For some moments, Arran remained silent, trying to get his head around the task that lay before him. Finally, he repeated, "You want me to spy on the Hunters."

"I do," Brightblade said once more. "The Valley is in desperate need of information, and nobody in the Valley is better suited to the task of getting it than you."

"You told me the Valley has sent other spies," Arran said, brow creased in a deep frown. "I assume these were among the Valley's best scouts — Masters, if not stronger. Did any of them return?"

"Some," Brightblade said. "But only those who didn't stray far into the Hunters' lands. You, however, will venture deep into their lands — further than any mages before you."

Once, her words would have sent Arran into a panic. But now, he understood that Brightblade would not simply send him to his death. If she wanted him to enter the Hunters' lands, she believed he could handle the task. And if that was the case, he would listen to her before deciding whether he would do as she asked.

He gave her a serious look, then said, "Tell me your plans."

She responded with a small nod. "Getting into their lands will be easy — easier than you might think. The Hunters capture or kill any mages who enter their lands, but commoners are allowed to enter as they wish. And while they have means to detect even sealed Realms, those seals of yours are no ordinary ones. If my suspicions are correct, they should suffice to fool even the Hunters' methods."

Arran raised an eyebrow. "What if your suspicions are wrong?"

"Then you will have to flee," Brightblade replied. "So I would suggest putting my suspicions to the test near the borderlands. If I'm wrong, I trust you will be able to escape a small patrol of Hunters."

A wry smile crossed Arran's lips. While Brightblade might not simply send him to his death, she clearly had no qualms about sending him into danger.

Just then, however, a thought occurred to him. "If the Hunters allow commoners to enter their lands unharmed, why not send commoners to spy on them? The Valley has plenty of people without any magical skills."

"They allow commoners to enter," Brightblade said. "But they do not allow them to leave — or, if they do, none choose to do so. Plenty of commoners enter their lands, but none ever return."

This hardly sounded encouraging, as Arran could think of several other explanations for why nobody returned. And none of those explanations filled him with confidence.

Yet that there would be risks involved was to be expected, and he continued, "Even if I can enter their lands unharmed, how would I gather information? I can't imagine they'll simply let me walk into their camps to take notes on their activities."

"You will visit their cities," Brightblade replied. "Travel their lands as a merchant or craftsman, and learn what you can from the commoners."

"Cities?" Arran frowned as he looked at Brightblade. "They have cities? And you know about those?"

She laughed, then said, "Of course they have cities. Look at their numbers. They have millions of warriors. And to supply an army of millions, they need tens of millions of commoners — farmers, merchants, craftsmen, shopkeepers. An army like theirs needs a nation to support it, and a large one at that."

This was something Arran hadn't yet considered, but as she explained it, he realized it made sense. While he had thought of the Hunters as a mysterious band of unusually powerful brigands, no brigands could maintain such numbers for centuries.

And, he realized, if there was an entire society behind the Hunters, then they would have no small amount of knowledge — training techniques and combat methods developed over thousands of years, strong enough to allow them to rival even powerful mages.

"I could learn from them," he said quietly, more to himself than to Brightblade.

Yet she replied, "That is another reason I'm sending you. With powers so close to yours, their knowledge could be invaluable to you — or completely useless. Either way, it's an opportunity worth exploring."

Arran thought for some moments, but in truth, he had already made his decision. Any information he could find would be crucial in the war to come, and although he had few friends in the Ninth Valley, he would gladly face danger if it increased their chances of surviving the conflict.

"All right," he finally said. "I'll do it."

"Of course you will," Brightblade replied, though her eyes held a hint of approval. "Now, before you leave, there are several things you will need."

She walked over to a corner of the chamber, where she picked up a stack of books and a bag, both of which she brought over and handed to Arran.

"These books detail various Shadow seals and wards," she explained. "You will need to study them carefully before you venture into the Hunters' lands, since Shadow is the only type of Essence you'll be able to use. And you will need to hide not just your Realms, but also your void ring and your Shadowflame mark."

Arran glanced at the inside of his left wrist, which held a mark shaped like a black flame, still moving as if it were alive.

He had gained the mark when he took the oath to join the Shadowflame Society, and although he had mostly ignored it since then, it was a subtle yet undeniable reminder that he was a mage and a member of the Shadowflame Society.

And in the Hunters' lands, it would be a death sentence.

"What about the bag?" he asked. It wasn't a void bag. Rather, it was the type of thing a commoner would use for travel, large and unwieldy.

"You can't enter the Hunters' lands dressed like a mage," Brightblade said. "So I have gathered clothes for you — the kind of outfits a commoner might wear."

Arran stored both the books and the bag in his void ring, then asked, "So when do I leave?"

"We will leave now," she said. "I intended to keep you here for some days, but the demonstration you gave today will have drawn enough attention. There's no point in wasting any more time."

Without offering any further explanation, she stood up and headed out of the chamber, Arran following close behind her.

To his surprise, when they left the stronghold, she had several dozens of guards accompany them. Moreover, instead of heading in the direction of the inner Valley's gates, Arran soon realized that they were traveling toward her estate.

With dozens of guards surrounding them, he could not ask her about this, but he spent most of the journey with a deep frown on his forehead, his confused expression only hidden by the dark of night.

It was early morning when they arrived near the mountain path that led to the estate, and there, in the shadow of the mountains, Brightblade announced, "I will accompany Lord Ghostblade to my estate. The rest of you are to wait here. I will return within two weeks."

Without any further words, she left the guards behind and guided Arran up the narrow mountain path. Even knowing where it was, Arran found it difficult to recognize, and as they traveled up the mountain, he noticed that several new wards had appeared along the path.

They traveled in silence, but when they reached the small valley that held Brightblade's estate — which, to Arran's eyes, still more resembled a fortress than a mansion — he turned to face her. "I thought you wanted me to travel to the borderlands?"

"I do, and you will," she said. "But as far as the rest of the Valley is concerned, you will spend the next few years in secluded training at my estate."

"But how—" Arran began, yet he stopped mid-sentence as his eyes turned to the small path at the far end of the Valley.

Brightblade smiled at him, then said, "We're taking a different route into the Borderlands. One slightly more dangerous, but far less conspicuous."

Arran did not return the smile. He remembered well what she had told him and Snowcloud about the path. For the two of them, she had said, the path only led to death. And not just that — in her own words, even she could not take the dangers it held lightly.