ShadowBound: The Need For Power

Ilyen, who had been marking the route behind them, stepped closer. "That lower one points more directly south."

"And the ridge path goes longer," Oren said. "Maybe safer, maybe a delay."

"Could be two groups," Joran suggested. "Maybe one marked the faster path, and another marked an alternate route."

Caed leaned forward. "Then we split and check both."

"No," Edith said.

Lyra crossed her arms. "You have not even considered it."

"I considered it before you finished saying it."

"That is hesitation dressed as authority."

"No. It is refusing to divide ten students in hostile territory because two marks disagree."

Caed gestured toward the lower route. "The direct path is obvious. We are wasting time."

The group began speaking over itself. One student wanted to send two people down each path. Another said they should stay together and take the direct route. Someone else argued that if the ridge was longer, they might lose any chance to reach Veyrhold before night shifted fully into whatever daylight Eldervale planned to offer. The voices rose enough that Edith’s patience finally reached the edge of usefulness.

"Stop speaking."

Her voice was not loud.

It did not need to be.

The group quieted because there was something in the way she said it that made continuing feel foolish. Edith turned slowly, looking across each of them before her gaze settled briefly, deliberately, on Lyra and Caed.

"This is not a minor guessing issue," she said. "A wrong decision here can split the group, lead us into threat territory, make us lose our route, or make us follow bait left by something that understands student markings. If any of you think that is dramatic, remember that this realm has already had academy students, scouts, and assessments pass through it before us. We are not the first people to mark trees here."

That thought landed unpleasantly.

Edith continued, "And since some of you seem determined to treat every pause as a debate stage, understand this as well. Every unnecessary word in a hostile realm gives the forest more chances to know where we are. If your words are observations, give them. If they are complaints wearing armor, hold them until we are somewhere safer."

Lyra’s mouth tightened.

Caed looked away first.

Edith turned back to the markings and approached them carefully.

She studied the lower mark first. It was clearer than expected, cut at waist height on the open side of the trunk, visible from the path. The pressure was heavy and even, the strokes too clean. A frightened student moving quickly would not usually carve such a perfect directional mark unless they had far too much time or far too little sense.

She crouched and looked at the ground beneath it. The soil was disturbed, but not by several students passing. More like something had dragged lightly over the top layer after the mark was made, brushing away details. The direct path itself looked convenient in the way traps sometimes did. Dense roots. Hollow logs. Collapsed stones. Mist collecting low between them.

Then she studied the second mark.

It was partly hidden, lower than the first, cut at a slight angle behind a moss patch. The pressure was uneven. One stroke dragged shorter than the other, as if made quickly by someone who did not want to stand still too long. It was less visible from the open path but clear enough if a student was actively checking. The ridge path it indicated was longer, but higher, with fewer hollow logs and less mist gathered at ground level.

Edith looked between both marks.

The obvious one wanted to be followed.

That was enough to distrust it.

"The lower mark is bait," she said.

Oren glanced at her. "You are sure?"

"No. I am certain enough to not be stupid."

Caed exhaled harshly. "You are basing that on what? A feeling?"

Edith looked at him. "Height. Pressure. Visibility. Terrain. The lower mark is too clean, too easy to see, and points into the exact kind of ground the guide warned us to distrust in this territory. The ridge mark looks like something a student made while moving carefully. We follow the ridge."

Lyra looked ready to argue, but Edith had already turned to Ilyen. "Mark the lower tree with a caution cut. Just enough for another student to notice the warning if they check properly."

Ilyen nodded and moved.

Edith added a small angled slash beneath the false-looking mark herself, then brushed enough moss near the ridge marker to make it visible to those who were actually paying attention without making it scream through the forest. Once that was done, she gestured toward the ridge path.

"We move."

They followed.

The ridge path rose gradually, curving through tighter trees but firmer ground. The silence after Edith’s correction lasted longer than any silence they had managed since arrival, and she appreciated it more than she let show. The forest remained tense around them, but at least the group was no longer feeding it commentary every few breaths.

As they continued south-southeast along the ridge, Edith assessed the people with her again.

They were not suited for a serious battle. They had a few capable students, yes, and enough weapons to defend themselves against something manageable, but no major powerhouse. No strong frontline anchor. No ideal terrain specialist. No one who could confidently sense vibration through soil or warn them if something moved beneath the roots before it rose.

An Earth Magic user would have been valuable here, maybe more valuable than a higher-ranked fighter, depending on what waited in the ground. The thought brought Lucian Kellor to mind before she could stop it.

’Lucian would have noticed some of the ground shifts faster.’

She dismissed the thought immediately.

There was no point thinking about someone who was not there.

The ridge narrowed ahead, stone breaking through soil in a long uneven spine. Edith lifted one hand to slow the group. Something felt wrong. It was not a magical warning, not a clean pulse of Myst or anything so convenient. It was smaller than that. The insects beneath the roots had stopped clicking.

The faint rustle of small life in the undergrowth had gone quiet. The air moved from the side, but the leaves ahead did not answer it properly. More than anything, Edith had the distinct and unwelcome feeling that the group had stepped into someone’s line of aim.

"Down," she ordered. "Now."

To their credit, most of them obeyed.

A second later, three steel arrows tore through the space where heads had been.

The first hissed over Edith’s shoulder and buried itself into the bark of a tree behind her. The second passed just above Oren as he dropped, striking a trunk with a hard metallic thunk. The third sliced past Caed’s ear close enough to make him curse as he hit the ground, then lodged into another tree several paces back.

Two more students ducked late enough that the wind of the arrows brushed hair and cloth.

Weapons came out in a chaotic ripple.

Edith crouched low beside a root, one hand lifted to signal stillness before the group could scatter. Her eyes moved to the nearest arrow.

Steel.

Entirely steel.

Not just a steel head on a wooden shaft. The entire arrow was formed from shaped metal, sleek and controlled, with feathering suggested by narrow flattened fins rather than real fletching. Edith’s mind moved immediately to one name.

Dylan Wellington.

She paused, then drew a controlled breath and shouted toward the trees, "Lady Mystica would be deeply disappointed if her most devoted servant shot a vice commander before breakfast."

For a second, nothing happened.

Then another steel arrow flew from the darkness and buried itself into the same tree beside her head, close enough that bark dust brushed her cheek. It had not missed by accident. It had landed exactly where the archer wanted it to land, proving with irritating confidence that if the shooter had wanted her dead, she would not be speaking.

Edith’s eyes narrowed.

"Dylan, it is Edith Roswell."

The forest went still again.

Then the arrows buried in the tree bark began to move.

One by one, they pulled themselves free with a faint metallic scrape, drawn backward by invisible control. Three flew into the direction they had come from, slipping between the trees like obedient birds of steel. One remained hovering in the air several paces ahead of Edith, its point angled away from her now. Slowly, it turned, then began moving down the ridge path like a guide.

Caed rose halfway, face pale with anger. "You cannot seriously expect us to follow that."

Edith stood. "I do."

"It could be a trap."

"Yes."

"Then—"

Edith looked at him.

He stopped.

"I weighed that," she said. "Now stand up and follow. Quietly."

Lyra looked furious but did not speak.

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