1. Colt

"That wolf is really starting to creep me out," Brom said.

Colt glanced at Brom, who was eyeing the black wolf in the distance as they walked. The animal loped alongside them several yards away at a quick pace as they trekked through the rocky terrain. When it looked over at them, its eyes were like glaciers in a deep-blue sea.

"The thing's been coming and going since this morning," Colt finally said. "It's just now creeping you out?"

Brom shrugged. "Either it's hungry, or it's determined to lead the Legion to us."

Owen let out a laugh. "It's not a Horwolf. I think it just wants to help us."

"How do you know that?" Gilda asked, dark eyes wide. "Did it tell you or something?"

"Well, no, but so far, it's only following us. If it wanted to attack, it would have already, and if it has a Core Wielder as its master, it would've left by now."

"Just because it"s sticking around doesn't mean it won't leave when we're sleeping," Gilda pointed out.

"Then we should kill it." Brom halted in the grass and unsheathed his sword.

"No!" Owen grabbed Brom's arm and glanced back at the wolf, who veered away from them at the flash of steel. "You scared it!"

"Well, if I don't scare it away, I'm going to kill it." Brom shook his head. "This is a huge risk, Owen. With that wolf following us, there's no telling how long it'll be before those Wielders catch up."

"I'm telling you"—Owen let out a breath—"it's not a Horwolf. Those creatures are already dead. The Core reanimated them somehow. That's how the Wielders are able to train them so well. Those animals just do what they say because they have no choice. But the wolf following us is not like that. I can sense it. It's alive." When Owen glanced back at Colt with worry in his eyes, Colt hesitated.

Brom was right; it was a risk. Colt had helped Gilda and Brom cut down several guards back at the prison in Covehaven, and Colt had killed one of Milarc's councilmen to save Owen. This alone worried him, and he wondered how long it would be until Legion soldiers thundered after them, hot on their trail. All it would take was one Horwolf tracking them. But he also knew by now that Owen relied on his Astran ability to sense good and bad energies.

Colt nodded, his eyes softening on Owen before he glanced at Brom and Gilda. "If Owen says it's not a Horwolf, then it's not a Horwolf. If it tries to attack us, then we'll kill it." He stared at Brom. "But, until then, there's no harm in letting it tag along."

Brom and Gilda muttered something before picking up their pace again. When Owen came up beside Colt, Owen mouthed a "thank you" at him. Colt's lips twitched, turning up slightly, and his chest pulled.

He eyed the wolf again as it followed them from a distance. It was strange, he had to admit, but Owen was in tune with animals just as he was with humans. Colt hadn't forgotten the crow in Birchwood that Owen had followed to find the ruins during the thunderstorm. At the time, Colt wasn't sure what to make of it, and even thought it odd, but Owen seemed serious when it came to reading energies, hearing whispers, and seeing shadows.

It was growing late, and the air was already bitterly cold from the light rain. They'd spent over a month traveling through Milarc, and the ground had served them many hard, restless nights of sleep. Winter was still several weeks away, but once the snow began falling, the harsh bite would break them.

They had narrowly saved Owen from the Core Wielder, Elian, after a long stay in the Legion's prison. After escaping Milarc, two days of travel brought them closer to the Myran Mountains that bordered Avathon's northernmost coast. There had been no signs of the village of Pitchvale yet, where Owen's uncle, Amias, told them they would find an underground network willing to help them.

The Silent Road was a path meant for refugees, criminals, and anyone seeking sanctuary from the Legion. Colt had no idea how they were going to locate this network, but he assumed the journey would begin in Pitchvale. He only knew he had to avoid Wielders and Legion soldiers. News of their escape from Milarc, coupled with the murder of the councilman, Silas, was sure to be spreading quickly through the country.

Colt had cut Silas down without mercy when the man had threatened to kill Owen. Surely, this marked Colt with the highest bounty in Milarc. He knew he couldn't go back, and he was constantly on edge, but he tried not to show it. He didn't regret killing the man in order to save Owen's life, but he still didn't feel good about it, and he also didn't want to imagine the consequences of being caught.

Now back in his home country of Avathon, Colt looked out at the beautiful land with its green fields. He'd always been in love with Milarc as he traveled its roads, but he had to admit there was beauty within Avathon as well, one he hadn't noticed before. Perhaps it wasn't so bad to be back here.

Colt wondered if they'd have to go anywhere near Luthien. He hoped not, seeing as the Legion's presence was strongest down south. Luthien was Avathon's largest city, and it was also the Legion's headquarters. The city was nothing but a bad memory of sleeping on the streets alone, going hungry for days, and partaking in things Colt was ashamed of now that he was old enough to know better. He warded these thoughts away and refocused on their journey at hand.

They had to find a man named Thomas in Pitchvale. Amias had written the man months prior—or so he had told Colt—that he and Owen would be traveling to Pitchvale. Hopefully, Thomas would be waiting for them with open arms.

By late afternoon, the group set up camp behind a large outcrop of rocks on the side of a forgotten road, hidden from the eyes of passing wanderers. The wolf had disappeared, and Colt hoped Owen was right in thinking it wouldn't lead a Wielder to them. While Owen and Gilda gathered brush for a fire, Colt approached Brom and nodded at his sword.

"Will you teach me?" he muttered.

Brom's brow furrowed, and he stepped closer. "I'm sorry, what did you just say?"

Sighing, Colt looked away. "I said will you teach me? How to fight. I'm not all that good at it."

A small noise escaped Brom's throat, as if the man was laughing, and then he nodded. "Of course. I believe we're overdue for finishing the fight from our first meeting."

Colt put up a hand. "I just… want to know a few basic moves. Enough to keep us out of danger."

The gleam in Brom's blue eyes showed that he understood. "Come, my friend. I'll teach you a few things." They walked towards a nearby field to take advantage of the open ground. "You need to loosen up your shoulders a bit," Brom said, as he tied his dark, shoulder-length hair back in a band. "You could easily hurt your muscles if you try as hard as you did in Birchwood."

Colt smirked. "Funny." He swung his arms around and rolled his shoulders. When he had challenged Brom in Birchwood, it had been an act of defiance, an old habit from living in an orphanage. Going against the grain was one of Colt's favorite pastimes, but it often got him in trouble.

When they were ready to begin, they took out their swords and stood facing each other. Brom showed him a few parrying moves, and Colt mirrored them, but given his hesitance, it was clear that Colt was much more daft with a blade than he originally thought. He was much better with a bow, but a sword had been necessary to get out of Covehaven. Luck had been on their side when they broke out of the prison. They managed to escape with Gilda's and Brom's considerable help and free Owen before Elian could kill him for being Shadowborn.

Shadowborn.

Amias had hidden Owen away for twenty-two years, working from within the Legion in Alacor to keep his secret safe. After mistakenly confiding in a fellow scholar about Owen's existence, Amias had been forced to kill him to make sure Owen wasn't found. Amias had to run, enlisting Colt to protect him and Owen on their journey into Avathon. But Colt was no warrior; he was nothing but a sloppy fool who got drunk and gambled on the weekends. What did he know about fighting or protecting anyone? It was no surprise that he couldn"t keep both Owen and Amias safe, and now Amias was Elian"s prisoner.

Had Owen been any simple Astran, his Essence would be gone now, taken through a ceremonial Cleansing, and he would have walked out of prison a free man and still be living in Milarc. But Owen had ancient roots that went all the way back to the evil god Mordren, and such ancestry cursed him as Shadowborn. His Essence couldn't be taken away, and the Cleansing ritual had proven it.

Colt gave a huff as his sword clashed against Brom's, and he pushed off his blade. He had no idea what he was doing, but he'd seen guards spar many times growing up in Luthien. He and a group of boys from the orphanage would often crowd around the fence that separated the training yard from the slums, and sometimes the guards would toss them trinkets or coppers afterwards.

He never guessed he'd be trying to fight like one in order to keep someone else safe. Colt knew how to use a bow for hunting. Shooting people was another matter, but if it came to it, he would. For now, learning a bit of sword wielding from Brom couldn't hurt.

"Try calculating your opponent's next move," Brom said. He rushed up to Colt, and Brom's right foot came forward, ready to slash at Colt from his right side. Colt side-stepped out of his way.

They did this several times and then moved back to parrying. Every time Colt pushed against Brom's sword, Brom would send Colt staggering back, and then Colt would turn around before coming back around for his companion.

When Colt smelled food cooking, it distracted him, and he glanced over to see what Owen and Gilda were making. Then Colt's legs flew out from under him, and he hit the ground with a grunt.

Colt gave Brom a dirty look, but Brom only shook his head. "You are dead." He offered Colt a hand, and Colt grabbed it and let Brom pull him to his feet. "You get very distracted. For a moment there, when we were parrying, it looked like you'd gotten caught in a whirlwind. With chickens."

"Not that bad," Colt muttered.

Someone clapped slowly, and then Gilda said, "Bravo, boys, I'm sure it felt just as sloppy as it looked."

Brom bowed in mock approval. "Why thank you, fair lady. Perhaps you'd like to take my place next time?"

"No, thanks," Colt said. "She'll use that iron fist of hers. No telling where those spikes will go instead." The steel knuckles she'd used on the ghoulish Geesh in the sewers below Covehaven had been lethal, but it had helped save them. She'd also used them to injure Elian, puncturing his face with the sharp spikes.

Gilda scoffed at them, her curly dark-brown hair pulled back into a loose bun. "You fools better get over here and eat before it gets too dark."

As they sat around the fire, eating sausage links, bread, and cheese, Colt glanced at Owen, wondering about his quiet demeanor. Owen was usually talkative, but now he ate in silence, staring at the fire with a glazed look in his brown eyes.

"What's wrong, hun?" Gilda asked, nudging him.

"It's just…" Owen hesitated, then cleared his throat. "It's just getting very cold now, and I'm not sure how long we'll be able to keep sleeping outside before we reach Pitchvale."

Gilda smiled, the strands of curls around her face shining in the firelight. "If it gets too cold to travel, then we'll lay low in a village somewhere."

"I don't have much money," Colt said, shoving the last of his portion of bread into his mouth. "With Wielders after us, we'll have to stay on the backroads and in the fields to steer clear of guards."

"And if we don't find what we're looking for in Pitchvale?" Brom asked. "What then?"

"If any Wielders or soldiers catch up to us, we need to be ready to fight or flee," Gilda said. "So, we'll need to find cover when we make camp. It's good that you're sparring." She looked at Colt and Brom. "It wouldn't hurt Owen to do the same."

"I'm not good with a blade," Owen said. "I don't know anything about swords or fighting. It's such an old-world thing."

Gilda shook her head. "Come now, Owen, people still carry swords."

"Guards carry swords. Wielders, people in higher authority. Not simpletons like us."

"Then use your Essence instead. It's as good as any blade."

Owen seemed to ponder this as he looked into the flames.

Sighing, Gilda held her hands towards the fire, warming them. "None of us have much money, but we certainly have the means to gather resources. Colt, you can be in charge of hunting for food. Brom, you'll be the cook."

"I will?" Brom perked up at that.

"Yes, put that pot and pan to good use since you insisted on bringing them from the prison." Gilda turned to Owen. "Owen, you'll be our scout. You can sense things just like I can, but you seem better at doing it. You can make the decisions regarding this wolf, wherever it is now, and when we need to leave and make camp."

"And what about you?" Colt asked, his forehead wrinkling.

"Me?" Gilda straightened and held her chin high. "I'll be in charge of you all."