Chapter 10: The Ruins and the Elf

The sky darkened over Borderton as Alan Grey led Alice through the outskirts, the chapel's smoke still curling faintly behind them. His leg ached with every step, the knife wound a dull throb beneath his tattered tunic, but he kept moving. The torn page from the chapel, detailing the sulfur fire recipe, rested beside Henry's file in his tunic. Alice trailed close, her blanket clutched tight, her breaths shallow and ragged. The mist thinned as they reached the edge of Greenvale forest, its charred remains stretching out like a graveyard of blackened stumps. The air carried a sharp sting of sulfur, a reminder of the blue flames that had framed him.

"We're here," Alan said, voice low. He stopped near a twisted oak, its branches skeletal against the fading light. "Stay back, Alice. Rest here. I'll scout ahead."

She nodded, sinking against the tree, her pale face tight with effort. "Be careful. Those knights won't stop coming."

"I know," he replied, scanning the ruins. "That's why we're doing this now." He adjusted the file in his tunic and stepped into the wreckage, boots crunching on ash and brittle wood. The monastery clue burned in his mind. If Mistress C. was staging her blue flame purification there, Greenvale might hold answers, traces of her plan. He moved deeper, eyes sharp for anything the Church might have missed.

The forest was eerily silent, no birds or wind to break the stillness. Alan crouched near a scorched stump, running his fingers over its edge. The burn marks were uneven, streaked with a faint yellow residue. Sulfur again. He frowned, piecing it together. The file mentioned vials, and now this. They hadn't just torched the place. They'd tested something bigger. A rustle snapped him alert, and he spun, hand dropping to his side where a weapon should have been. None there. He cursed under his breath.

A figure emerged from the shadows, slim and swift, black hair spilling over her shoulders. She was young, maybe twenty, with amber eyes narrowed in suspicion. A curved knife gleamed in her hand, its blade catching the last light. Her tunic was patched, green fabric faded, and pointed ears peeked through her hair. An elf. She stopped a few paces away, stance tense, voice cutting through the quiet. "Human. Why are you here? Come to finish what your kind started?"

Alan raised his hands slowly, keeping his tone steady. "Not my kind. I didn't burn this place. I'm here to stop the ones who did."

Her eyes flicked to his empty hands, then back to his face, distrust lingering. "Stop them? You're one of them. I saw you with their knights."

"No," he said firmly. "Those knights framed me for this. Nearly got me burned alive. I've got proof it wasn't dragon fire." He reached for the file, moving deliberately so she wouldn't lunge, and pulled it out. "Take a look. Logs from their own man. Sulfur vials, not magic. They're planning worse."

She hesitated, then stepped closer, snatching the file with a quick hand. Her eyes scanned the pages, widening as she read. "Mistress C.," she muttered, voice bitter. "I've heard that name. She's the one who ordered my kin slaughtered." She shoved the file back at him, grip tightening on her knife. "I'm Laila. Last of Greenvale's scouts. If this is true, why should I trust you?"

"Because I'm not dead yet," Alan said, tucking the file away. "They want me gone too. I'm after the same thing you are. Answers. Revenge, maybe. Help me, and we both get it."

Laila studied him, then lowered her knife slightly. "Fine. There's a cellar ahead. They left something behind. Follow me, but stay quiet." She turned, slipping through the ruins with a grace he couldn't match, his limp slowing him down. He followed, weaving past fallen beams until they reached a stone slab half-buried in ash. Laila pried it open, revealing a shallow pit. The stench of sulfur hit hard as they descended.

Inside, broken vials littered the floor, their contents long spilled. A wooden crate sat against the wall, cracked open, revealing a single intact bottle. Alan picked it up, the yellow powder inside shifting faintly. Sulfur, no doubt. Beside it lay a crumpled letter, ink smudged but legible. He smoothed it out, reading aloud. "Mistress C. to the faithful: Purify Borderton with the blue flame. Offer the elves' blood to the shadowed one. Time is near." He looked at Laila. "Shadowed one? That's no priestess talk. Sounds like something bigger."

"Witches," Laila spat. "Or worse. I've tracked their carts to the old monastery. They're stockpiling there." Her eyes hardened. "They killed my people for this. I'll see it end."

Alan nodded, pocketing the letter. "Then we're headed the same way. Borderton's my town. I won't let it burn." He turned to climb out, but a shout echoed above, followed by the clank of armor. Laila grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "Patrol. Five of them."

He peered through a gap in the slab. Five Church knights stomped into view, black plate glinting, swords drawn. "Grey's here," one growled. "Find him. Mistress C. wants his head." Alan's gut tightened. They'd tracked him fast. Too fast.

Laila notched an arrow from a quiver he hadn't noticed, her voice a whisper. "I'll draw them off. You hit them from behind." Before he could argue, she leapt up, firing a shot that thunked into a knight's shoulder. He roared, and the others charged her, scattering into the ruins. Alan cursed, grabbing a jagged plank from the cellar floor. No time for plans.

He hauled himself out, leg screaming, and circled wide. Laila darted between stumps, her arrows keeping the knights scrambling. Alan crept up behind the wounded one, swinging the plank hard. It cracked against the knight's helm, dropping him with a thud. Another turned, sword raised, but Alan ducked, ramming his shoulder into the man's gut. They hit the ground, grappling, until Alan slammed the plank into his jaw, knocking him out cold.

Laila's shout pulled his attention. She'd pinned a third knight with an arrow through his leg, but the last two closed in. Alan staggered toward them, plank raised, when a figure burst from the trees. Alice, blanket gone, wielding a branch like a club. She swung wild, catching one knight across the back. He stumbled, and Laila finished him with a knife to the thigh. The final knight froze, then bolted into the forest, disappearing in the dusk.

Alan dropped the plank, breathing hard. "Alice, what the hell? I told you to stay put."

She leaned on the branch, panting. "I heard them. Couldn't just sit there." Her eyes flicked to Laila. "Who's she?"

"Laila," the elf said, sheathing her knife. "Your brother's got a knack for trouble. Lucky for him, I don't."

Alan wiped sweat from his brow, glancing at the fallen knights. "They'll send more. That letter proves it. Borderton's the target, and the monastery's the key. We need Torvald's help." He turned to Laila. "You in?"

She nodded, sharp and certain. "For Greenvale, I'd burn their whole damn Church down."

"Good enough," Alan said. He helped Alice up, her weight light but unsteady. "Let's move. We've got a town to save." The ruins faded behind them as they headed back, the letter's words heavy in his mind. Blue flame. Elves' blood. Shadowed one. Whatever Mistress C. was planning, it was bigger than he'd feared. And he'd only just begun to fight.