Page 71 of Veinblood
But it doesn’t change the fact that I am abandoning her to her fate to save others.
By high sun of our second day traveling, the mountain cold has eased to an uncomfortable chill as we move to lower ground. Wind-scoured peaks become gentler slopes, where stunted pine gives way to oak and ash trees that still hold leaves despite the approaching winter. Snow patches disappear entirely, replaced by winter-brown grass and hardy shrubs that bend but refuse to break.
But the improved conditions can’t mask the toll the journey is taking on everyone. People are moving with the automatic determination of exhaustion pushed beyond normal limits. Some show unmistakable signs of approaching collapse. One elderly man stumbles often, his legs betraying him no matter how desperately he tries to hide it. His family take turns helping him while struggling with their own depleted energy.
A woman shivers with fever, her face pale and drawn with a sickness that grows worse with each mile. She stops frequently to cough blood into a cloth. The infection will kill her within days if she doesn’t receive proper rest and warmth.
More worrying still, the children are silent, too tired even tocry. They move forward with blank expressions, their small faces showing the empty looks of minds shutting down to conserve what little energy remains. Some are carried by adults in arms that shake, but no one complains. Everyone understands that stopping means death for all of us.
They've lost their homes, their communities, many of their loved ones, and now they trust me to deliver them to sanctuary. That trust weighs heavier than any crown I might have worn, carries more responsibility than any title ever bestowed on me. If I fail them now, their deaths become another burden added to decades of accumulated guilt.
We need to reach Greenvale as fast as possible, or we’re going to start losing people to exposure and starvation. I refuse to fail in my duty to see these people safe.
“We will rest for one hour,” I tell Varam, stepping off the path so I can find somewhere quiet. A fallen oak stump comes into view a few feet into the trees. I settle onto its moss-covered surface, and focus inward. The raven stirs within my consciousness, and I cast it out, sending it upward until the world spreads below like a map.
Through it, I search for Greenvale. It sits in a valley with a river that winds between fields that surround the small village. Modest cottages cluster around a central square, with workshops and storage buildings scattered throughout. Smoke rises from chimneys, and people move through the streets, unaware that their peaceful existence hangs by the thinnest of threads.
The sight tells its own tale of daily life that continuesundisturbed by the death of the blacksmith or the incoming conflict that has the potential to tear the entire realm apart.
The sight brings back memories I’d rather leave buried in the deepest parts of my mind. Greenvale looks exactly as I remembered from weeks ago, when the convoy carrying me to what everyone believed would be my death stopped there. Sereven’s twisted theater—forcing every villager into the square to witness the broken Shadowvein Lord in chains, proof that resistance against Authority rule was not only futile, but punishable by torture and death.
I force it away, and focus on what’s important—the garrison stationed there. I already know they’re there from when the convoy paraded me through the square like a trophy. I find it on the edge of the village, door closed tight. That doesn’t stop me. The raven circles low, passing windows, and counting bodies.
“There are six soldiers stationed in the garrison,” I tell Varam when I return to the group. “They will send news of any strangers trying to join the village immediately.”
“Which means they need to be eliminated before we make contact, without alerting the villagers themselves. Settlement garrisons are expected to send reports to their nearest city every few months. Eventually, someone is going to notice they’re missing and will come to investigate.”
“We will worry about that when it happens. Tonight I will deal with the garrison. And then tomorrow, I will speak to the village leaders, explain our situation, and hopefully gain their help.”
“And if they react badly or the soldiers have families here?”
“It’s unlikely. Most garrisons have never been looked upon kindly in the outlying settlements.” I’ve seen enough small communities under Authority rule to know that soldiers are rarely welcomed as neighbors. They represent outside control, taxation, and the constant threat of violence against those who step out of line.
“Then what if they decide that sheltering us will bring more trouble upon them?”
I hold his gaze. “We have no other choice. Tomorrow, we discover whether compassion still lives in that village, or whether fear has killed anything decent that remained.”
Varam’s fingers tap against the hilt of the dagger tucked into his belt, a habit that reveals more about his state of mind than the careful neutral expression on his face. “You’re risking everything on the actions of one dead man.”
“I’m risking everything on the hope that empathy still exists somewhere in this realm. Because if it doesn’t, then we’re fighting for nothing and we’re all dead anyway.”
If the people of Greenvale reject us, if fear of Authority retaliation outweighs their capacity for compassion, then we have nowhere else to turn.
“Get everyone settled for the night. Hide among the trees, no fires that might give away our presence. I’ll deal with the garrison once the village has gone to sleep.”
“You’re going down there alone?”
“One person moving through the streets is less likely to benoticed than an entire group. And if something goes wrong, you’ll still be here to find somewhere else to take them.”
He doesn’t like that. Varam spent years as my second-in-command and my closest friend. Sending me into danger alone goes against every instinct he has. But this is not a situation where overwhelming force will serve us.
When darkness falls, I make my way down to the village. The garrison building is dark, except for the faint glow of banked embers through one window. Shadows conceal my approach through Greenvale’s streets, and I slip through the door without anyone noticing my presence.
Authority garrisons are all built the same way, with small rooms arranged around a central courtyard. It takes no time at all to find where the soldiers are quartered, their rooms arranged in a neat row along one wall.
All five die in their sleep, my shadowblade sliding between ribs before they can wake. Quick, silent kills that pierce hearts and sever major arteries, ensuring death comes within seconds. No opportunity for anyone to raise an alarm, no chance for dying gasps to alert their commander.
I save the commander’s quarters for last, following a hallway that takes a path around the courtyard to the opposite side where officers typically keep their rooms. These are slightly larger than the common soldiers’ quarters, furnished with the few luxuries that rank provides in the Authority’s rigid hierarchy.
