Redemption In The Shadows

Conquering the mercenary outpost had lifted the trooped spirits of Damien, but he did not think it could last long. Reynard was no fool and all of their activities only meant danger for them and revealed more of their identities. On the second day following the battle, Damien's camp continued their movement deeper into the forest, behind a thicket of dense undergrowth close to the riverbanks.

Damien stood at the far edge of the camp, peering out toward misty water. The air was nippy, biting through his cloak. He didn't mind-it kept him sharp.

"Brooding again?"

Amara's voice surprised him, though he didn't display it. She emerged beside him, her steps as noiseless as a shadow.

Amara made a snide comment, crossing her arms. "You do that a lot. Want to tell me what's on your mind?"

Reynard's been making moves. deliberate, you know? He is losing ground, but he's allowing it."

"And you think he's trying to trap us?"

"Perhaps." Damien's brow furrowed. "Or he's waiting for something."

Amara twisted her head, her sharp blue eyes piercing him. "So we need to know what it is before he springs it."

"That's the plan," he said calmly.

Amara's smirk smoothed into something more genuine. "Good. Because I don't like losing."

---

Later that morning, Damien called a meeting with his inner circle: General Aldric, Captain Harrow, and Amara. They met in a small, secluded clearing near camp, all piled over a map spread across a makeshift table.

"Reynard has lost two major supply outposts," Damien started, pointing to the areas they had recently attacked. "His forces are weaker, but not broken. If we push too far without understanding his endgame, we risk walking into a trap."

Harrow nodded. "Reynard's main forces are still concentrated near the western front. If he consolidates, he could mount a counteroffensive."

"Which is why we need more information," Damien said, turning to Amara. "Have we intercepted anything useful?"

"Not yet," she said, her voice tinged with frustration. "But I've been hearing whispers—rumors about a meeting between Reynard and an unknown benefactor."

Aldric frowned. "A benefactor? Who would risk aligning with a rebel at this stage?"

"That's what we need to find out," Damien said. "If Reynard has outside support, it changes everything."

Amara leaned forward, her finger tracing a path on the map. "The meeting is supposed to happen here, near the abandoned Strongcliff Manor. It's deep in Reynard's territory, heavily guarded."

Harrow raised an eyebrow. "And you think we can infiltrate it?"

"With the right plan, yes," Amara said confidently.

Damien nodded. "We've got to move fast. If we can sabotage this conference-or, if nothing else, discover who's backing Reynard-we can use that as the edge we need to close down the rebellion."

---

By nightfall, the team was all set to leave. Damien had handpicked some of the best soldiers to take along with him and Amara, whereas Aldric and Harrow managed the rest of the camp.

It was a very rough ride to Strongcliff Manor. The land continued to steep and grow even more treacherous with each mile of the journey. Woods had yielded to rocky hills; and chill began to seep into their bones as they climbed higher.

Near the edge of the manor, Damien stopped. They huddled behind boulders, looking out across the ruins of the estate in the distance.

Strongcliff Manor was little more than a shadow of its former self—a great ruin with sagging walls and broken towers. Yet a flicker of torchlight and a faint rumble of voices told that far from deserted, it was still very much a place of human habitation.

"Reynard's men are here," Damien said softly. "And they're expecting company."

Amara crouched beside him, her sharp eyes scanning the perimeter. "Guards are spread out thin but are watching the main entrances close. Getting inside isn't going to be easy."

Then we create a distraction, Damien said.

Amara smirked. "I like how you think."

The mission seemed a pretty simple yet effective plan. While soldiers were to cause a diversion near the west gate of that manor, Damien and Amara would sneak in through the secret pass Amara had discovered with her previous mission.

And the diversion worked perfectly. As the guards ran off to see what was happening, Damien and Amara slipped through the shadows and were moving pretty fast. Their steps were silent on the rocky ground.

The secret passage took them down into the manor's lower levels, a series of damp, crumbling tunnels smelling of mildew and rot.

"This place gives me the creeps," Amara whispered softly.

Damien snorted. "Afraid of ghosts?"

"Only the living ones," she flung back at him.

They edged further, their ears to the lip of the passageway, catching all the sounds outside.

At last they stepped into a dull-lit corridor, cracked stone bleeding through and coming across with faded tapestries.

Voices were coming from the next room, growing louder as they edged in that way. Damien and Amara pressed back against the wall, peering through a narrow gap in the doorway.

Inside the room, things were tense. Reynard dominated the center of the room, and his towering figure cast an impassive -shaded silhouette in the torch's dance of flame. His silver hair and sharp features were as striking as ever, but something in the way he stood emphasized the tension of calculation in his body.

Across from him stood a figure all in darkness, its face covered by the hood upon its head. The stranger's voice was low and smooth, the tone one of authority.

"You've failed to bring in the results, Reynard," the stranger said. "Your rebellion is starting to break and your forces are thinning."

Reynard set his jaw. "I said this—the Vryce have been unpredictable. But I can still win this war."

"Not without my backing," the stranger said sternly. "And that backing is based on results. If you cannot win Winterhold and the lands surrounding it within the next month, our bargain is nul."

Reynard's fists bunched up, but he nodded anyway. "Agreed."

The stranger advanced a step closer, and his presence seemed dangerous. "Don't forget, Reynard—failure is not an option. My resources are not infinite, and I do not accept stupidity.

Reynard didn't say a word. A flicker of unease crossed his features.

Damien's head spun round-and-round. This was what they needed to prove—that Reynard wasn't working alone. But who was that silent partner, and what did he want?

"We need to get closer," Amara whispered, practically making her voice inaudible.

Damien nodded, his fingers gripping the sword hilt tighter.

---

As soon as the stranger turned to depart, however, Damien and Amara shifted into high action: deeper into the shadows. They tracked the cloaked figure and cut through winding halls and corridors with an eye to staying out of sight.

The stranger exited the manor through a side door, stepping into the cold night air.

"Now," whispered Damien.

He and Amara leaped out from the shadows; their motions were quick. Damien drew his sword, blocking the stranger's way, whereupon Amara bent to cut off any possible escape.

"What's your name?" came the cold, aloof demand from Damien.

The stranger stood frozen, the hood still covering a face that had not been revealed. After a while, with his hands raised, he offered what could only pass as a gesture of surrender.

"You've made a mistake, Vryce," said the stranger, with slow movements, remarkable tension underlaid by calmness.

"Answer the damn question," insisted Damien, his sword gleaming coldly in the moonlight.

The stranger hesitated again and hesitated some more before finally lowering the hood.

Damien's breath was taken away. The familiar face was all too familiar.

"Elyas," Damien said incredulously.

The man smirked—his sharp features lighted by pale light. "Hello, Damien. It's been a while."

Amara looked from one to the other, a puzzled expression on her face. "You know him?"

"He was one of my closest advisors," Damien said, his voice low. "In my past life."

"And now?" Amara asked, daggers at the ready.

Damien tightened his grip on his sword. "Now, it seems he's become my enemy."