Ashen Pray

Silene Vaelorin

Silene was making her way through the High Council’s corridors, her boots quiet on the polished stone, when someone rounded a corner at speed, nearly crashing into her.

“Evander?” she exclaimed, instinctively grabbing his arm to steady him. “What in the gods’ names- are you okay?”

His breath was ragged, eyes wide and darting back toward the way he came. “Silene,” he said, voice low. He glanced around, as if expecting someone to come storming after him. "I was looking for Daren and took a wrong turn, and I heard something I wasn't supposed to."

“What did you hear?” she pressed, concern sharpening her tone.

Evander exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself. “A nobleman. I don’t know who, but someone high up. He was furious. Talking about… about a bugbear they’d hired. Said their men failed at some task and let someone escape. Said whatever they're doing shouldn't reach House Velthorn or the military. He mentioned Ironwood, too; something about relocating whatever they’re hiding."

Silene studied him, thoughts racing. Someone within Zadale’s own structure was hiding something and failing at it. "I need to tell Daren."

Silene shook her head. “You won’t get him alone. He’s in a meeting with the High Councillor and that Gorvik bastard from Finance. They’re talking war plans. They summoned me for a report on my scouts.”

"Well, we have to tell someone."

"Look, we don't know who else might be involved in this, and the more word gets out, the worse it could be for us. Zadale's at war, Evander, it doesn't need more problems right now."

Evander sighed. "What do you suggest?"

For a moment, Silene said nothing. Her eyes narrowed, calculating. Then she gave a short nod. “Alright. Stay calm. You did the right thing telling me. Let me look into this. Quietly. You should lie low for now. Can you do that?”

Evander hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Just be careful.”

“And you,” she said firmly, “don’t speak of this to anyone else. Not yet.”

She didn't hear Evander's response; she was already turning toward the hall beyond. Ironwood, she thought. A quiet forest between the Zadale border and eastern Lucian. That’s what the noble had mentioned. If something was being hidden there, she’d have to see it for herself, but if she left now, it would be almost nightfall by the time she reached the place.

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The last light of day filtered through the canopy in golden shafts, casting long, shifting shadows on the forest floor. Ironwood lived up to its name, its trees tall, thick-barked, their trunks dark and dense. The air was cooler here, and quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant cry of a bird settling in for the night.

Silene moved carefully, her steps practiced and silent, scanning for any signs of disturbance. The ground was littered with fallen needles and broken twigs, but occasionally she’d spot something unnatural: a snapped branch too clean to be caused by weather, a boot print half-faded in the soft earth, a groove in the bark where a rope might have been tied. She knew she was going in the right direction.

The forest had a strange weight to it. Not just the thickness of the trees, but a feeling, a hush, as if the woods were holding their breath. Silene suddenly stopped. In front of her was a small clearing. She looked around the clearing, her sharp elven senses at work, trying to make sure no one was still nearby before she made her way forward.

She noticed the remains of an old campfire, cold and scattered with ash. Nearby, faint square impressions marked where tents had once stood, barely visible in the fading light. But what caught her attention was the dark stain smeared across the forest floor.

Silene crouched beside it, running a gloved hand over the brittle residue. Dried blood, cracked and flaking. Two days old, maybe three at most. Some of the blood had fur sticking to it. Perhaps from the bugbear Evander mentioned. The way it was splattered indicated a battle.

She stood, scanning the area again. Whoever had been here had cleared out fast. Crates, weapons, signs of life, all gone. But not carefully. Not with precision. The outlines of tents still marked the ground, and the blood told a story they hadn’t had time to erase. Whoever was here left in a rush.

She continued to scan the ground, looking for any form of clues. Nearby, a boot print pressed deep into the soil, but it was smeared. A few steps away, she found a torn scrap of fabric clinging to a thornbush. Faded gray, possibly from a uniform, but too small a piece to link to any known regiment. No insignia. No crest. Beside the old firepit, she noticed a small metal clasp, like the kind used on travel satchels or supply packs. It was dented, half-buried, forgotten. She picked it up, turned it in her fingers, but it told her nothing.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

None of it was helpful on its own. They felt like fragments of a puzzle with too many missing pieces. But still, she took note.

Suddenly, Silene heard the rustling of leaves. She froze, her hand instinctively moving to the hilt of her sword. The rustling came again, low, cautious, and too steady to be the wind. She crouched, body still as stone, eyes scanning the forest.

The sound moved again, to her left this time. She pivoted slowly, drawing her blade just enough for the metal to catch the glimpse of light. Her breath was steady, shallow. Then, from the brush, a pair of beady red eyes blinked out at her, followed by the cautious jumps of a small grey-furred rabbit, its ears twitching with alertness. It stepped into view fully, sniffing the air. It eyed Silene as she moved her hand away from the blade.

The animal moved towards her, its movements calm, almost trusting. It stepped gently around her, nuzzling against her leg. Silene couldn’t help but smile softly. There was always something comforting about these small reminders of the bond her people, elves, shared with nature. She crouched down, brushing her fingers lightly through the rabbit’s soft fur.

That’s when she saw it.

Beneath the thick grey coat, just behind the creature’s ear, were faint lines, a glyph, inked in black that was nearly invisible on the animal's grey fur. Her breath caught. A spell. A trap for whoever would decide to investigate this place.

The markings pulsed, glowing with sudden heat. The rabbit squeaked in confusion, its body shivering. She sprang back, heart pounding, as the runes flashed, and the rabbit erupted in flames.

Silene had barely moved out of the spell’s range. The explosion was small enough that the fire wouldn't spread across the forest, but it was still vicious. A blast of heat washed over her, and scorched leaves fluttered through the air. Smoke rose in twisting tendrils where the creature had stood. Her ears rang, and the scent of burnt fur clung to the clearing.

Maybe this had been meant for Evander. They might have realized someone overheard them and planted a trap in case someone came to investigate. Or perhaps it was just protocol, a cruel precaution left behind after the camp was abandoned. Either way, to twist nature into something so expandable, it sickened Silene.

She sighed before continuing to investigate the camp. She had to be more careful now. She might be alone, but that didn't mean there weren't more traps.

She decided to try her luck circling what might be the perimeter of the camp. It was then that she saw it. It was faint but unmistakable. Lines etched deep into the earth, parallel to one another.

Cart tracks. Someone had been moving something heavy. Recently.

She crouched down beside them, brushing away the loose dirt with her fingers. The tracks curved slightly, leading southeast, away from the forest’s heart. She had a direction, so she followed.

Silene moved swiftly but carefully, keeping to the shadows of trees as she followed the deep grooves in the earth. The tracks walked through the thinning forest, past broken branches and the occasional scuffed footprint. Birds called overhead, but she barely noticed them, eyes fixed on the trail.

The forest began to break, trees growing farther apart as the smell of water drifted through the air, damp earth, and river mud. The tracks veered toward it. Eventually, the tree line ended, and Silene stepped out onto a patch of flattened grass sloping down toward a wide, slow-moving river. A small dock jutted into the water, old but maintained. This was an old Zadale river dock, used to maintain trade with Lucia before the war. It was barely used now, a good spot to hide something.

Silene moved toward the dock, her steps light, every sense alert. The place was quiet, with a handful of men loitering about, most with the casual slowness of nowhere urgent to be. One man trudged past her with a sloshing bucket, water dripping along the dirt path. Another sat on a crate, smoking a pipe and watching the river with glassy eyes. A pair of fishermen stood near the edge, their rods slung lazily over their shoulders.

She spotted a small building nestled near the edge of the dock. Even now, it held the quiet authority of a place. A brass plaque near the door, dulled with age, read “Dockmaster’s Office.” If any shipments had left from here recently, there was a good chance the records would be inside a ledger. Silene stepped carefully toward the building, keeping her hood low.

Silene approached the building with practiced ease, her footsteps light, not making a sound. A few dockhands barely glanced her way, too caught up in their work or the lull of the river breeze. The door to the office creaked slightly as she pushed it open.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of ink, old parchment, and pipe smoke. Shelves lined the walls, cluttered with books, scrolls, and small crates. Behind a worn desk sat a man with thinning gray hair and a thick mustache, hunched over a paper with a quill in hand. He glanced up as she entered, squinting slightly.

“Help you?” he asked, voice gruff but not unfriendly.

She pointed at the red falcon brooch on her chest. “I’m looking into a shipment that left here recently,” Silene said, choosing her words carefully. “There were tracks from Ironwood to this dock. I thought perhaps you might have a record of it.”

The dockmaster leaned back, scratching his chin. “Yeah, well, not like we have a lot of shipments at such a time. I'll take a look.” He reached for a ledger on a nearby pile, flipping through its pages. “Unusual one, that. The crates were already sealed when they got here. Big ones too. Didn’t go through the usual guard inspection. They had been coming here for quite some days, usin' the dock to transfer those crates.”

"Anything unusual about them?"

“Not really. No.” The dockmaster paused, his brow furrowing as if trying to pull a faint memory into focus. “During the first few days… there was a noble with ‘em. Oversaw the whole thing personally. Never caught a name, or maybe I just forgot it. Tall fellow. Well-spoken, carried himself like he was used to getting what he wanted. He said he’d handle the final check himself.”

The dockmaster gave a small shrug, spreading his hands. “Not how we usually do things, mind you. Normally, the city guard clears shipments before they’re allowed to leave. But what do I know? Maybe he was just in a rush, and who am I to question those rich folks, you know?”

“Any idea where they’d move their goods?” Silene asked, her voice steady.

The dockmaster scratched his stubbled chin, glancing outside a window, toward the water. “Just down the river, I suppose. Though that might not help you much. The damned thing splits three ways further on. Could be they took any one of those paths. You could try your luck, but it’s like chasin’ smoke in the wind.”

Silene sighed. At least she had a lead.