Resh’s hand stilled. “She has a name.”
Zarrek chuckled. “Well, if that wasn’t the case, I’d have to question your tastes. You’ve never lacked for warm bodies, Commander. But this?” He gestured vaguely, a smirk curling one corner of his mouth, and pressed on. “That tiny thing? She’s barely a woman. You sure this isn’t desperation dressed up in devotion?”
Resh didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But the air shifted around him, a gust that had nothing to do with the Moore wind.
“I’ll only say this once.” His voice was measured and lethal. “Speak of her like that again, and I’ll rearrange your spine.”
Zarrek suddenly held up both hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I see it now. You’ve grown soft.”
“No.” Resh’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve grown tired of you pretending not to see what’s right in front of you. She’s real. She’salive. Powerful, strange, but…”
Zarrek’s smile vanished. For a moment, something old and wounded flickered in his expression, but it vanished as quickly as it came.
He scoffed. “That wisp couldn’t lift a blade if you bound it to her bones. I’ve never seen a woman so slight. Most children in Krystopolis are taller.”
Resh decided not to mention the night she’d subdued the Resh’Agar’s runes with her magic. He looked out toward the edge of camp, where the light was soft and the wind had picked up again, brushing the grass in waves.
“She reminds me of something I thought I’d lost.”
Zarrek exhaled through his nose, but said nothing.
A long pause settled between them—heavy, but not hostile.
“Commander!” A young scout skidded to a halt, breathless. “The tethering—there’s a problem. It’s Astenos. He’smissing.”
The wind died.
Resh’s stomach dropped. “…What?”
The scout nodded rapidly. “Gone. And the whole tethering’s out cold, like they were spelled.”
The wind picked up again as Resh strode across the field, his pace brutal. Zarrek kept up, silent now, one hand hovering near the hilt of his enormous battleaxe.
The tethering ring came into view.
Reskala stood clustered around at least thirty sleeping horses, signing to one another in a panic. A few wanted to douse the animals with cold water, but Resh stopped them. Water was a precious commodity in the Cycle of Fire. They couldn’t afford to waste it.
Another Reskala had resorted to snapping his fingers near a mare’s ear. Several others were shaking the large animals to coax them awake. Nothing worked. The horses lay collapsed in perfect calm, chests rising and falling slowly, eyes closed in repose.
Resh passed the men in silence, each one straightening with a snap as he walked by. He knelt beside the nearest horse; a powerful stallion bred from the Flamehooves. He pressed his palm to its flank.
Steady breath. Low pulse. No signs of injury. No foam at the mouth. No churning in the stomach.
Just…sleep.
“Void-damned spell,” Zarrek muttered. “Has to be.”
“There’s no trace signature.”
Resh looked around using his Manasight. He rose and closed his eyes, allowing all sound and sensation to fade into a blurred background hum.He reached inward, deep into the architecture of his body where his Runesgram burned. He found Vör’tha, the rune that tethered him to his war steed, Astenos. A single line of command and loyalty, formed through pain and ceremony. And now—
He felt it.
A heartbeat. Distant but strong. Calm.
But Astenos had never been serene.
East.
