DARK WAR REBORN; From Magicless Boy to World's Hidden Hope

Chapter 6: Flight and Fire

Wayne and Calley stood motionless, the weight of Garrick's glare pressing on them like a physical force. The room smelled of sweat, smoke, and the faint metallic tang of blood from the recent battle. Calley's stomach growled audibly, a traitor in the tense silence, and Wayne felt his own exhaustion pulling at him like chains. They had run for days, eating roots and berries, sleeping in snatches under brambles. Answers could wait but survival could not.

Calley spoke first, her voice steadier than Wayne expected. "Captain... we're starving and tired. We've been on the road for days. Food and rest, please. We'll answer everything in the morning. On our word."

Garrick's eyes narrowed, flicking between them as if measuring the truth in their faces. He was a hard man, forged in border skirmishes and long winters, but there was a flicker of something softer, shred of pity perhaps or memory of his debt to Alard.

"Alard's kin," he muttered, rubbing his bearded chin. "Fine. But mark my words too, dawn brings questions, or I'll chain you myself." He barked an order to a waiting sergeant outside the door. "Feed them. Bed them in the barracks. Two guards on the door and no wandering."

They were led to a small alcove in the garrison's main barracks, a space barely big enough for two straw pallets. A soldier brought bowls of thin stew mostly barley and root vegetables, with a few stringy bits of mutton and hard bread. Wayne devoured his portion without tasting it, the warmth spreading through his limbs like a balm. Calley ate more slowly yet her eyes were distant.

As the guards settled outside, Wayne leaned close to her in the dim lamplight. "We can't stay," he whispered. "That orc attack... it wasn't random. They knew we were coming, or close to it. If we talk, we'll drag him into this mess. And if the hunters find us here..."

Calley's hand trembled on her spoon. "Father sent us here for safety. But you're right. The orcs came too soon. Someone's watching. We should slip out before dawn but where would we head?"

Wayne thought of his father's face, his stern and sure vanishing into the horizon. "The Conclave. Hidden Plague. Father will be there, or someone who knows where he is. He'll know what to do about your gift. How to hide it. how to train it. and how to protect us."

Calley nodded slowly. "It's a long road north. Weeks, maybe. Through wild country."

"Better the wild than chains," Wayne said. He fingered the crystal pendant around his neck, "We move quiet. No fires unless we have to."

They feigned sleep as the garrison quieted, the snores of wounded soldiers filling the air. When the guards' voices dropped to murmurs and the moon hung low, Calley stirred. She had always been the lighter sleeper, the one who heard owls before they called.

"Now," she mouthed.

They slipped from the pallets like shadows. Wayne eased open a loose shutter at the back of the barracks, something Calley had spotted earlier, a weak point in the old timber. The wood creaked softly, but the wind outside masked it. They dropped to the frozen ground, hearts pounding, and crept along the palisade wall toward a postern gate left unguarded in the post-battle chaos.

The wild claimed them again: thorn bushes snagging cloaks, frost crunching underfoot. They ran until their lungs burned, then walked, putting miles between themselves and Thorneford. By dawn they found themselves deep in a ravine, huddled under a rocky overhang.

"No destination," Calley said, catching her breath. "Just north. To your Father."

Wayne gripped her shoulder. "We'll find him. We have to."

They pressed on, foraging as they journeyed in addition to nuts from hidden caches and water from streams that tasted of iron. Calley's gift flickered unreliably: a small flame to warm their hands one night, nothing the next. But it was enough to keep hope alive, a secret light in the growing dark.

Meanwhile, far to the west, Wade rode with his three junior mages; Elias, a lanky youth skilled in tracking spells; Mira, sharp-eyed with illusions; and Thorne, broad and steady with wards. They followed faint trails: a broken branch here, a rumor from a shepherd there. Whispers of two youths fleeing east after Norwick burned.

Hope had kindled in Wade when a roadside innkeeper spoke of children matching their description, bound for Thorneford. the man had said. "they looked half-dead, but determined."

Wade pushed his party harder, the Conclave's grudging aid a bitter reminder of his deception. Elias wove seeking spells at dusk, threads of silver light that pointed eastward like compass needles.

They reached Thorneford garrison two days after Wayne and Calley fled. The gates stood open, guards wary but welcoming to the mage's insignia. Garrick met them in the yard, his sling still in place but his face was lined with new fatigue.

"Wade," he said gruffly, clasping forearms. "Gods, you look like death. Alard's brother?"

Wade's voice was tight. "The children, Wayne and Calley. They came here?"

Garrick nodded, leading them inside. "Aye, two nights past. Sent by Alard, they claimed. Looked like they'd run through hell. I pressed for answers, but they begged off till morning. Slipped out before dawn. They left no note nor word. My men searched, but their tracks vanished in the wild."

Wade sagged against the wall, relief and frustration warring in him. Alive. But gone. "Why leave? You were safety."

Garrick shrugged. "Orcs hit us hard that dawn before they arrived. First in years. Felt targeted. Maybe they spooked. Or maybe they didn't want to bring the storm here."

Wade's mind raced. The spark had drawn eyes. If the enemy knew of Thorneford...

"We track them at first light," he said. "Elias, prepare the spells. Mira, illusions for cover. Thorne, wards on the camp."

Garrick offered beds and food. "Stay the night. My debt to Alard extends to you."

Wade accepted, though sleep eluded him. He paced the ramparts, staring into the dark, willing the stars to reveal his son's path.

The attack came at midnight.

It began with a low rumble, like thunder from clear skies. Then howls of wargs split the night, shadow-wolves twisted by dark magic. Orc war-drums thundered followed by the garrison horn blared alarm.

Wade was on his feet in an instant, staff in hand. Garrick burst from his quarters, sword drawn, bellowing orders. "To the walls! Archers, loose!"

The enemy poured from the treeline orcs in black iron, eyes glowing red under horned helms; beasts snarling at their heels. But these were no rabble. At their rear stood figures in hooded robes dark mages and at the forefront, two who made Wade's blood run cold.

Ramona, pale and regal, her violet robes billowing like storm clouds. Beside her, Kaleb, scarred and implacable, dark fire already coiling around his fists.

"By the gods," Mira whispered. "The Mistress herself."

The battle erupted in chaos. Orcs scaled the palisade with grappling hooks, clashing with Garrick's men in sprays of blood and steel. Wade unleashed a bolt of pure light from his staff, searing through three orcs and blasting a warg to ash. Elias wove nets of thorn-vine from the earth, entangling attackers. Mira cloaked defenders in shifting illusions, making them ghosts on the wall. Thorne raised shimmering wards that shattered incoming arrows.

But Ramona raised her hand, and the night tore open. Shadows poured forth like ink, smothering torches, blinding men. Kaleb hurled black flames that ate through Thorne's wards like acid, the junior mage screaming as darkfire licked his robes.

Garrick fought like a lion, his sword cleaving orc helms, but numbers pressed him back. "Hold the gate!" he roared.

Wade dueled a dark mage, spells clashing in bursts of light and void. He won, the enemy crumpling in a heap, but exhaustion clawed at him. Ramona's gaze found him across the fray, her smile as a blade.

"You," she called, voice carrying unnaturally. "Where is the girl?"

Wade's heart stuttered. Not Wayne rather the girl. Calley?

He had no time to ponder. Kaleb advanced, unleashing a torrent of shadow-bolts. Wade deflected most, but one grazed his shoulder causing agony to bloom in like poison.

The garrison fell piece by piece. The gate shattered under a ram wielded by troll-kin. Orcs flooded the yard, cutting down defenders. Elias died with a spear through his chest, his tracking spells unraveling. Mira vanished in a swirl of illusions, only to be dragged out screaming by wargs.

Wade and Garrick stood back-to-back in the command post, the last pocket of resistance. Wade's staff cracked, magic spent. Garrick's sword dripped red, his wounded arm useless.

"Surrender," Ramona commanded from the doorway, Kaleb at her side. "Tell us of the girl and her companion. Live as servants of the true power."

Garrick spat. "Never."

The torment began then. Chains of shadow bound them, cold as death. Dark mages dragged in survivors with them was the last junior mage, Thorne, burned but alive; a handful of Garrick's soldiers, broken and bleeding.

One by one, they were broken.

Thorne wept as needles of void pierced his mind, spilling secrets he didn't have. "The children fled north," he gasped. "To the Conclave!"

Ramona's eyes gleamed. "Useful."

Two soldiers cracked under whips of fire, pledging allegiance with trembling voices. "Hail the Dark Lord!"

Thorne, after hours of agony, followed suit, his will shattered.

Only Wade and Garrick held fast.

They were chained in the ruined yard, exposed to the freezing night. Kaleb worked on Garrick first, fingers of shadow peeling skin, breaking bones. The captain screamed but spat defiance. "Alard... would laugh... at you bastards."

Wade endured worse: illusions of his son dying, over and over; whispers in his ear promising peace if he bent. But he thought of Wayne's face, of Alard's last stand, and clung to silence.

Dawn came gray and cold. Ramona stood over them, impatience cracking her poise.

"You will break," she promised. "Or die slowly."

Wade met her gaze, bloodied but unbowed. "Come closer," he rasped. "I'll show you the light."

She laughed, low and cruel, then the torment resumed.