"There's a spy in our tribe."
The silence that followed Elder Ruvio's revelation was absolute. The word "spy" didn't just hang in the air; it poisoned it.
The words sank into me as stones dropped into dark water, heavy, unsettling, and slow to ripple. "That's... a heavy allegation, Great Elder," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile air.
"We're a tribe of three hundred souls," I continued, my mind stumbling over the thought. "We know each other's names, our children play together, we eat at the same table... how could any of us do such a treacherous deed?"
Elder Ruvio's ancient eyes met mine, and in them, there was no doubt left to question. "This is not merely suspicion, Barik," he said softly. "It is a fact that has already chosen its hour."
A chill crawled up my spine, spreading outward like cracks in ice. I turned to my father, expecting... I didn't know what. Maybe a denial, or a spark of outrage. But his face was a mask of grim acceptance, as if he'd been waiting for this reckoning.
Elder Faren moved first, stepping toward the map on the wall.
"The Iron Order didn't wander blindly," he said, his voice tight. "They moved with intention. They knew which valleys were worth burning. Which settlements were worth erasing. That's how they are."
Iron Order… spies… The words piled up in my head, colliding, grinding against each other. My thoughts began to spiral, a storm with no center. This was too much. Too sudden.
Part of me wanted to believe that there was still some mistake or misunderstanding that could be argued away. That Haven was still just a hidden refuge, not a mark already circled in ash.
I realized, with a quiet chill, that I wasn't struggling to understand... I was struggling to accept.
Elder Faren folded his arms, his gaze hardening. "Green Valley wasn't on any major trade route. Not rich. Not strategic. And yet they went straight for it." He let the silence stretch, thick and uncomfortable. "Your father saw the tribe burning."
The words struck deeper than they should have. Green Valley? Why was Father there? The question rose in my mind before I could stop it. He hadn't been sent to Green Valley for a long time now. That wasn't his patrol. That wasn't his route.
A cold thread worked its way down my spine. So why had he seen it first?
I looked up at the Elder, and for the first time since the meeting began, I felt something shift... the uneasy sense that the fire had already reached much closer to home than anyone was admitting.
"The council received a warning that Green Valley would be attacked," he said, voice measured. "We couldn't believe it. We needed proof, and we sent your father to investigate. But we were too late to act."
Faren added, his words cutting deep. "He saved some who were able to escape." The room seemed to narrow, focusing on my father's profile; the lines etched by years of hardship, the eyes that had seen too much.
My mind spun, chasing shadows. Who could betray us like this? And why would they do this to their own tribe? The questions swirled, but answers felt as distant as stars in daylight.
"That's... not possible." The words felt hollow even as they left my lips, like a drumbeat with no sound.
"Spies do not always wear the faces we fear. Sometimes they wear the faces we welcomed. We took in those who asked, and in doing so… we wounded ourselves."
My mouth dried up, tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.
"They planted spies... and not only in Green Valley." He raised his staff, pointing to another mark on the map, closer, darker, like a stain spreading toward Haven Below.
"The council received a warning that Green Valley would be attacked," he said, voice measured. "We couldn't believe it. We needed proof. We sent your father to investigate. But we were too late to act."
I couldn't bear to hear more of what the Elder was saying. I said, "It's the Traders... not spies," I muttered, the word tasting bitter, trying to shift the blame. "It must be them! They're sly and shameless. To them, secrets are wares to be sold."
"There were such," the Elder admitted, his expression pained, "and there were other kinds." The Iron Order knows our patrol routes. They are being fed the pulse of this village by someone who eats at our tables and sleeps under our roof."
The words hung like smoke in the air, choking me.
"They didn't just seek secrets, Barik" Faren continued, his voice dropping to a growl. "They watched, surveyed our routes, gauged our stores, familiarized themselves with our habits..."
"...and where we are vulnerable," I finished, the phrase scraping my throat raw. My voice trembled.
"Spies! If I'm to lead my men back to that perimeter, I need to know who's holding the knife at our backs."
Silence answered me, a heavy, suffocating blanket that swallowed all sound. No one replied. Their faces blurred in the flickering gloom, unreadable, leaving me staring into shadows where suspicion lurked like a wolf.
My mind spun like a whirlpool, dragging faces into the vortex, friends, warriors, cooks, healers... until one stuck, jagged as a shard of glass. Dara.
A memory of a lingering gaze near the storehouses, a question asked just a bit too casually about our patrol routes, drank with us while asking things. Nobody noticed anything unusual... until that night. (1)
I couldn't forget how she bravely faced the wolves and took down two of them with a single slash, but now, I remembered more her smile at the last harvest, the eerie precision of the enemy's movements... and all began to align in a way that made my skin crawl.
Could she be the one? The thought tasted like copper and poison on my tongue. I didn't want to believe it.
No, Dara wouldn't... My thoughts wrestled with my gut, refusing to settle. I had to know the truth.
"Is it—" I started, wanting to force the name into the open, but Elder Ruvio cut me off with a sharp wave.
"You will not speak of any name," he said, voice echoing with ancient authority. "Not unless you are certain of the true identity."
I turned to Father, expecting blunt honesty. But his face was stone, lips sealed, eyes holding mine like a challenge. I sighed, frustration simmering. "..."
"The elders know more than they're saying," Father said, low but steady, buffering my heat. "But don't mistake that for omniscience. Not even they know everything."
His gaze held mine, the mask slipping for a heartbeat, regret, caution, a plea. "I can't tell you more, Son. Not yet."
I glanced at the silent council, frustration boiling over. "What do you want me to do?" I asked, voice rough. "How can I protect the people if I'm looking over my shoulder at them?"
His hand settled on my shoulder, heavy and warm. "Revealing a name now would only alert the enemy that we're on to them. If the spies knew they were hunted, they'd flee or go deeper into the dark. We must use them as they use us and feed 'truth' we want them to believe."
Elder Ruvio stepped closer, ancient eyes pinning me, Eris, and Kaylah. "We want you to watch and listen. But keep your tongue behind your teeth. The feast begins soon. Go, eat, and look at your neighbors in the eye... but do not look for a friend. Look for a flaw."
The words hung like a challenge, a cold wind whispering through the War Room. I nodded, the weight of it sinking in. The feast, a stage for suspicion, a mask for the watchful. I'd smile, I'd laugh, I'd search for the crack in the armor.
"So we play along," I said, the weight of the command settling like a yoke around my neck. "The trenches are for water. The wolves are just dogs. And we... we are just lucky survivors."
"Exactly," Elder Faren barked, his voice cutting through the tension. "But you three must be the eyes we do not have. Watch the faces at the feast. Listen for the questions that linger too long. A spy thrives on the details. Look for the person who isn't celebrating your return, but measuring the cost of it."
Elder Ruvio raised his staff, the silver tip catching a stray beam of light like a warning. "Trust is now a luxury Haven can no longer afford. From this moment on, your closest friend could be the one holding the torch that lights the fire for the Iron Order."
"So... we wait?" I muttered, my jaw clenched tight. "We sit and wait for the knife?"
"We watch," Ruvio corrected softly, his tone brooking no argument. "We keep our secrets tight. We prepare for a surprise attack that the enemy thinks will be a massacre. A spy thrives on suspicion, Barik. If we let that suspicion spread unchecked, they won't even need a blade to destroy us; we will tear ourselves apart."
The silence that followed was thick, heavy with unspoken names and hidden fears. Outside, the mountain wind howled through the ventilation shafts like a lonely sound as a wolf's cry.
"If we tighten the net too quickly, the fish will feel it," Elder Ruvio said, his eyes gliding over us. "We let the Feast happen for this reason."
Kaylah blinked. "A 'fake' celebration?"
"Celebration for the victorious return," Elder Ruvio said. "Noise. Drink. Movement. Confusion. A perfect place for someone who doesn't belong to move, listen, and report."
"Join the feast," the Great Elder commanded, his eyes fixed on the map like it held the threads of fate. "Eat. Celebrate the 'luck' of the hunt. But remember: the ground you walk on is being prepared for a siege. Every laugh you hear tonight is a debt we must pay in blood tomorrow."
The feast pulsed just levels above, but in the War Room's cold air, the celebration felt a world away. We weren't hunters anymore; we were pieces on a board, and the enemy was already among us.
We stepped into the Great Hall; the scents of roasted meat hit us, and forced laughter swirled like smoke. To villagers, it was a reprieve; to us, a room full of ghosts. Kaylah stood beside Eris, both quiet now, shock hardening into resolve.
Elder Faren and Thalen lingered by the door, voices low, clipped; men discussing how to stop a flood with bare hands.
Elder Ruvio waited.
When the echoes of boots faded, he spoke: "You two know what to do," Ruvio commanded, gaze sharp. "Let's proceed."
***
The great hall near the upper chambers, once a widened transit hub, filled with the smells of roasting meat and boiling grain. Oil lamps were strung along the pillars, and fresh-cut torches turned the stone ceiling into a wavering sky of gold and smoke.
Long tables were dragged out from storage. Benches followed. Someone started beating a drum against a barrel lid, and soon a rough, uneven rhythm spread through the hall.
The Recovery Team arrived to cheers, Cugat on the lead. Renzo and Tonovan were brought in on a cart and half-carried to a place near the fire. They began to tell the story as the Elder said. (2)
There was thick stew from stored roots and dried grain. There was fresh meat, cut carefully, shared carefully. There was flatbread and something like cheese. Someone had even brought out a jar of honey and was charging a spoonful per cup.
Stories spread.
Exaggerated ones.
Someone pressed cups into their hands. Someone else pressed bread. A woman cried and laughed at the same time while scolding them for being idiots.
We sat at the end of the long table, wooden trencher untouched. Eris and Kaylah flanked me, eyes scanning the crowd like sentries.
I nodded toward laborers near the fire, bruised knuckles, bandaged palms. "They're exhausted because they aren't just digging a ditch," I murmured. "They've been hauling river-stone to line the 'drainage' floor."
My gaze drifted to the Outer Gate. In the flickering firelight, golden eyes reflected flames from beyond the perimeter. Across the hall, the wolves were visible through the open stone arch that led toward the Outer Gate.
They lay in the wide, torch-lit yard beyond, dark shapes against firelight, watchful and still. Children gathered at a careful distance. Some adults did too. Fear and awe shared the same space between breaths.
The feast roared around me, laughter, drink, oblivion. My jaw tightened as I scanned the crowd.
Dara moved fluidly, serving food and drink. She moved like she always did, quiet, unassuming, helper from the stores, invisible. Not celebrating, not sitting, not lingering. Watching. Or maybe that was just my mind shaping fear.
Suspicion gnawed at me. She'd been near the gate, behavior oddly furtive. No proof. Only a gnawing feeling in my gut.
Dara approached Cugat; cups in hand, moving like a cat, too disciplined for a simple tracker. "To the heroes," she purred, setting cups before Cugat, Renzo, and Joeren. "None for you, Tonovan. Healer's orders."
"The village is talking about the 'Ghost Pack' that followed you home. Some are even calling Eris the 'Wolf-Tamer'. A rare gift, to make peace with such teeth," she said, smiling like it was a joke.
She leaned in, her eyes reflecting the silver light of the sky-wells above. "Tell me, Vice... did the wolves truly just 'follow' you? Or was there something in that cave that made them stifle their hunger? Some say the air turned to silver."
"The air was thin, and the shadows were long, Dara," Cugat replied, voice perfectly steady. "People see what they want to see when they're afraid of dying. I saw a lucky break and a pack of mangy dogs looking for an easy meal. Nothing more."
Then, he smiled at his brothers-in-arms and raised his cup. "By blood and silver!"
"We stand as one!" the hunters thundered back, cups held high.
Laughter followed, wild and ringing, echoing off the stone like a promise none of them yet knew would be tested. Dara laughed too, but her smile didn't touch her eyes. She lingered, gaze flicking from Elders to hunters… to Father's rolled blueprints.
Dara caught my gaze. She didn't look away. She smiled, a thin, practiced thing, and raised her cup in a silent toast. My heart throbbed faster.
"She's feeling us out," Kaylah murmured, hand tightening around her cup.
"She knew the story was a lie," Eris said, his voice low, silver in his blood prickling with warning. "She didn't know what the truth was, but she suspected the Elders were playing a game."
My suspicion strengthened. She's a spy, I said to myself. But my words felt unreal, like a bad dream.
The feast roared on, torches, smoke, battered cups striking tables. The wolves lingered outside, presence felt but not seen. People laughed, cried, and treated the wounded like heroes.
I smiled when needed, but my eyes kept moving. Shame gnawed at me for focusing on Dara. I sat by a pillar, back to the wall, a habit. From here, I saw doors, passages, the corridor to the Outer Gate… and Dara.
Suddenly, empty plates crashed when a kitchen staff member 'accidentally' bumped the bench where Father and the elders sat. My gut tightened as I watched Dara help the fumbling kitchen staff. Her movements were... too smooth. Too controlled.
I remembered Elder Ruvio's words: "Keep an eye on her."
Plates in hands, Dara innocently slipped out through the side corridor. No, please don't… I mumbled, gripping my cup tight.
Father's eyes met mine—blueprints gone! He stood, Faren with him. Ruvio stayed seated, staff across his knees, listening to something else.
I rose, followed unnoticed. Dara through the kitchen, to the Outer Gate's walkways… I followed. Father and Faren ahead, moonlight swallowed them.
So, it's really you… after all this time
***