After a large meal and several hours of sleep, some of Sorela’s strength had returned. How long had she slept? Time was all but impossible to tell here. She would have pushed on to the Saval lair earlier, had it not been for her drained strength. They would need to find the boy and get out alive. She had to find him, if only to find what remained of his corps—even that would save countless lives in Lord Warfink was willing to stay his hand.

The others were less wearied as well. Good. They would need their strength. At least the others honored their agreements with her. But Sorela could not say that Falan’s departure hadn’t weakened her resolve somewhat.

She would find the boy. She would! Either dead, or alive, hoping alive, though Sorela was under no delusions. Despite her anger, she understood why Falan had left. As often as lords and Serafes spoke of honor, she would have thought that a man like Falan would rather die than forsake such things. Apparently not.

She finished eating with a drink of water before packing everything away into her leather bag. When the others were ready, they left the camp and started down the hill into a large hollow.

Sorela frowned at the map. They only had a few hours of travel left before they would reach what looked like a rocky basin with a fissure at the center? She could not be certain the depiction was accurate. It did not matter. She would push forward until she discovered whether Lord Jalen was there or not.

Despite the small chances of succeeding, Sorela could not help but feel her heart beat with excitement. And terror. “Thank you for staying,” she told Serin as they waded through calf-high water that blackened with sediment. They were so close.

“I made an agreement with you, my lady,” he said. “As a Serafe I am sworn to abide by it, even if our agreement was only for gold.”

“It seems Falan did not think so.”

Serin’s eyes fell to the murky water. He seemed reluctant to speak about Falan. Sorela wondered if parting here in the Blackwood meant the end of their friendship.

They exited the waters at the base of the hollow and began trudging up a steep hill covered with that leathery grass that grew as high as their waists, boots squishing with every step.

After five or six hills with hollows of glassy water at their bases, they crested a hill overlooking a large rocky depression. Streamers of water trickled along the black jagged rocks toward the base of the bowl and disappeared into a crag.

The Saval lair. Why do I keep using the Hansa word? They’re fellbeasts.

The small fissure was near ten or fifteen paces long, and maybe two or three paces wide. The others trudged up behind her. She studied her map to be certain. Sorela was in fact, certain. The depiction was quite accurate, more so than she had expected. The Hansa had never been known for their art.

Serin lowered himself to his stomach amidst the tall grass. “Get down. If anything is watching, this grass will keep us from being seen.”

At least until they made to venture down to that fissure. Leisa winced, pointing to the base of the bowl. “We have to go in there?” The stable boy swallowed.

“Do we have any rope?” Serin asked.

Sorela did, and wondered why Naikal gave it to her. The Hansa explained that the Saval lair was indeed inside the ground.

Sorela’s fear intensified. She was not afraid of enclosed spaces, or the dark. But this... She had silently feared this moment since making out for the lair. No wonder Falan had left.

Her heart thumped inside her chest hard enough to make her ears hurt.

“We have no way of knowing what’s even down there!” Leisa hissed.

Shaking his head, Serin’s mouth turned wry.

“You wish you had left with Falan?” Sorela asked, her eyes moving between the Serafe and Leisa. The girl probably did. Sorela did not blame her, but when Falan left, Leisa had chosen to stay.

She is worthy of the Hall, Sorela told herself, making her decision at that moment.

All trace of mirth vanished from the Serafe’s face. “No... no, I am with you to the end, lady mage.”

“As am I,” Gorkis said.

Leisa said nothing, though she nodded, apparently having steeled herself. Sorela would tell the girl later.

“Thank you.” She would have had to change her plan drastically if Serin or Gorkis had left as well but two stout swords against whatever monstrous sorcery lay in wait, would be a formidable force--hopefully. She would find Lord Jalen, either here, or when she reached out to Master Maikar in the Solen capital. She would have done that first, but if the boy was in the Blackwood—and still alive—he would not have much time.

The boy is dead.

Those had been Falan’s words. Sorela could not accept them until she saw his body. Ignoring her doubts and her fears, she turned toward Leisa “Are you prepared for this, child?”

The girl blinked. “I—yes, lady mage,” she said, sounding uncertain.

“Good, because this will be your final test before I make my decision. Do you understand?” She had already made her decision, but the girl needed one more reason to stay strong during this hour of terror.

Leisa’s eyes widened and she nodded vigorously.

“Know this,” Serin said, addressing Leisa, but then to the group he continued, “Bravery is not the absence of fear, but the ability to overcomeit.”

“We will prevail,” Sorela added. “Now,” she said to Serin, “what do you believe is the best plan of action?”