Sundered by Fate (Shadowbound #3)

Chapter 3

Three

T he echoing clamor of hooves striking stone filled the square, freezing the bustling marketplace into a tableau of terror. Figures in the gleaming armor of the Pureblade Order swept in, forming a vanguard of tempered steel and smoldering purpose. At their head rode Cyrus Revenant, Lord Inquisitor and scourge of demons' taint—his narrow face hard as granite, lips drawn into a thin white line.

Aric stood transfixed on the steps of the town hall, the silence stretching as a ringing sensation tingled through him. A murmur rose from the onlookers—a prayer, or perhaps a curse. Aric clenched his fists at his sides to steady himself against the flood of noise.

"Heathen scum," Cyrus sneered, his words slicing through the chaos as easily as one of his blades. "Aric Solarian. You have eluded justice for far too long."

Aric squared his shoulders and forced himself to meet the inquisitor's eyes. They were dark pits sunken in his cadaverous face. "I answered to a higher call than your false justice."

He held the other man's stare even as his guts threatened to twist right up into his throat. This was it—the moment when the fragile alliance he had begun to forge with these people either shattered or tempered itself in fire.

Let it be fire, he begged silently. Let me stay . . .

But as he shifted nervously, sweeping his sights over the other assembled townsfolk, Aric saw nothing but haunted looks, fear—they backed away from him. The elders of Thornhaven clustered around him at the council chamber steps, Mayor Virida with her countenance troubled; Bastian watching him with cold disdain. And with that look shared, Aric knew they wouldn't stand by him in this, not against the might of the Pureblade Order.

Traitors' smiles all around.

The templars reached up for their hilts with gauntleted fists.

What did Aric expect? He'd always been alone.

Cyrus, his face contorted with righteous anger, pointed an accusing finger at Aric. "Aric Solarian," he bellowed, his voice carrying across the square, "you stand accused of treason against the realm and collaboration with demonic forces!"

The crowd gasped and murmured as they absorbed Cyrus's words. They were words that would have frozen Aric's blood, once upon a time. That he had sometimes dreamed about hearing, back when he was still young and foolish enough to think that true justice might be found in the realm.

Cyrus wheeled his horse around to face the crowd. "Behold! Your so-called hero—a traitor to our kind! He dabbled in forbidden magics, and consorted with the demons themselves. He was tried and condemned to death, but his dark allies spirited him away. Do not be swayed by his lies and deceit!"

Aric folded his arms over his chest, back straight as a lance. "I have always served the realm—just not your twisted version of it."

His voice carried with a strength that surprised even him, a strength that had been forged in fire and shadow. Malekith's sigil ached reassuringly along his spine, damaged though it was. A promise of a future—so Aric wanted to believe. Not yet. But so close.

Cyrus's sneer faltered ever so slightly, replaced by a hint of uncertainty as he realized this was not the meek researcher he'd once bullied. But he quickly recovered. "Your corruption ends here, Solarian."

Cyrus raised his hand, cutting off Aric's protest with a fierce gesture. "The accusations stand, Solarian," he declared. "You did not merely dabble in forbidden magics—you became ensnared in their clutches. You disappeared from the realm, only to reemerge in the company of demonkind." He spat the words as if they were poison.

"Your very presence is a threat to the safety of these people and all we have sworn to protect," Cyrus continued. "On the eve of your execution, your demonic co-conspirators attacked the Pureblade outpost and spirited you away. I would have hunted you down myself, had it not been for . . ."

"For what?" Aric demanded. "For your own cowardice?"

Cyrus's nostrils flared as the people of Thornhaven gasped.

Aric took another step forward, and the townsfolk shifted uneasily in response. "I never asked for their aid," he said, with a calmness that surprised even him. "It was your order's cruelty and lack of preparation that allowed me to be captured in the first place."

Several onlookers gasped in shock at Aric's brazen defiance. Even Virida seemed taken aback by his raw honesty.

Cyrus narrowed his eyes. "Is that what you tell yourself to justify your treachery?"

"I don't have to justify anything to you or your order," Aric shot back, some of Malekith's poise slipping away. "My loyalty is to the people of this realm, first and always."

Cyrus's jaw clenched, lips thinning. "And where have you been hiding all this time, Solarian?" He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial hush that still carried over the crowd. "What pacts did you make with your demonic masters in exchange for your release?"

Aric met the inquisitor's glare with one of his own. He would not allow Cyrus to twist the narrative of that terrible night any more than he already had. "I made no pacts." His voice rang out like a bell. "The demons captured me only because your order abandoned me. Left me to die."

Cyrus recoiled as though struck, a hollow victory in that incredulous look—but Aric couldn't stop himself now. "And when I did escape, it was no thanks to your order's supposed protection. You were too busy trying to bury my research to bother trying to save me—or anyone else."

The acting townmaster, Virida, sensing the growing tension, stepped forward from the crowd. "Stop!" she shouted, her voice strong and authoritative. "You don't know what you're talking about."

She turned to face the inquisitor, her expression stern. "This man," she gestured to Aric, "saved our town from a demon attack not two weeks past. He staggered into our town half-starved and badly wounded after escaping the demons, yet he risked his own life to protect us, and you're accusing him of being in league with them? That's nonsense."

Several townsfolk nodded in agreement, their faces softening as they looked at Aric. "He's been nothing but kind and helpful since he arrived," one of them said.

"He helped me fix my roof after the storm," another added.

"And the sewage tunnels," Kalmo said. "Can't forget those."

Cyrus turned on the townsfolk, his patience clearly wearing thin. "You've all been deceived by his demonic tricks!" he shouted. "Who knows what manner of dark enchantments he's used to ensnare your minds?"

Aric seized the opportunity, stepping closer to the Lord Inquisitor. "This is all beside the point. I have information that must be delivered to the Silver Tower, and the Silver Tower alone." He squared his shoulders, meeting Cyrus's stare head-on. "I won't allow you or your order to stand in my way."

Cyrus's expression darkened with fury. "You overstep your bounds, Solarian." His voice dripped with poison. "There is no knowledge worth keeping from us—if you mean to put yourself beyond our law, then that only confirms your guilt."

"My time imprisoned in the demon realms has given me insights into threats you can't begin to comprehend," Aric said, careful not to reveal too much about the anomaly or his experiences. "If you truly care about the safety of the realm, you'll allow me to present this information to the proper authorities."

The crowd murmured in agreement, and some of the Pureblades exchanged uncertain glances.

Aric pressed on, sensing Cyrus's uncertainty. "I know that our relationship was never one of great trust, inquisitor. I served the mages, and you hated magic with a passion. But this is bigger than you or me." He took a deep breath. "If there is any loyalty left in you to the human realm—loyalty that exceeds your fear and disgust of those unlike you—please. Let me help."

Virida's eyes narrowed as she watched the two men face off. "Lord Inquisitor," she said, her tone measured. "I urge you to consider the consequences of denying him this chance."

Cyrus's patience was threadbare, his mind too fixed on his task. "Enough talk!" he barked. "Seize him!"

The Pureblades advanced, hands poised to draw their weapons—but the townsfolk closed ranks around Aric, forming a human shield.

Virida planted herself firmly before the templars. "This is still Thornhaven," she said, her voice laced with steel. "And Aric Solarian is under our protection until proper procedures are followed."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, their earlier uncertainty hardening into resolve.

The Pureblades hesitated, clearly unsure whether to risk an open conflict with the townsfolk.

Cyrus's eyes darted between Virida and the gathering mob, calculating. "These people have been deceived by your tricks," he said, trying for authoritative. "But they won't be enough to protect you."

Aric tensed, but then the crowd began to part, and a hush fell over the square.

Cyrus's eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of something behind Aric. He turned, and his heart leaped into his throat as he saw a group of mages from the Silver Tower striding purposefully toward them, Olaya at their head.

Their flowing robes caught the light, glimmering with threads of silver and gold as they moved in perfect unison. A faint hum of magical energy pulsed around them, resonating with Aric's own magic.

"Lord Inquisitor," Olaya said, her voice commanding immediate respect as she approached. "What is the meaning of this confrontation?"

Cyrus's jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white on his reins as he clearly struggled to contain his anger. "We have captured a dangerous fugitive. I intend to bring him to justice for his crimes against the realm."

Olaya glanced toward Aric a hint of sorrow in her own eyes. "I think you're mistaken, inquisitor. Aric Solarian’s fate is a matter for the Silver Tower." Her chin lifted, regal. "And any business regarding him is ours alone."

A chorus of murmurs rose from the townsfolk as they absorbed her words, and the tension began to shift.

Cyrus's eyes narrowed with suspicion, his hand creeping toward the hilt of his sword. "The Pureblade Order operates with the full authority of King Aster himself."

Olaya raised an eyebrow. "And does that authority extend to harassing a loyal servant of the realm who has risked his life in defense of humanity?"

Cyrus opened his mouth to respond, but Olaya pressed on before he could find the words.

"I hardly think so," she continued, her tone smooth as silk. "Especially not when you have no official outpost in Thornhaven. That gives you precisely no jurisdiction here."

The townsfolk began to mutter among themselves, and Cyrus's grip on his sword hilt tightened.

"There was once an outpost here," Cyrus said, his voice hoarse with frustration. "Before . . ."

He trailed off as he spotted Virida, Thornhaven’s townmaster, staring at him with a steely resolve.

"The Pureblade Order abandoned it," Virida said, her voice ringing out clear and strong. "When the wards fell."

In a last-ditch effort, Cyrus argued, "He's been tainted by demonic influence! We can't trust him!"

Olaya, for all her regal composure, only raised one skeptical brow. "And if he's here to corrupt the town of Thornhaven, he's doing a piss-poor job of it." She glanced at Aric. "Repairing sewage tunnels, honestly?"

Aric could only shrug.

Uneasy Laughter rolled through the crowd, the tension easing as they saw Aric's work in a new light. But Cyrus's lips thinned, his eyes flashing with anger.

"I will not stand by and let this traitor poison your minds," he said. "But if you insist on sheltering him . . ."

Olaya shook her head. "There is no poison here—only your fear of what you do not understand."

Her words were like a balm, soothing the sting of Aric's past failures. The townsfolk's murmurs of agreement gave him strength. Here, at least, they saw him for who he truly was.

But Cyrus was not so easily swayed. His eyes darted between the townsfolk and the mages, calculating his next move. And as Aric's stomach sank with recognition, he knew the inquisitor wouldn't leave without making one last attempt to unearth Aric's true nature.

Olaya stepped between them, her presence a buffer. "Enough, Cyrus. Your concerns have been noted, but they do not override the Silver Tower's authority in this matter." She turned to address the crowd, her voice resonating with confidence and command. "Aric Solarian will remain under the Silver Tower's supervision while we conduct our business in Thornhaven. This is now an official Silver Tower operation."

The townsfolk seemed to relax at her words, and even the Pureblades hesitated.

Cyrus's eyes blazed with fury, but he kept his silence for now.

Cyrus let out a low growl, but he knew when he was beaten. "Stand down," he barked to the Pureblades, and they hesitated only a moment before lowering their weapons.

As they began to withdraw, Cyrus fixed Aric with a venomous glare. "This isn't over, Solarian," he hissed, low enough for only Aric to hear. "I'll be watching your every move."

But Aric was no longer intimidated by Cyrus's threats. "Then I suggest you pay close attention."

As the tension in the square dissipated, Olaya approached Aric. Their eyes met, a silent communication passing between them. Aric nodded, understanding that their real conversation would have to wait.

He turned away from the retreating Pureblades and surveyed the gathered townsfolk. They were still looking at him with a mix of curiosity and fear, but now there was something else—something that gave him hope.

"Thank you," he said, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd. "I swear, I meant you no harm when I arrived here. I only want to serve you."

Virida stepped forward, her expression softening. "And we thank you, Solarian. For all you've done for Thornhaven."

Aric nodded, his heart full as he took in the sight of this place that had become something like home.

But he could not stay.

He met Olaya's gaze once more, and her expression was one of understanding. "We have a long road ahead of us, Aric Solarian," she said. "Longer still, if we return to Astaria."

He nodded, acknowledging her words—and the warning they carried. As soon as he left Thornhaven, he'd be subject to Pureblade jurisdiction once more.

The shadows beckoned him onward.

Aric stood transfixed on the steps of the town hall, the silence stretching as a ringing sensation tingled through him. A murmur rose from the onlookers—a prayer, or perhaps a curse. Aric clenched his fists at his sides to steady himself against the flood of noise.

"Heathen scum," Cyrus sneered, his words slicing through the chaos as easily as one of his blades. "Aric Solarian. You have eluded justice for far too long."

Aric squared his shoulders and forced himself to meet the inquisitor's eyes. They were dark pits sunken in his cadaverous face. "I answered to a higher call than your false justice."

He held the other man's stare even as his guts threatened to twist right up into his throat. This was it—the moment when the fragile alliance he had begun to forge with these people either shattered or tempered itself in fire.

Let it be fire, he begged silently. Let me stay . . .

But as he shifted nervously, sweeping his sights over the other assembled townsfolk, Aric saw nothing but haunted looks, fear—they backed away from him. The elders of Thornhaven clustered around him at the council chamber steps, Mayor Virida with her countenance troubled; Bastian watching him with cold disdain. And with that look shared, Aric knew they wouldn't stand by him in this, not against the might of the Pureblade Order.

Traitors' smiles all around.

The templars reached up for their hilts with gauntleted fists.

What did Aric expect? He'd always been alone.

Cyrus, his face contorted with righteous anger, pointed an accusing finger at Aric. "Aric Solarian," he bellowed, his voice carrying across the square, "you stand accused of treason against the realm and collaboration with demonic forces!"

The crowd gasped and murmured as they absorbed Cyrus's words. They were words that would have frozen Aric's blood, once upon a time. That he had sometimes dreamed about hearing, back when he was still young and foolish enough to think that true justice might be found in the realm.

Cyrus wheeled his horse around to face the crowd. "Behold! Your so-called hero—a traitor to our kind! He dabbled in forbidden magics, and consorted with the demons themselves. He was tried and condemned to death, but his dark allies spirited him away. Do not be swayed by his lies and deceit!"

Aric folded his arms over his chest, back straight as a lance. "I have always served the realm—just not your twisted version of it."

His voice carried with a strength that surprised even him, a strength that had been forged in fire and shadow. Malekith's sigil ached reassuringly along his spine, damaged though it was. A promise of a future—so Aric wanted to believe. Not yet. But so close.

Cyrus's sneer faltered ever so slightly, replaced by a hint of uncertainty as he realized this was not the meek researcher he'd once bullied. But he quickly recovered. "Your corruption ends here, Solarian."

Cyrus raised his hand, cutting off Aric's protest with a fierce gesture. "The accusations stand, Solarian," he declared. "You did not merely dabble in forbidden magics—you became ensnared in their clutches. You disappeared from the realm, only to reemerge in the company of demonkind." He spat the words as if they were poison.

"Your very presence is a threat to the safety of these people and all we have sworn to protect," Cyrus continued. "On the eve of your execution, your demonic coconspirators attacked the Pureblade outpost and spirited you away. I would have hunted you down myself, had it not been for . . ."

"For what?" Aric demanded. "For your own cowardice?"

Cyrus's nostrils flared as the people of Thornhaven gasped.

Aric took another step forward, and the townsfolk shifted uneasily in response. "I never asked for their aid," he said, with a calmness that surprised even him. "It was your order's cruelty and lack of preparation that allowed me to be captured in the first place."

Several onlookers gasped in shock at Aric's brazen defiance. Even Virida seemed taken aback by his raw honesty.

Cyrus narrowed his eyes. "Is that what you tell yourself to justify your treachery?"

"I don't have to justify anything to you or your order," Aric shot back, some of Malekith's poise slipping away. "My loyalty is to the people of this realm, first and always."

Cyrus's jaw clenched, lips thinning. "And where have you been hiding all this time, Solarian?" He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper that still carried over the crowd. "What pacts did you make with your demonic masters in exchange for your release?"

Aric met the inquisitor's glare with one of his own. He would not allow Cyrus to twist the narrative of that terrible night any more than he already had. "I made no pacts." His voice rang out like a bell. "The demons captured me only because your order abandoned me. Left me to die."

Cyrus recoiled as though struck, a hollow victory in that incredulous look—but Aric couldn't stop himself now. "And when I did escape, it was no thanks to your order's supposed protection. You were too busy trying to bury my research to bother trying to save me—or anyone else."

The acting townmaster, Virida, sensing the growing tension, stepped forward from the crowd. "Stop!" she shouted, her voice strong and authoritative. "You don't know what you're talking about."

She turned to face the inquisitor, her expression stern. "This man," she gestured to Aric, "saved our town from a demon attack not two weeks past. He staggered into our town half-starved and badly wounded after escaping the demons, yet he risked his own life to protect us, and you're accusing him of being in league with them? That's nonsense."

Several townsfolk nodded in agreement, their faces softening as they looked at Aric. "He's been nothing but kind and helpful since he arrived," one of them said.

"He helped me fix my roof after the storm," another added.

"And the sewage tunnels," Kalmo said. "Can't forget those."

Cyrus turned on the townsfolk, his patience clearly wearing thin. "You've all been deceived by his demonic tricks!" he shouted. "Who knows what manner of dark enchantments he's used to ensnare your minds?"

Aric seized the opportunity, stepping closer to the Lord Inquisitor. "This is all beside the point. I have information that must be delivered to the Silver Tower, and the Silver Tower alone." He squared his shoulders, meeting Cyrus's stare head-on. "I won't allow you or your order to stand in my way."

Cyrus's expression darkened with fury. "You overstep your bounds, Solarian." His voice dripped with poison. "There is no knowledge worth keeping from us—if you mean to put yourself beyond our law, then that only confirms your guilt."

"My time imprisoned in the demon realms has given me insights into threats you can't begin to comprehend," Aric said, careful not to reveal too much about the anomaly or his experiences. "If you truly care about the safety of the realm, you'll allow me to present this information to the proper authorities."

The crowd murmured in agreement, and some of the Pureblades exchanged uncertain glances.

Aric pressed on, sensing Cyrus's uncertainty. "I know that our relationship was never one of great trust, inquisitor. I served the mages, and you hated magic with a passion. But this is bigger than you or me." He took a deep breath. "If there is any loyalty left in you to the human realm—loyalty that exceeds your fear and disgust of those unlike you—please. Let me help."

Virida's eyes narrowed as she watched the two men face off. "Lord Inquisitor," she said, her tone measured. "I urge you to consider the consequences of denying him this chance."

Cyrus's patience was threadbare, his mind too fixed on his task. "Enough talk!" he barked, raising his voice to a shout. "Seize him!"

The Pureblades advanced, hands poised to draw their weapons—but the townsfolk closed ranks around Aric, forming a human shield.

Virida planted herself firmly before the templars. "This is still Thornhaven," she said, her voice laced with steel. "And Aric Solarian is under our protection until proper procedures are followed."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, their earlier uncertainty hardening into resolve.

The Pureblades hesitated, clearly unsure whether to risk an open conflict with the townsfolk.

Cyrus's eyes darted between Virida and the gathering mob, calculating. "These people have been deceived by your tricks," he said, trying for authoritative. "But they won't be enough to protect you."

Aric tensed, but then the crowd began to part, and a hush fell over the square.

Cyrus's eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of something behind Aric. He turned, and his heart leaped into his throat as he saw a group of mages from the Silver Tower striding purposefully toward them, Olaya at their head.

Their flowing robes caught the light, glimmering with threads of silver and gold as they moved in perfect unison. A faint hum of magical energy pulsed around them, resonating with Aric's own magic.

"Lord Inquisitor," Olaya said, her voice commanding immediate respect as she approached. "What is the meaning of this confrontation?"

Cyrus's jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white on his reins as he clearly struggled to contain his anger. "We have captured a dangerous fugitive. I intend to bring him to justice for his crimes against the realm."

Olaya glanced toward Aric a hint of sorrow in her own eyes. "I think you're mistaken, inquisitor. Aric Solarian is under the protection of the Silver Tower." Her chin lifted, regal. "And any business regarding him is ours alone."

A chorus of murmurs rose from the townsfolk as they absorbed her words, and the tension began to shift.

Cyrus's eyes narrowed with suspicion, his hand creeping toward the hilt of his sword. "The Pureblade Order operates with the full authority of King Aster himself."

Olaya raised an eyebrow. "And does that authority extend to harassing a loyal servant of the realm who has risked his life in defense of humanity?"

Cyrus opened his mouth to respond, but Olaya pressed on before he could find the words.

"I hardly think so," she continued, her tone smooth as silk. "Especially not when you have no official outpost in Thornhaven. That gives you precisely no jurisdiction here."

The townsfolk began to mutter among themselves, and Cyrus's grip on his sword hilt tightened.

"There was once an outpost here," Cyrus said, his voice hoarse with frustration. "Before . . ."

He trailed off as he caught sight of Virida, the mayor of Thornhaven, staring at him with a steely resolve.

"The Pureblade Order abandoned it," Virida said, her voice ringing out clear and strong. "When the wards fell."

In a last-ditch effort, Cyrus argued, "He's been tainted by demonic influence! We can't trust him!"

Olaya, for all her regal composure, only raised one skeptical brow. "And if he's here to corrupt the town of Thornhaven, he's doing a piss-poor job of it." She glanced at Aric. "Repairing sewage tunnels, honestly?"

Aric could only shrug.

Laughter rippled through the crowd, the tension easing as they saw Aric's work in a new light. But Cyrus's lips thinned, his eyes flashing with anger.

"I will not stand by and let this traitor poison your minds," he said. "But if you insist on sheltering him . . ."

Olaya shook her head. "There is no poison here—only your fear of what you do not understand."

Her words were like a balm, soothing the sting of Aric's past failures. The townsfolk's murmurs of agreement gave him strength. Here, at least, they saw him for who he truly was.

But Cyrus was not so easily swayed. His eyes darted between the townsfolk and the mages, calculating his next move. And as Aric's stomach sank with recognition, he knew the inquisitor wouldn't leave without making one last attempt to unearth Aric's true nature.

Olaya stepped between them, her presence a buffer. "Enough, Cyrus. Your concerns have been noted, but they do not override the Silver Tower's authority in this matter." She turned to address the crowd, her voice resonating with confidence and command. "Aric Solarian will remain under the Silver Tower's supervision while we conduct our business in Thornhaven. This is now an official Silver Tower operation."

The townsfolk seemed to relax at her words, and even the Pureblades hesitated.

Cyrus's eyes blazed with fury, but he kept his silence for now.

Cyrus let out a low growl, but he knew when he was beaten. "Stand down," he barked to the Pureblades, and they hesitated only a moment before lowering their weapons.

As they began to withdraw, Cyrus fixed Aric with a venomous glare. "This isn't over, Solarian," he hissed, low enough for only Aric to hear. "I'll be watching your every move."

Aric met his gaze steadily, no longer intimidated by Cyrus's threats. "Then I suggest you pay close attention."

As the tension in the square dissipated, Olaya approached Aric. Their eyes met, a silent communication passing between them. Aric nodded, understanding that their real conversation would have to wait.

He turned away from the retreating Pureblades and surveyed the gathered townsfolk. They were still looking at him with a mix of curiosity and fear, but now there was something else—something that gave him hope.

"Thank you," he said, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd. "I swear, I meant you no harm when I arrived here. I only want to serve you."

Virida stepped forward, her expression softening. "And we thank you, Solarian. For all you've done for Thornhaven."

Aric nodded, his heart full as he took in the sight of this place that had become something like home.

But he could not stay.

He met Olaya's gaze once more, and her expression was one of understanding. "We have a long road ahead of us, Aric Solarian," she said. "Longer still, if we return to Astaria."

He nodded, acknowledging her words—and the warning they carried. As soon as he left Thornhaven, he'd be subject to Pureblade jurisdiction once more.

The shadows beckoned him onward.