Chapter 11: The Baron’s Verdict

The night pressed down on Borderton like a heavy shroud. The air hung thick with mist and the faint tang of smoke from the chapel's dying fire. Alan Grey led the way through the muddy outskirts. His leg screamed with every step. The knife wound ached hot beneath his tattered tunic. The file from Henry, the torn recipe page, and the crumpled letter from Greenvale weighed against his chest. Each scrap formed a piece of the puzzle he'd sworn to solve. Alice stumbled beside him. Her blanket was gone. Her breaths rasped in short, pained bursts as she gripped the branch she'd wielded in the ruins. Laila flanked them. Her elf eyes glinted sharp in the gloom. Her curved knife stayed sheathed, but her hand hovered near its hilt. The letter's words burned in Alan's mind: Purify Borderton with the blue flame. Offer the elves' blood to the shadowed one. He gritted his teeth. "Not if I get there first," he muttered. His voice came out low and fierce.

The keep rose ahead. Its stone bulk cut through the fog. Torchlight flickered from narrow windows like wary eyes. Shouts echoed from within, clipped and urgent. A hive stirred awake. Alan hammered the gate with his fist. The thud reverberated off the wood. "Grey! Open it now!" A guard's helm appeared. The gate swung wide with a groan. They stepped into the hall. The air stung with sweat and steel. Soldiers lined the walls. They gripped spears. Their faces stretched taut. Baron Torvald stood at the center. A grizzled mountain in fur and iron, his wild grey beard spilled over his cloak. His blue eyes narrowed as he slammed a tankard on a map-strewn table. Henry knelt before him. Wrists bound in rough hemp, his hawkish face glistened with sweat. His grey eyes darted like a trapped rat's.

Torvald's gaze snapped to Alan. "Grey. Back already? What's this mess now?" His voice rumbled, heavy with suspicion.

Alan tossed the sulfur vial from Greenvale onto the table. Its yellow powder shifted as it rolled to a stop. "This mess, Baron." He followed with the letter, smoothed flat, and pointed at the jagged script. "Church isn't just framing me. They're targeting Borderton. Blue flame purification, elf blood sacrifice, some 'shadowed one' pulling strings. Mistress C.'s staging it at the old monastery." He jerked a thumb at Laila. "She's seen their carts. It's real. It's coming fast."

Torvald snatched the letter. His scarred fingers crushed the edges as he read. "Elf blood? Shadowed one?" He spat the words like sour ale. Then he glared at Henry. "You. This your doing too?"

Henry shrank. His voice whined thin. "Not me, Torvald! I swear it wasn't my plan!" His eyes flicked to Alan, then away. Sweat beaded on his brow. "Merchants started it. Timber trade, Greenvale's elf wood. Big coin. Mistress C. came to them. Said burn it, blame Grey, clear the forest for profit. I just followed."

Alan stepped forward. His voice rang cold as steel. "And the blue flame? That's no merchant torch." He pulled the torn recipe page from his tunic. He slapped it beside the letter. "Sulfur, saltpeter, shadow root. Burns blue, like your file said, Henry. You logged the vials. Church knights hauled them off. You knew."

Henry's jaw worked. His hands twisted in the ropes. "She gave us the mix. Shadow root's from witches. Makes folk see ghosts in the smoke. Sulfur kicks it blue, like dragon fire. Said it'd scare the elves off. Keep Borderton in line. Knights took the crates after. Cathedral's orders."

"Witches?" Torvald's tankard hit the table with a crack. Ale sloshed over the maps. He loomed over Henry. A bear ready to claw. "Church and witches burning my town? Who's this 'shadowed one'?"

"Don't know!" Henry yelped. He flinched. "Mistress C. talked like he's above her. Above the knights. Said the blood's for him. Some ritual. She's at the monastery now. Stockpiling. I heard her tell the merchants last week!"

Laila's voice sliced through. Sharp and venomous. "She slaughtered my kin for that ritual. Greenvale's ash proves it." She glared at Henry. Amber eyes blazed. "Their carts rolled west. Monastery's loaded with that filth."

Torvald's fist slammed the table. Maps jumped. "Merchants, witches, Church knights? All under my nose?" He turned to Alan. Blue eyes pierced. "Forty men, Grey. That's all I've got. Knights'll cut through us if they've got that fire."

Alan met his stare. Steady despite the pain clawing his leg. "Then we don't wait. Merchants are the soft spot. Henry's their link. Lean on him. Find their stash. Laila's tracked it to the monastery. We hit there. Torch their supplies before they torch us." He tapped the vial. "I've seen it burn blue. Small dose. Imagine barrels of it."

Torvald rubbed his beard. Then nodded, slow and grudging. "Clever bastard. Risky, but clever." He pointed at Pete. The jailer hovered near the wall. His grimy tunic stained darker with sweat. "You. Five men, now. Go with Grey. Break this open."

Pete scratched his neck. He grunted. "Again? Hell. Fine. Keeping him alive's a chore." He lumbered off. Barked at soldiers to grab gear.

Alice tugged Alan's arm. Her voice rasped faint. "I'm staying here. Henry's a snake. Someone's got to watch him."

Alan frowned. Her pallor stood stark under the torchlight. "You're half-dead, Alice. Rest." She shook her head. Gripped the branch tighter. "I'll rest when it's over. He'll squirm. I'll make sure." Her eyes held that stubborn fire he couldn't douse.

"Alright," he said. He squeezed her shoulder. "Keep him pinned. Holler if he tries anything." He turned to Laila. "Monastery. How far?"

"Half a day west," she said. Her voice tightened. "Rough trail, but I know it. For Greenvale, I'll carve through."

Torvald clapped Alan's back. A rough thud jarred his wound. "Don't get skewered, Grey. I need you breathing for this fight." He glared at Henry. "And you. Pray I don't flay you first."

Alan smirked thinly. He adjusted the file in his tunic. "No promises, Baron. Let's roll." He limped out with Laila and Pete. Five soldiers trailed. Their boots thumped on stone. The night stretched cold and dark beyond the keep. Borderton's huts huddled under an unseen threat.

Inside, Alice settled near Henry. Branch across her lap, eyes locked on him like a hawk's. Torvald paced. He growled orders to brace the gates. Outside, Alan's mind spun. Shadow root and sulfur, merchants and witches, a shadowed one looming over it all. He'd dodged the fire. The case was far from closed. The monastery waited. A powder keg ready to blow.