Chapter 34 — The Net Tightens

We heard them before we saw them: boots crunching through undergrowth, the hiss of resin-torches, voices calling in low rhythm to keep pace. Five of them, sweeping in a crescent.

Elira's face tightened. "Scouts," she whispered. "Too many for silence. They'll catch our trail no matter what we do."

Merlin rumbled low in his throat. My grip closed on the club, slick with sweat despite the cool air.

They emerged through the silverleaf trees, torches casting sickly light. Armor piecemeal, swords and spears mismatched, but their eyes sharp. They spread wide, boxing us in.

"Three strays," one said, grinning. "The Caller will pay for this."

Before I could answer, Elira moved. She pulled a pouch from her cloak, flicked it with a practiced snap, and threw a cloud of shimmering dust into the torchlight. It burst like ground glass. One scout screamed, clawing at his eyes, torch dropping to smolder in the ferns.

Merlin launched. No glow, no swelling, no magic—just teeth and fury. He clamped down on another's arm, dragging the man screaming to the dirt.

The third came for me. Spear low, thrust quick. My body moved before thought. Weight shifted, balance locked, the club swung with all the force my ribs could bear. Wood cracked against his jaw. He folded, sprawling silent in the leaves.

I didn't notice the last two until they hit me. One from the side, the other from behind. My breath vanished in a rush, ribs screaming as I hit the ground. My club slipped free. Rough hands pinned my shoulders, knees slammed into my arms. A boot ground into my back.

Elira shouted something sharp. Merlin barked, teeth snapping. But the weight on me was iron.

The fight wasn't done—but the net was closing.

— Fifteenth day, afternoon, the net tightens —