The Order of Elysia

Chapter 17- Zarvath

When they finally set foot on land, they found themselves in terrain laced with mangroves- swampy, humid and tangled with roots that clawed out of the soft ground, but about two kilometers inland, the soil gradually became firmer and the vegetation shifted, as the mangroves gave way to leafy undergrowth, easier to navigate.

They moved in a staggered formation; Thorndale at the front, his eyes scanning the ground and treeline with practiced focus; Lilly just behind him, matching his pace silently and Rurik grumbling under his breath now and then but falling quiet whenever Thorndale looked back.

None of them had spoken much and truth be told, Lilly was grateful for the peace. From the start of the mission she had forced her fear of being alone with her two enemies into a small box within her, sealed tight so it could not rise and drown her.

As Lilly pushed a branch out of her way, she made no effort to warn Rurik or to hold it aside for him to pass; instead, she let it snap back straight into his face.

"Watch it! Why are you always such a pain?", Rurik snapped at her, rubbing his cheek angrily.

"I’m a pain? Really? Because I am almost surprised I haven’t heard you call me a traitor, a w***e or as good as dead today.”, she hissed back at Rurik.

Thorndale’s shoulders tensed in front of Lilly, but she couldn’t see his face and he did not interfere. Rurik decided not to push it further for some reason; by now the forest ahead of them had grown mossy, a strange mix of tropical and temperate flora in every direction: ferns, twisted vines and the occasional cluster of mushrooms. After another hundred meters or so, they came upon a road; it wasn’t paved, but judging by the hardened tracks in the dried mud, it was clearly used by carts and horse-drawn wagons.

"The area we’re supposed to search begins about three kilometers down this path.”, Thorndale informed them curtly. So they began walking eastward along the road, listening for sounds and scanning the forest floor for signs of movement, of passage, of anything that didn’t belong.

Lilly noticed the way the Warden kept glancing over his shoulder. Not to check on Rurik, but to look at her, probably making sure she did not run away and she remembered how he had said that he hated babysitting her before.

They paused at a shallow ravine, where the trail bent sharply and the air grew cooler. Thorndale knelt to study a faint impression in the mud, a partial bootprint, half-washed away by water and time. Lilly crouched beside him, close enough that her shoulder unintentionally brushed his. "What is it?”

He stiffened, but he didn’t move away from her and murmured: "A track- human. Not heavy enough for armoured feet, but it is too old. Must be here for well over a week.” Lilly could feel the heat of his body through his coat, as she turned her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studied the print, when she noticed the Warden’s gaze briefly shift from the track to her.

"You breathe differently when you’re thinking.”, he said quietly, so that only she could hear.

She blinked at him. "Are you always paying that much attention to the way people breathe?”

His eyes met hers, dark, unreadable, but not with disdain, like she was used to. "Only when I’m trying not to be distracted.”

A beat of silence passed, until somewhere behind them, Rurik cleared his throat loudly. "Can we move, or did you find something?"

Lilly stood up, brushing her hands off on her trousers. "Sorry to interrupt your sulking, Rurik. You’ll get your turn with the Warden.”

Thorndale’s lips twitched at her comment, but he said nothing, so they continued along the path, but the space between Lilly and Thorndale remained smaller than before.

Soon, the Warden crouched down again- beside a cluster of roots, inspecting a faint scuff in the dirt. "Boot edge. Someone passed here not long ago.”, he murmured.

Rurik was already at his side, his breath shallow."I can flank along the ridge to the north, check for parallel tracks.”

"No.”, Thorndale stood up slowly, brushing dirt from his glove.

"But-”, Rurik stood frozen for half a second, like a boy caught trying to prove himself in the wrong way.

"I instruct you and you follow.” The words did not sound cold, just firm and final.

Rurik’s jaw tightened, but he pressed out an obedient: "Yes, Warden.”

Behind them, Lilly watched closely, catching the edge of something strange in Rurik’s expression. There was no sign of the snarling arrogance he usually wore around Lilly. Around Thorndale, he moved like someone trying very hard not to disappoint, he was practically begging for his approval.

A short distance later, they finally came upon multiple boot prints, along with the unmistakable tracks of riding animals veering off the road and into the forest. Lilly counted at least three horses and four distinct sets of human footprints. Her gut told her what she was already suspecting, these were likely the tracks of the missing caravan.

Thorndale crouched, studying the crisscross of impressions in the muddy ground. His eyes followed the chaotic pattern before he raised one hand in a silent signal: stay quiet. Without a word, he reached for the engraved bow slung across his back. Smoothly, he nocked an arrow, the string tightening with a soft whisper of tension.

The forest opened up in a small clearing and the foul stench hit their nostrils, before they saw anything. Rurik swore under his breath, one hand drifting toward his crossbow, when Thorndale raised a hand to quiet him, his eyes scanning the ground as they stepped forward.

The remnants of a camp were strewn across the moss and packed earth, broken crates, torn canvas and shattered glass. Blood stained the roots of nearby trees, the metallic scent thick in the humid air, yet it was the heavier stench that struck Lilly hard- the sour, suffocating reek of decay that clung to the air like fog. Flies swarmed in thick clouds over the corpses, their droning buzz filling the silence, crawling across pale flesh already bloated and discolored. Three men, no older than thirty, lay twisted in the mud, two of them dressed in common trader garb, the third in scorched leather that might once have been part of a caravan guard’s uniform and from the state of them it was clear they had been dead for at least two days, but it was the pair of bodies near the overturned wagon that drew Lilly’s attention. She stepped carefully, ignoring the churned-up soil and the dark smears at her feet.

Zarvathian armor, but something felt off to Lilly. One of the corpses wore a bronze breastplate, typical of the Western battalions, but it was clean and shiny, unmarred by the chaos around it and the ornate helmet beside his head was untouched by the soot and blood covering the rest of the scene. Even the crimson plume on his helmet lay beside him, clean as if it had never seen a battlefield.

“This doesn’t make sense.”, Lilly muttered to herself.

Thorndale, crouching beside one of the wagons, stilled. "What doesn’t?”, his voice was low. She hesitated, but then gestured at the armour, without explaining it further to him. It looked so deliberate. Why would Zarvathian soldiers charge a small trade caravan and attack so far inland? And why leave gear behind for someone to find?

Rurik snorted, as if Lilly was being utterly ridiculous and Thorndale stood up slowly, brushing the dirt from his gloves. His gaze met hers, sharp and unreadable and a muscle in the Warden’s jaw flexed. He turned his attention to the tracks in the mud, his boots crunching over broken glass and splintered wood. "Too many footprints for a small skirmish.”

"They were moved.”, Lilly said quietly, finishing her thought loudly.

Thorndale turned to her again and said: "You should be careful with your assumptions and what you say out loud.”, he interrupted, voice still calm but tighter now. "Doubt is a dangerous habit.”

Lilly blinked as Thorndale walked past her, toward the pristine Zarvathian breastplate lying half-buried in the mud and with the toe of his boot, he kicked dirt over it.

"What are you doing?”, Lilly gasped. Did he see that something was not right at the scene or did he desecrate the corpse just to show his hatred for Zarvath? Lilly barely had time to finish the thought when a knife whipped past her cheek. There was no warning cry, no rustling from the trees, no crunch of leaves. Just the whistle of the knife and the sudden explosion of violence.

A second knife struck the tree just behind her head and then the forest erupted into chaos. Figures in copper armour surged forward from the undergrowth. One of them bellowed something in a guttural dialect and suddenly they were surrounded by a dozen men, but they did not wear Zarvathian armor.

Rurik swore under his breath and raised his crossbow while Thorndale reacted before either of them could. He jumped forward and Lilly could see his glyph glowing on his neck. A short shimmer rippled through the air and in the blink of an eye, thorned brambles erupted from the earth like a living wall, obstructing the attackers view on the group.

Thorndale moved like water and shadow, slipping between the attackers with deadly precision. A flick of his fingers and two more obstacles blinked into existence, illusions that looked like sunken hollows in the forest earth, tricking the attackers into stumbling or hesitating just long enough for him to strike. She felt every movement, every twisted glare, every blade veering toward her direction. She shot two arrows and managed to nick one enemy’s arm but there were too many, as one of the attackers approached her. He lunged from her blind spot and would have gutted her had Thorndale not appeared between them and driven a dagger into the man’s throat in one clean, practiced movement.

Then, Thorndale snapped his hand again and a second Lilly flickered into existence. Lilly froze for a heartbeat, breath catching in her throat. There was another her, stepping in sync, mirroring her movements with eerie precision. She had heard that the Warden was a powerful illusionist, but that?

The illusion moved fluid, quick and indistinguishable. It wore her same determined scowl, the same tension in the shoulders, the same posture… It was almost mesmerizing. A strange chill ran down her spine. She’d never realized how fierce she looked until now. Her illusion moved in tandem with her, dodging and weaving and confusing the attackers. They didn’t know which one to focus on and the distraction gave her a chance to breathe.

Lilly saw Rurik move with a precision that surprised even Lilly. While the clash of steel and the shouts of men filled the clearing, he had already dropped to one knee, loading his crossbow with steady hands. He raised it, eyes narrowed and the next heartbeat the bolt flew with a thwack. It struck an attacker clean through the skull, the man collapsed without a sound and his body crumpled into the mud as if his strings had been cut. Rurik was already reloading, his face grim.

Then, one of the attackers broke through the illusory brambles and charged straight at her, eyes locked on her, ready to strike. Lilly’s hands shook as she fumbled for another arrow, her breath shallow, her legs frozen, until instinct took over.

Her glyph burned to life across her skin and she felt a tickling sensation on her ribcage. Her mind narrowed to a single point of focus as her fingers nocked the arrow and drew it back. She could feel the trajectory like a thread in her chest as the arrow flew, humming with power and burying itself in the man's thigh. He screamed, stumbled and dropped his blade, blood pouring down his leg as he collapsed, clutching the wound and snarling curses.

It wasn't a kill, but it was enough to stop him, enough to prove to herself that she could fight back, but only for a moment. Lilly’s breath hitched as pain erupted just below her ribcage, hot and sudden, as if someone had jammed a glowing iron into her gut. The force of the impact knocked her back a step and her fingers flew instinctively to the warm and wet spot. Her knees buckled as she looked down and saw a blade protruded from her stomach, buried deep, but not piercing through her backside. Dark blood soaked the fabric of her tunic, spreading fast. It wasn’t a clean pain, it throbbed, pulsing through her with every panicked heartbeat.

The attacker didn’t get the chance to pull the blade free as a blur of movement cut across Lilly’s vision, fast and brutal. Thorndale’s daggers flashed once, catching the glint of fading light and then there was only the sickening sound of steel meeting flesh. The attacker gasped, eyes wide with shock, before collapsing to the ground lifelessly, whilst blood sprayed across the grass. Thorndale didn’t even look down.

He spun to Lilly’s side in a heartbeat, crouching low, his face grim, his hand already at her wound. "You’re not dying today.”, he said urgently. All she could see was his face, dark with fury. He had moved like death itself, without hesitation. Her vision blurred and her legs gave out, as she dropped to the earth, her hands trembling as they hovered near the shaft of the blade. She didn’t dare pull it out and didn’t dare breathe too deep. Every movement sent another wave of fire lancing through her abdomen. She wanted to scream, but her mouth only opened in silence. The pain owned her now, vast, merciless and all-consuming. The sky above was spinning and the trees swayed like shadows.

Thorndale’s face hovered over her, just when her vision darkened at the edges and light came and went like flashes behind closed eyelids. Then the pain vanished. Not dulled. Not numbed. It was simply gone.

She blinked up at him, with her last strength, confused. His face was close and it shifted, distorted like something under rippling water. The lines of his jaw blurred, his skin paled, his lips moved but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. The only thing she knew was that she was still breathing and the agony that had filled her just seconds before bled away as if someone had lifted it from her soul. The world swam around Lilly in blurred shapes and distant noises, until she slipped into blackness.

***

A soft, golden light spilled through the tall arched windows, casting slow-moving patterns across the smooth floor and somewhere nearby, the sound of the gentle trickle of water created the impression of peace. Lilly’s eyelids fluttered open and for a moment she stared in confusion at the unfamiliar ceiling, its curved plaster too perfect, too clean to belong to a barrack.

It wasn’t until she shifted slightly and a throb in her stomach made her flinch, that the memories returned, not all at once, but in splintered flashes. The rustle of trees, the eerie silence before the storm, the destroyed campsite and the blood. Something had been wrong. And then the blade- she remembered collapsing, the earth against her skin, the voices fading into a thick haze and then… nothing.

The door opened quietly, its creak barely audible over the sound of her own heartbeat and a figure stepped inside, a woman in the blue robes of the White Hands, her auburn braid neatly looped, her face weathered but kind. Her eyes flicked to Lilly’s immediately and widened in relief.

"Oh, thank Elysia.”, the woman said with a breath that was almost a laugh. "You’re finally awake.” Her voice was warm and before Lilly could speak, she had already crossed the room and pressed a cup of water gently into her hand.

The first sip stung her parched throat, but the second went down easier.

"You’ve been asleep for five days.”, the woman continued, sinking onto the stool beside the bed. "The wound was deep. It took them several hours to bring you back from where you were found and by the time they reached the Isle, it was a miracle you were still breathing.”

Lilly didn’t respond. She glanced down at her stomach, now tightly wrapped in layers of bandages. She could feel the faint pull of magic beneath her skin, not a pain, but an echo and the realization that her glyph must have been exposed slowly crept up in her.

"The healing was magical.”, the woman added gently. "But spells of that magnitude don’t come without cost. Your body needed rest, not just from the wound, but from the magic itself. That’s why you’ve slept so long.”

When Lilly’s voice finally came it was rough from disuse. "Who treated me?”

A strange, hollow silence settled between them, one that the woman didn’t rush to fill. When she finally spoke again, it was in a quieter, more careful tone: "I did and I saw your glyph.”

Lilly’s breath caught, her hand instinctively pressing against the bedsheet as though to shield the mark, though it was already hidden beneath layers of linen and bandage.

"You should report it.”, the healer suggested, not unkindly or threatening, but firm.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Lilly’s voice broke the quiet, low and uncertain. "Are you going to tell anyone?”

The healer studied her face for a moment, her expression not judgmental, only tired. "No. What you carry is yours to reveal or to hide, but secrecy weighs heavier the longer it’s held and the longer you wait, the harder it is to tell the truth when it matters.”

She then smoothed her robes and gave a final glance to Lilly: "I’ll let the others know you’ve woken. Try to rest. You’ll be needed again, sooner than you think.”

Just as the woman was about to leave the room, Lilly called after her: "Wait, what’s your name?

The woman smiled at her and replied: "Telia.”

"Thank you for healing me Telia.”

Lilly stared at the door long after it had closed, her thoughts tangled in a knot of fear, gratitude and the aching sense that whatever she had hoped to keep hidden would not stay in the shadows forever.

Raven and Freya were the first to visit Lilly in the infirmary, after being told only two visitors were allowed per day and although Lilly already felt significantly better, the healers had insisted she remained under observation for another day to ensure there were no delayed effects from the magic that saved her life.

As the door creaked open and the two girls stepped inside, their faces flooded with relief and worry all at once. Freya was the first to reach her, gripping her hand and half-laughing, half-sobbing: "We heard it was bad, really bad, they said you barely made it.”

Lilly gave them both a weak smile and tried to sit up straighter, her body aching despite the magic and salves, but her mind more focused than it had been since the ambush. She swallowed hard, the memory of the attack flashing behind her eyes, the shouting, the arrows, the throb in her gut where she’d been hit.

Raven, arms crossed, but her voice trembling with restrained emotion, added: "When we saw Thorndale bringing you back to the ship, bleeding and limp over his shoulder, we thought either he or Rurik had killed you.”

Freya plopped down on the edge of the infirmary cot and grabbed Lilly’s hand tightly. "But then, we heard it was a Zarvathian ambush.”

Raven leaned against the wall, her eyes softer than usual: "Yeah. Word’s going around that your team got caught off guard near the torn down caravan-camp. Everyone’s talking about how brutal it was and that you three killed a dozen Zarvathians.”

Lilly blinked, trying to keep her face neutral. "That’s…right?”

Freya nodded quickly. "Warden Volker made a statement. Said there were no survivors from the caravan crew and that your squad got lucky, if Thorndale hadn’t been there-”

"And they’re sure it was Zarvathians?”

"Seems like it.” Raven said, narrowing her eyes at Lilly, "Why?”

Lilly hesitated, then gave a weak shrug. "Just… hazy memories.”

Freya squeezed her hand again. "It doesn’t matter. You’re alive. That’s what counts.”

Lilly forced a smile, but her fingers clenched around the edge of the blanket as she realized that Thorndale had told no one about the manipulation of the scene. He had seemed to know more than he admitted, but he still reported nothing to the Order about the staged armour. Furthermore, apart from the campsite, the men that had attacked them did not wear Zarvathian garments and judging from the dialect one of them spoke, he might have been from the inland of Tyr, so why did the Warden tell the Order they were attacked by Zarvathians?

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from blurting anything out to her friends, knowing that one wrong word could bring the weight of the entire Order crashing down on her, or worse, turn Thorndale's attention back to her in a way she could not afford. He had saved her life, that much was certain, but she didn’t believe for a moment that it had been purely out of duty or mercy and she understood all too well that if she crossed him, if she exposed his manipulation of the already staged scene, kicking dirt onto the shiny armour in the mud, she would not get the chance to recover.

Freya, oblivious to the thoughts spinning behind Lilly’s careful expression, leaned in and whispered, "You know… they say Warden Thorndale came by the clinic more than once, checking if you were awake, but he supposedly left the Isle yesterday.”

That made Lilly’s breath hitch and immediately her thoughts spiralled, not with hope or warmth, but suspicion. Had he come to make sure she wouldn’t talk? To remind her, silently, that he had her life in his hands and could just as easily take it again? The memory of his distorted face when he saved her, blurry and tense, flashed through her mind like a ghost and although part of her wanted to believe that there had been a sliver of concern in his actions, a darker part of her knew better. She did not want to owe him for saving her, maybe keeping this secret would pay her debt.

Lilly offered her friends a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes and said softly, "I’m just glad to be alive, but I am still very tired.”