Chapter 3 – The Hunt Begins

The night exploded into chaos.

Delwyn leapt from the scaffold, landing hard on the blood-slicked cobblestone below. The shock jolted through her battered body, but she pushed forward, shoving past the panicked crowd as the first of Galborn's men stormed after her.

"STOP THEM!" a voice roared. Boots thundered behind them.

Steel flashed in the torchlight.

Delwyn didn't look back.

Vaelor moved like a shadow beside her, weaving through the mass of bodies with effortless speed. She didn't know who the hell he was, she didn't care. He'd killed for her. He'd freed her. That was enough.

For now.

A crossbow bolt whistled past her ear, splintering into a wooden lamp post. Delwyn ducked, rolling across the slick ground as another bolt embedded itself into a fleeing merchant's cart.

"Keep moving!" Vaelor ordered.

She didn't need to be told twice.

The market streets of Blackreach were a maze of stone and shadow, twisting alleys and old sewer grates. But Delwyn knew them. She had spent years patrolling these streets, hunting criminals down them.

And now, she was the hunted.

A horn sounded from the Black Keep.

Warning bells followed.

The streets ahead erupted with soldiers, emerging from alleys and barracks, swords gleaming ready to kill.

Delwyn skidded to a stop, Vaelor nearly slamming into her.

They were cut off.

"This way," Vaelor growled, grabbing her wrist. A narrow passage to the left.

Delwyn barely had time to argue before he pulled her into it. The passage was tight, too narrow for the bulkier armoured soldiers to follow.

They sprinted through, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls.

At the end of the passage, the city opened again. The bridge leading to the lower districts stretched before them—but so did more guards.

One spotted them and raised a sword.

"THERE!"

More came from the left. More from behind.

Trapped.

Delwyn tightened her grip on her sword.

No more running.

Delwyn barely had time to think—only react. A soldier came at her fast and hard, sword flashing. She ducked, twisted, and drove her blade through the gap in his armour. Right in the throat.

A sharp gasp. A gurgle.

Then he was gone.

Another rushed her from behind. She spun, swinging her sword wide, steel ringing against steel. Sparks dancing. Her arms ached, body screaming from the fight she had with Doran, but she kept moving. Kept surviving. She had to.

She felt the air shift beside her.

Vaelor.

She had expected him to be quick, efficient, deadly. He had already proved that.

But she hadn't expected this.

The hooded man moved like water, like shadow, like something that had fought wars long before this one.

A soldier lunged.

Vaelor sidestepped with inhuman speed, twisting his blade and severing the man's throat in a single, clean motion. Blood sprayed across the cobblestone.

Another charged from behind.

Vaelor didn't turn.

He whipped his sword backward, blade flashing under his arm. A backhanded strike—perfectly placed. The steel slid between the soldier's ribs, piercing deep before Vaelor yanked it free.

Both men collapsed before they even realised they were dead.

"Not bad," Delwyn gritted out, knocking aside another attack.

"Not the first time I've heard that," Vaelor muttered, echoing her words.

Three more surrounded them.

One rushed forward—fast, but too eager.

Vaelor parried, stepped in, and drove his knee into the soldier's gut. As the man doubled over, Vaelor slammed the hilt of his sword into his skull, splitting it, knocking him cold.

The other two hesitated.

That was all Delwyn needed.

She launched herself forward, sword slashing low. Her blade tore through leather and flesh, cutting deep into the second soldier's thigh. He screamed, dropping his weapon as he collapsed onto the stones.

The last one turned to run.

Vaelor moved too fast for that.

His dagger flew from his hand, burying itself deep into the man's spine. The soldier staggered, choked—then fell.

Silence.

For half a breath, they stood there - surrounded by bodies, the distant sound of the city bells still ringing.

Delwyn panted, wiping blood from her lip. More would come. The streets would be crawling with Black Hounds in minutes.

They had to move.

Her eyes flickered to the bridge ahead.

Vaelor followed her gaze. "No."

"We don't have a choice," she snapped.

He exhaled sharply. "Fine."

The first wave of reinforcements poured onto the street.

Delwyn didn't wait.

She ran for the bridge, heart hammering in her chest.

The stone ledge came fast—too fast.

She didn't slow down.

She leapt.

****

The cold hit like a blade.

The river swallowed her whole, freezing, merciless.

The force of the impact knocked the air from her lungs. She sank deep, darkness curling around her, the muffled roar of the city fading above.

She kicked, hard. Fought against the pull of the water.

Her head broke the surface. She gasped, sucking in air.

A second splash.

Vaelor.

He surfaced beside her, his hood ripped away, revealing his identity. Sharp elven features and dark, piercing eyes. He didn't look shaken. If anything, he looked annoyed.

"Next time," he coughed, shaking the water from his face, "let's not do that."

Delwyn grinned. Ignoring the fact he was elven. "Where's the fun in that?"

Above them, shouts rang from the bridge.

The guards were still searching. But they hadn't seen where they landed.

They weren't safe. Not yet.

Vaelor glanced at her. "Can you swim?"

Delwyn flexed her aching fingers. "Can you shut up?"

His lips twitched—almost a smirk. Then he nodded toward the river bend.

"This way."

And they disappeared into the night.