Page 72 of Dark Elf Makes Five

The words send her into a frenzy of rage and terror. Her shrieks echo through the cavernous warehouse, bouncing off the rotting beams and broken windows until the sound becomes a cacophony of desperation. She hurls curses at my back, her voice cracking as she screams threats and pleas in equal measure.

I stride past Draven toward the warehouse entrance, my boots echoing against the warped floorboards. The captain falls into step behind me, his hand resting casually on his sword hilt.

"Make sure she reaches her destination intact," I murmur without breaking stride. "But beyond that, I don't care how uncomfortable the journey becomes."

"Understood, my lord."

Outside, Thale and Fendrin wait beside our mounts, their faces grim but satisfied. The morning air tastes clean after the stale rot of the warehouse, and I draw a deep breath as I swing myself onto my equus.

Selmyra's voice still carries through the broken windows, growing more shrill and desperate with every passing moment. The sound follows us as we ride away from the docks, but I don't look back.

Draven will handle the mess—at least that I can trust.

The steady rhythm of hoofbeats on packed earth provides the only sound as we trot along the main road back toward the estate. My equus tosses his head, eager to increase pace, but I keep him reined in—there's no need to exhaust the mount when Selmyra's fate is already sealed.

Thale rides beside me, his weathered face reflecting the same grim satisfaction I feel. Behind us, Fendrin maintains his usual watchful silence, scanning the treeline for any sign of additional threats. The morning sun climbs higher, burning off the last wisps of mist that cling to the forest edges.

A distant thunder of hoofbeats breaks the peaceful morning quiet. I pull up short, raising my hand to halt the others as a lone rider crests the hill ahead of us. The figure leans low over his mount's neck, whipping the reins with desperate urgency that sends ice through my veins.

The rider's blue and silver livery identifies him as one of my estate guards before I can make out his face. His equus foams at the mouth, sides heaving from a hard gallop that speaks of genuine emergency.

"My lord!" The guard's voice cracks as he hauls back on the reins, his mount skidding to a stop mere feet from my own. Sweat streams down his face despite the cool morning air. "My lord, you must return immediately!"

The panic in his voice hits me hard. My hands tighten on the reins until my knuckles turn white. "What happened? Are we under attack?"

"No, my lord." He gulps air, struggling to form coherent words through his exhaustion. "The mistress—the children—they're gone!"

The world tilts sideways. Every muscle fiber in my body goes rigid as his words sink in like poison. "Gone? What do you mean gone?"

"Vanished, my lord. Their rooms are empty. The guards found no sign of struggle, no forced entry. They simply..." He gestures helplessly with one trembling hand. "They're nowhere to be found."

I don't wait to hear more. My spurs dig into my mount's flanks, drawing blood, and the equus explodes forward like a bolt of dark lightning. The wind tears at my hair as we thunder down the road, each hoofbeat hammering against my skull in perfect rhythm with my racing heart.

Behind me, Thale and Fendrin struggle to match my pace, their mounts straining to keep up with my desperate flight toward home. The guard who brought the news falls further behind with each passing moment, his exhausted equus unable to maintain the punishing speed.

The estate gates appear ahead, thrown wide open with guards scrambling like disturbed ants. I don't slow down as I approach the main courtyard—instead, I throw myself from the saddle before my equus comes to a complete stop, hitting the cobblestones at a run.

My boots pound against the front steps two at a time. The massive oak doors swing open before I reach them, revealing Halvren and Mrs. Aldren rushing forward with identical expressions of distress. Halvren clutches a small piece of paper in his gnarled hands, waving it frantically above his head.

"My lord!" Halvren's voice shakes with urgency. "My Lord!"

I snatch the paper from his trembling fingers, my eyes scanning the childish scrawl written in uneven letters across the rough surface. The message is brief—barely a handful of words—but they hit me like hammer blows.

"Find us at the cabin."

"What is this?" The words grind out between clenched teeth as I stare at the cryptic message. "What cabin? What are you talking about?"

"Master Ramin confirmed the handwriting belongs to young Bran," Mrs. Aldren explains, wringing her hands in her apron. "The boy must have left it as a clue."

Fendrin appears at my shoulder, breathing hard from his sprint up the steps. His sharp eyes take in the paper, and understanding dawns across his weathered features.

"The cabin where we found them the first time," he says quietly. "Where they lived before coming to the estate."

The memory crashes over me like a cold wave. The ramshackle hovel where Kessara had struggled to keep her family alive, hidden deep in the forest beyond the village boundaries. Of course she would return there—it's the only place she's ever felt truly safe.

I crumple the paper in my fist and whirl toward Fendrin. "Mount up. Take me there now."

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