Chapter 387: No More Mid-Ground

They did not get far before the cost of the fight caught up with them.

Lucian kept them moving long enough that the ridge and the fallen executor were well past the first broken edges of the hills. He let them slow then, and only because Sera’s steps had begun to falter in a way that had nothing to do with fatigue.

"Sera."

She shrugged him off, nearly toppling herself in the process. He caught her, his palm coming away bloody. A long slit of a wound, hidden beneath her cloak, had been keeping pace with her steps, bled through her determination.

"I can walk," she gritted through her teeth.

"You are bleeding," Istra noted, already working at the binding. "Walking is not the same as lasting."

They got her settled behind a partial ruin, working quickly. The damage was extensive if not immediately life threatening, a pressure wound that would kill if they did not stop soon. She cursed Istra’s ministrations and gave Lucian a look as if it was his fault, rather than the surgeon’s knife.

"Do not make a speech," she told him. "I chose the road."

"I know."

Toren sat with a re-opened shoulder, offering no comment. Rhel kept watch on their trail, the wind carrying the lack of immediate pursuit, the hush that followed a rout of ranked forces. It was not the first time Lucian had seen it, but it never lost its weight.

When she could sit upright without prompting, Rhel was back in the middle of their camp.

"No immediate clean chase," she offered. "Not for long. You put down Veynar’s executor in public display. Hunters may hesitate. Lords do not forget an open answer."

Istra wiped at her hands, staring out at the white reaches beyond the hills. "The next stretch will not be contested fringe. Once we clear the rises, we will be within direct seat territory. Not the outlying reaches, not the old war lines. The outer ring roads that serve the upper seats directly."

Sera gave a wet chuckle. "So the part where it gets worse."

"I am afraid so," Istra admitted.

Lucian stood, a hand pressed to his own ribs, watching the road ahead. The mid-plane had long since faded, the high-road hunting territories gone. It was all the way up now, the long way in. The road where ranked law did not suffer subtlety.

Rhel met his eyes, her next words edged with something like reluctant respect. "There is one route left that still opens into the outer ring without passing through a main seat gate. It is narrow, old, and patrolled by those who have no love of surprises. It is also the only route I can offer that does not end in Veynar’s chosen hunting grounds."

"What is the cost?" Lucian asked.

"Speed," she replied. "And whatever illusion of local controversy we might have managed. If we take that road, we will arrive as a contingency, with the bones of a fallen executor in our wake and a full force of seat hunters already waiting for our approach."

Toren gave a weary sigh, resting his skull against the stones. "I liked local controversies better."

Sera was quiet for a long moment, her expression pained. She managed to give him a look anyway, all sharp angles and quiet resolve. "If the alternative is walking into the same Lord who sent a messenger to kill me, I am all for the narrow road."

Istra gave a single, short nod. "Agreed. Open roads will be blocked or baited by now."

Lucian felt Cael settle in beside him, lighter than she had been in the fight, but heavier than any presence on the lower roads.

"She is right. After Sane, there is no more mid-ground. You either arrive in the ring on your own terms, or on theirs."

Lucian looked out over the ruined camp. Over the faces of the ones who had followed him, who had bled for the road he had carved. Sera, her bindings dark against her skin. Toren, his exhaustion barely hidden. Istra, still bloodied, watching the next leg of their journey. Rhel, her posture set, already planning their approach to the final seat. The key at her belt would be quiet for now, but every force worth its steel would already know it had been drawn and held.

"We take your road," he said to Rhel.

She only tilted her head in acknowledgment. "We should move before the ridge has recovered a second line of sight. The outer ring does not care how difficult the climb was, only that we have reached its domain."

They gave Sera a few more minutes, long enough to be certain the bindings held, and long enough for her to settle her weight on her feet. Lucian kept close as they walked, a pace steady but not swift. Nothing to alarm her balance, but close enough that he would know if something faltered. Istra took point with Rhel, the next leg of their journey unwinding before them. Toren followed, his body language giving away little save for his exhaustion.

Behind them the high land kept its broken shape, the broken road still littered with the signs of the recent fight. Ahead, the ranges climbed toward the outer ring, the reaches that served the upper seats. Where the old vote and the living contingency would soon meet on the same ground.

Sera looked to Lucian after a long stretch of silence.

"No more mid-plane. No more empty roads. No more running small."

"No." He did not sound surprised. "I was also getting tired of the small version."

They walked on, marked, bleeding, and done with every level of pretense.

The next road would not be one of survival between factions.

It would be a fight at rank.

A/N

Thanks for reading this far, it has been mid but really appreciate your commitment to still read it, thanks for your time and energy.

Once again thank you ??, it’s been a wonderful ride.