as if in answer.
Lyonel moved to the saddle, checking the straps carefully, pulling them tighter. He had learned that, never trust a loose saddle, not when the road ahead was uncertain.
Beside him, Hendry was doing the same with his own horse, though slower, quieter.
Lyonel glanced over at him.
"You ready?"
Hendry looked up, his face half-shadowed by the moonlight. For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he nodded.
"Aye."
They mounted without another word.
The road stretched ahead of them, pale beneath the moon.
And somewhere out there… was Hary.
Lyonel pushed the thought aside for now.
"Let's go."
They set off at a steady pace, not too fast, not yet. Their horses were rested, but the night was treacherous, and Lyonel had no desire to break a leg in the dark.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Only the sound of hooves against dirt filled the silence.
After some time, Hendry finally broke it.
"He should have stopped."
Lyonel did not need to ask who he meant.
"He should have," Lyonel agreed.
Hendry let out a quiet breath.
"He never listens."
There was no anger in his voice. Just something tired. Familiar.
Lyonel glanced at him.
"He thinks stopping is weakness," Lyonel said.
Hendry gave a faint, humorless smile.
"He thinks a lot of things are weakness."
They rode on.
The road curved slightly, leading them between low hills and scattered trees. Shadows stretched long and deep in the moonlight, and more than once Lyonel found his eyes playing tricks on him—thinking he saw movement where there was none.
Or at least… he hoped there was none.
"Hary's not a bad man," Hendry said after a while.
Lyonel raised an eyebrow slightly.
"No?"
Hendry hesitated.
"He's just…" he searched for the word, then sighed. "He thinks the world owes him something."
Lyonel let out a quiet breath.
"That'll get him killed one day."
Hendry didn't respond.
Because they both knew it was true.
They rode on for another stretch of time before something ahead caught Lyonel's eye.
A shape.
A movement.
Lyonel slowed Thunder slightly.
"Hendry."
"I see it."
The shape shifted again.
A horse.
Standing alone in the middle of the road.
Lyonel's stomach tightened.
They approached carefully.
As they got closer, the horse let out a low snort, stamping a hoof against the dirt.
It was Hary's.
Lyonel recognized the horse.
Recognized the markings.
"Hells…" Hendry muttered under his breath.
They dismounted quickly.
Lyonel approached the horse slowly, hand outstretched.
"Easy…"
The horse did not bolt. It simply stood there, restless, as if it had been waiting.
Lyonel took hold of the reins.
"No rider," he said quietly.
Hendry was already looking at the ground.
"Look."
Lyonel followed his gaze.
The dirt told a story.
Hoofprints.
Then—
Scuffed earth.
Dragged lines.
Boot marks.
More than one man.
Lyonel felt something cold settle in his chest.
"He fell," Hendry said grimly.
Lyonel nodded his head.
"Yes."
He crouched down, running his fingers lightly over the disturbed ground.
"They took him."
Hendry clenched his jaw.
"How many?"
Lyonel studied the tracks carefully.
"Two… maybe three," he said slowly. "Could be more. Hard to tell in the dark."
Hendry cursed under his breath.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The night felt heavier now.
More dangerous.
Lyonel stood, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword.
"He's alive," he said.
Hendry looked at him.
"You don't know that."
Lyonel met his gaze.
"They didn't kill him here."
He gestured to the ground.
"No blood. No body."
Hendry exhaled slowly.
"You think they're the same men?"
"The bandits?" Lyonel shook his head. "I don't know."
Hendry's expression darkened.
"I think they are."
Lyonel gave a faint, grim smile.
"Maybe."
For a moment, the two of them stood there in silence.
The weight of what lay ahead settling over them.
Then Hendry spoke.
"We can't take them head-on," he said. "Not if there's more of them."
Lyonel shook his head.
"We have to. We are far from Harvest Hall and Greenhill."
Hendry frowned slightly and then nodded in agreement.
"How will be find them?"
Lyonel looked back down at the tracks.
"They left a trail."
He mounted Thunder again, pulling Hary's horse along by the reins.
"We follow it."
Hendry hesitated only a moment before mounting as well.
"And when we find them?"
Lyonel's grip on the reins tightened.
The moonlight caught in his eyes.
"Then we take him back."
There was something different in his voice now.
Something steadier.
Hendry noticed it.
Lyonel turned Thunder toward the direction the tracks led, off the road, into the darker stretch of land beyond.
"Stay close," Lyonel said.
Hendry nodded.
They rode forward.
Into the dark.
Hary POV
Hary had never known fear like this.
Not in battle.
Not when steel met steel.
Not even when he had been ambushed before.
This… this was different.
This was helplessness.
His back burned with every breath he took. A deep, grinding pain that refused to fade, no matter how still he lay. It felt as if something inside him had been cracked, broken, and left to rot.
He lay curled on the cold stone floor of a cage, his hands bound, his body weak.
Darkness pressed in from all sides.
Only a few torches flickered along the rough stone walls, their light dim and uneven. Shadows danced like twisted figures, stretching and shrinking with every movement of flame.
They had dragged him here.
Into a mine.
He could still remember the way they had hauled him, like meat, like nothing.
Hary clenched his jaw.
"I am a knight…" he whispered to himself.
The words felt hollow.
A knight.
Locked in a cage.
Broken.
Afraid.
His breath hitched.
Footsteps echoed through the mine.
Slow.
Measured.
Getting closer.
Hary's heart began to pound.
He twisted his head toward the sound, ignoring the pain that flared in his back.
A figure stepped into the torchlight.
The same man.
The bandit.
The one who was apart of men who ambushed him.
The one who had knocked him out.
He carried a knife in his hand.
Hary's eyes widened despite himself.
The bandit crouched in front of the cage, smiling.
Up close, the smell hit him.
Sweat. Dirt. Rot.
Hary grimaced.
Gods, he smells like shit.
The bandit tilted his head, watching him.
"Well now," he said softly. "The lordling wakes."
Hary said nothing.
He refused to let his voice shake.
The bandit leaned closer, resting his arm lazily against the bars of the cage.
"Lord Selmy's got men out looking for us," he said. "Men like you."
The knife glinted in the torchlight as he lifted it.
Hary's body tensed.
The bandit reached through the bars and pressed the flat of the blade lightly against Hary's cheek.
Cold steel.
Hary didn't move.
Didn't speak.
The bandit smiled wider.
"Where are they?"
Silence.
Hary swallowed.
Pain throbbed through his body, but something stronger rose beneath it.
Pride.
Hatred.
He would not beg.
He would not break.
The bandit pressed the blade a little harder.
"Where?" he asked again, his voice sharper now.
Hary stared at him.
Then spat.
The spit landed across the man's cheek.
For a heartbeat, everything went still.
The bandit did not move.
Slowly… very slowly… he wiped his face.
Then he laughed.
Not loudly.
Not wildly.
Quietly.
That made it worse.
"You've got spirit," he said.
He stood up.
Then unlocked the cage.
Hary's stomach dropped.
The door creaked open.
The bandit stepped inside.
Hary tried to move, tried to fight, but his body betrayed him. The moment he shifted, pain exploded through his back and he collapsed again.
The bandit grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out of the cage.
Hary gritted his teeth, a groan escaping despite himself.
"Still think you're better than me?" the bandit muttered.
Hary glared up at him.
"Yes."
The word came out strained.
But it came out.
The bandit's smile vanished.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then—
Pain.
Sharp. Sudden.
Hary cried out, his body tensing violently as agony shot through his face.
He couldn't even understand it at first, only that it hurt. That it burned. That it took something from him.
His scream echoed through the mine, raw and broken.
"FUCK—!"
The world spun.
The torches blurred.
His breathing became ragged, desperate.
The bandit let go of him, and Hary collapsed onto the ground, clutching at his face.
Everything felt wrong.
Unbalanced.
His vision swam, uneven, as if the world itself had shifted.
He could hear the bandit's voice, distant now.
"That's what happens," the man said coldly, "when you forget what you are."
Hary barely heard him.
Pain drowned everything.
His pride.
His anger.
His thoughts.
All gone.
Only suffering remained.
Hary lay there, shaking, his breath coming in broken gasps.
Tears mixed with dirt on his face, though he didn't even realize he was crying.
For the first time in his life—
Hary Caron felt small.
Weak.
Afraid.
And somewhere, deep beneath the pain…
A thought crept in.
Lyonel was right.