Chapter 98: The Ash Wolf (2)
He pressed the crushed letter against his chest. "He was my only blood."
Lysa’s anger rose.
She had grown up among mercenaries. She knew death. She had seen men die for coin, for insults, for women, for bad roads, and sometimes for nothing at all. But Merrick was different to her. He was her father’s student. He had trained beside her. He had promised to marry her after the company finished this season’s contracts. She believed his soft words because she wanted to believe them. She believed he was better than most men in the camp because he knew how to speak gently when others only shouted.
Seeing pain on his face made her anger simple.
"Then we kill Lucard for revenge," she said.
Merrick looked at her. "Lysa."
"No. Do not say my name like that. If he really killed your brother, he needs to pay for it. With his own life."
"He is in Gravehold now. House Ravencroft may be involved. Other nobles may also be watching. This is not simple."
Lysa smiled coldly. "That only means we do not charge in like drunk fools. I will go first."
Merrick’s eyes moved slightly. That was what he wanted. But he pretended to resist.
"No. It is dangerous."
"Good. Then I will be careful."
"After healing from his sickness. If your father learns you went into Gravehold alone because of me, he will get very upset."
"Then I will not tell him until after."
Merrick stepped closer and gently held her hand.
"Lysa, I cannot ask you to do this."
"You are not asking me anything. I am choosing it."
His face showed gratitude. His heart showed calculation.
She continued, "I will enter the city, find them, and see how many guards they have. If there is a chance, I will kill Lucard myself. If not, I will send word back and we will bring more men."
Merrick lowered his head.
"My brother did not deserve to die like this."
Lysa squeezed his hand. "Then I will take revenge for him."
Merrick pulled her close and placed one hand on her shoulder.
"You are too good to me."
She leaned into him, trusting the grief in his voice.
Outside the tent, the camp continued as usual. Men sharpened blades. Horses stamped the ground. Someone laughed near the fire. No one knew that a new blade had just been pointed toward Gravehold.
Merrick looked over Lysa’s shoulder, and his eyes became cold.
"If she killed Lucard, good. If she captured Jake, even better. I will sell the boy and blame everything on the ash wolf.
If she died, then I would have a reason to move the whole mercenary company."
Either way, Merrick would not lose much. That was how clever men survived when they were too manipulative to take revenge with their own hands.
The flashback ended there.
Now, two nights later, Lysa Ashwolf stood on the roof of a narrow house in Gravehold and watched the inn from across the street.
She had entered the city after sunset.
It had not been difficult. Gravehold was tense, but tense cities were full of movement. Guards watched noble roads and main gates. Servants carried messages. Merchants closed shops late. Travelers came in with carts.
Lysa had dressed like a courier girl from a minor trade house, tied her hair under a hood, and entered through the northern gate with two fake delivery papers and a small purse for bribes.
She had expected to spend a whole day searching.
Instead, she saw Lucard before midnight.
At first, she thought she had made a mistake. The young man walking beside the Marovain carriage did not look like the useless mudblood described in old rumors. He walked too calmly. Guards moved near him. A noble lady was also there. But then Lysa saw his face clearly under a passing lamp. The black hair, the cold eyes, the age, and the way the others stayed close to him matched the portrait Merrick had given her.
Lucard Vardros.
She followed from a distance.
She did not understand everything she saw. She did not know what had happened in Gravehold during the last few days. She did not know Dorian Velkhur had died. She did not know Garran Velkhur had died. She did not know Lucard had sold a spell to House Marovain. She did not know the house he entered belonged to Marovain. She arrived too late, saw too little, and guessed too much.
That was dangerous. She saw Lucard and others entering a house after leaving the inn.
The house had a wall, a gate, trees, and guards. But in the night, from her angle, she did not notice the small Marovain mark carved above the dark iron gate. The mark was not large. It was meant to be clear for invited guests, not bright enough to warn a fool on a roof.
Lysa saw only a good house where Lucard had entered with his family. She believed he had found a temporary hiding place.
She watched the guards for almost an hour.
There were more than she liked. Two at the front gate. Two moving along the courtyard. One near the back wall. Another near the servant entrance. That was not impossible. Mercenary camps had taught her that guards always looked strongest when they believed the wall did the real work. A wall made people lazy. Trees made blind spots. Servants made doors open. Windows made fools think only birds came through them.
Lysa moved when the moon went behind clouds.
She crossed from one roof to another, landed behind a chimney, and slid down to the rear alley. Her boots touched the ground without sound. She took out a thin hook and rope from her belt. The back wall of Silver Ash House was tall, but not smooth. Silver ash branches leaned over from inside. She threw the hook carefully. It caught a branch. She pulled once, then climbed.
At the top, she looked into the courtyard.
No one saw her.