The Cursed Blade

Episode 10 Hunted by the Order

We rode until the horse began to labour and the rain turned to a fine mist that clung to everything. Veyran finally reined in near a cluster of low rocks that offered a little cover from the wind. He swung down first, then reached up and helped me slide off. My legs nearly folded when my boots hit the ground. The cut across my ribs burned with a deep, steady heat. The older wound on my shoulder had started bleeding again under the bandage.

The bond’s first real payment still sat in my body. My arms felt hollow, as if the strength it had lent me earlier had been borrowed at interest. Each breath came a little shorter than it should have. The heat behind my ribs remained heavier than before—less like a second heartbeat and more like a weight that had decided to stay.

I leaned against the rock and tried to steady my breathing. The cursed blade still hung at my side, warm even through the wet cloth.

Veyran checked the horse, then crouched a few paces away and watched me without speaking. Rain dripped from his hair and ran down the scar along his jaw. He looked as tired as I felt, but his eyes stayed sharp.

“You need to sit before you fall,” he said.

I sat. The cold from the stone soaked straight through my soaked clothes. My hands shook when I tried to tighten the bandage on my shoulder. Veyran watched for a moment longer, then pulled a small flask from inside his cloak and held it out.

“Drink. It will not heal anything, but it will keep you moving.”

I took it. The liquid burned going down and settled in my empty stomach like fire. I handed it back without thanking him.

The Blade’s voice came quiet, almost thoughtful.

“He is useful for now. Do not grow comfortable.”

I ignored it and looked at Veyran. “How far to the gates?”

“Two days if the weather holds and the broken-gate riders do not catch us. Three if we have to hide.” He capped the flask and slipped it away. “The bond is already heavier. I can see it in the way you move. It will keep demanding. The closer we get to the mountains, the louder it will become.”

I pressed a hand against my ribs where the new cut still seeped. The hollow feeling in my limbs had not faded. “And if I refuse again?”

“Then it will hurt you until you cannot walk, or it will take control during a fight and leave you empty afterward. I have seen both.” He spoke without drama. “You already felt the first real pull tonight. That was only the beginning.”

I leaned my head back against the rock and closed my eyes for a moment. The mist settled on my face like cold fingers. Every part of me ached. The bond sat in my chest like a living thing that had decided it owned the space.

“Why do you want the gates opened so badly?” I asked without looking at him.

Veyran was quiet long enough that I thought he might not answer. When he did, his voice was lower.

“Because something was taken from my bloodline when the last king failed. The god did not only break the king. It broke the line that stood with him. I intend to take it back.” He paused. “And because the blade will not rest until the work is finished. You already know that. You feel it every time it tightens.”

I opened my eyes and studied his face. No anger. No heat. Just the same calm certainty he had shown in the ruins.

The horse shifted and gave a low, nervous sound. Veyran’s head turned at once toward the trees behind us. He rose in one smooth motion, hand already on the axe at his hip.

“They are closer than I hoped,” he said. “We move. Now.”

I pushed myself up. My legs protested. The hollow ache in my arms lingered. The bond pulsed once, hard, as if it agreed with the order. I wrapped my hand around the hilt of the cursed blade and felt the familiar warmth climb my arm—welcome and dangerous at the same time.

We climbed back onto the horse. Veyran kept us to the denser parts of the woods where the mist hung thickest. Behind us, far but not far enough, a horn sounded once—low and long.

The broken-gate riders had found our trail.

I pressed my forehead against Veyran’s back and felt the bond settle heavier still, as if it were already measuring the distance to the mountains.

How long before it stopped asking and simply took what it wanted?