They ran until their lungs burned and the sounds of pursuit, real or imagined, faded into the background thrum of the night woods. Kaelith led the way, her Dravenwolf instincts guiding them through tangled undergrowth and across icy streams with unerring certainty, even in the near darkness. Lunrik followed blindly, adrenaline slowly giving way to bone-deep exhaustion and a chilling unease that had nothing to do with physical exertion.
Who were those people? Their cold efficiency, their advanced technology capable of detecting werewolf signatures and Banehallow-spectrum emissions… it spoke of resources and knowledge far beyond any known faction on the mainland, save perhaps whispered legends of Silverhowl ingenuity, but this felt different. Colder. More alien.
Solaris? Alaric's ghost offered the thought, sharp and suspicious. Moriveth's homeland. A kingdom of powerful mages. Would they possess such technology? Could they have an interest in monitoring, perhaps even manipulating, the curse they held responsible for? The idea was deeply unsettling. Or maybe… Dwarves? No, the figures weren't dwarves, and the tech felt different from the robust steam-and-gear aesthetic Borgrum's workshop had hinted at later in Lunrik's life… Wait, no, Alaric wouldn't know about Borgrum yet. The thought process tangled, ghost memories fighting present knowledge. Lunrik shook his head, trying to clear the internal static. Regardless of origin, they represented a new, unpredictable threat targeting not just heirs, but the curse itself.
They finally slowed their pace deep within a rocky defile miles south of the encounter, needing rest and a chance to think. Kaelith found them a shallow overhang, barely large enough for shelter, screened by thorny bushes. They huddled together for warmth, the night air biting cold.
"They were tracking Eryndor," Lunrik stated grimly, breaking the silence, rubbing his gloved hand where the Stigma still felt faintly agitated from the device's energy field. "They knew he was werewolf, high stress, matched him to 'Target Designation Frostmane'."
Kaelith nodded, her face grim in the faint starlight. "And they were scanning for… Banehallow emissions? What does that even mean?"
"I don't know," Lunrik admitted, the lie feeling heavy. Alaric might have theories involving curse magic resonance, but explaining that was impossible. "But it means they aren't just hunting random werewolves. They're looking for us. For anyone with the Stigma."
The implication hung heavy between them. They weren't just fleeing Kaedor; they were potentially being hunted by a technologically superior, unknown enemy specifically interested in their cursed bloodline.
"Their weapons…" Kaelith murmured, touching the blackened score mark on the log near where they'd hidden earlier – an image seared into her mind. "Not magic, not exactly. Like… contained lightning. Faster than an arrow. Hit harder than any mace."
"Technology," Lunrik supplied. "Highly advanced. I've never seen anything like it." Again, a half-truth. Alaric might have seen prototypes or heard rumors from distant lands, but nothing deployed with such efficiency. "Which means whoever they are, they have resources. Organization."
They sat in silence again, the weight of their discovery pressing down. Their desperate flight south felt increasingly naive. They were caught between Kaedor's brutal, overt tyranny and this cold, technological menace with unknown motives. And Eryndor was caught somewhere ahead, hunted by both.
"We still head towards Milltown Cross?" Kaelith asked eventually, voicing the practical question. "Still try to find Eryndor?"
Lunrik hesitated. The danger had multiplied tenfold. Approaching Eryndor now meant potentially running straight into those mysterious hunters or the Ashfang. Yet… abandoning him felt even more wrong now. He was marked, targeted by multiple factions for reasons beyond his own weakness. He held information, perhaps unintentionally, about both pursuers.
"Yes," Lunrik decided firmly. "We have to. Knowing who these new hunters are is crucial. Finding Eryndor might be the only way to learn more. Maybe he saw something, heard something. And…" he added, a harder edge entering his voice, Alaric's pragmatism surfacing, "if they capture him, whatever information he holds falls into their hands. We can't allow that if they are hostile to Lykandra."
Kaelith considered this, then nodded slowly. "More dangerous now. We move even more carefully. Assume we are being watched, possibly tracked, even without their machine nearby." She looked at him intently. "And no direct confrontation unless there is no other choice. We are scouts, Lunrik, remember? Not soldiers." It was both a reminder and a warning, perhaps sensing Alaric's more aggressive instincts stirring beneath the surface again after the encounter.
"Agreed," Lunrik said, meeting her gaze, pushing the ghost king back down. Evasion and observation were their only realistic options.
They rested briefly, sharing dried meat and water, before setting off again as the first hints of dawn greyed the sky. They moved with heightened caution, Kaelith taking point, her senses stretched to their absolute limit, reading every track, testing every breeze. Lunrik followed, trying to emulate her silence, scanning constantly, feeling exposed under the vast, uncaring sky.
They avoided the direct route Eryndor was likely taking, instead using ridges and heavily wooded areas to parallel his probable path, hoping to observe without being detected. As the morning progressed, they found disturbing signs. Not just the occasional Ashfang track, crudely left, but subtler marks – oddly placed snapped twigs, minute disturbances in the frost that suggested efficient, almost invisible passage. Tracks belonging to the unknown faction? It was impossible to be sure, but the feeling of being watched intensified.
Mid-morning, while traversing a high ridge overlooking a winding path below, Kaelith suddenly froze, pulling Lunrik down behind a cluster of snow-dusted boulders. She pointed.
Below them, on the path, lay signs of a recent struggle. Torn scraps of pale Frostmane-colored cloth, dark stains on the snow that weren't melting, and several spent energy casings glinting dully in the weak sunlight – casings matching the weapons used by the mysterious hunters. But there were also tracks leading away – large werewolf prints (likely Ashfang, heavy and aggressive) and smaller, erratic human (?) boot prints heading deeper into the hills towards the Skyrend Peaks, not continuing south along the path.
"They clashed," Kaelith whispered, interpreting the scene. "The hunters caught up to Eryndor here… but then Ashfang arrived?"
It looked like it. A three-way confrontation? Had Eryndor somehow escaped during the chaos? Or had the Ashfang driven off the unknown hunters and taken Eryndor themselves?
Lunrik felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The situation was getting increasingly convoluted. Who captured whom? And why were the tracks leading towards Skyrend, towards dragon territory, towards the rumoured location of… Grimfang Deep?
He remembered the smells in Borgrum's workshop, the scent of ozone and metal… was there a faint echo of that on the wind now? Unlikely, too far. But the direction felt significant. Could the Ashfang be taking Eryndor towards the mountains for a reason? Seeking passage? Resources? Or was it simply the closest defensible direction after a fight?
"We follow the tracks leading towards the Peaks," Lunrik decided. It was the only solid lead they had, however confusing.
Kaelith nodded grimly. The foothills of the Skyrend Peaks were dangerous territory – steep, prone to avalanches, known dragon haunts, and home to the reclusive, hostile dwarves of Grimfang Deep, according to legend. Heading into those shadows felt like stepping knowingly into a dragon's maw or a dwarven steel trap.
But the tracks led that way. And somewhere ahead, Eryndor Frostmane was caught in the tightening pincers of multiple ruthless factions. Their desperate journey south had taken another sharp, perilous turn, leading them away from the known dangers of Kaedor's immediate grasp and into the deeper, older, potentially more deadly mysteries lurking within the shadows of Grimfang Deep.