It was getting late into the next morning. We continued making our way downstream, roughly following the river’s course while also foraging a little into the woods. Elara pointed out many edible plants, wild carrots, various berries, and we even managed to find some wild apple trees, though the fruit wasn’t yet ripe. Our conversation was kept quiet and intermittent to avoid drawing undue attention.

I told her tales from my youth, picking generic stories that could come from just about anywhere—making a rope swing over the river and falling in when the branch broke, hunting for bird eggs, and tales of Misty’s fun and games. She told me of her life growing up among the branches, memories of waking to birdsong and running through the high branches in games of tag. She shared learning to use the bow from an early age, though she claimed to never be that good at it, and most notably, she told me about discovering her knack with magic and learning to control the flow of mana within her.

The subject of mana fascinated me, and I couldn’t help wondering, fantasising even, about maybe being able to learn it myself. I know I didn’t choose the path of a mage because I felt an archer more practical, but…

‘Who knows what may or may not be possible, Del,’ I contemplate as she talks about it with me.

Misty appears out of the brush ahead, tail swishing, and I feel her mind touch mine. Not words, but almost—a vivid sense that there were people ahead, not green, not elf, other. I touch Elara’s arm and motion her to quiet, then crouch down. She lowers herself beside me, and we move as carefully as we can, following Misty as she leads us forward.

After a hundred metres or so, we begin to hear voices talking quietly. The tone is gruff but too low to make out words over the gentle rustle of leaves and burbling river.

‘Watch, hide, be ready,’ I send the thought to Misty, and she quickly slips off. I turn my head to Elara and whisper in her ear.

“I’ll go forward; you hide and be ready with the bow if things go sideways.”

She nods agreement, and with that, I stand up and head towards the voices ahead.

I don’t try to muffle my approach, but I’m not clumsily noisy either—the occasional twig breaking underfoot or pebbles crunching enough that my presence wouldn’t cause surprise. As I see two men come into view, I ensure my empty hands are in clear sight and stop a half dozen metres from the two men, who appear to be quietly but angrily arguing over a body lying at their feet.

“Hey there,” I say in what I hope is a friendly voice, though my warning sirens are already blazing at the sight of the corpse.

‘Stay sharp, Del. Need to find out what’s happened and not jump to conclusions.’

The men spin to face me, and it’s obvious they’d been so distracted by their argument that they hadn’t noticed my approach at all.

The men are tall—one maybe six foot, the other more. Both look weather-worn, with ripped clothing in places and odd bits of dented armour here and there. From the look of it, both must have seen better days. Then again, I probably look worse. The bigger guy has chipped swords at his belt, and the other a bandolier of small knives strapped across his chest. With a thought, I quickly try identify on them.

‘Identify’

Human Rogue

Level: 2

Scout and ambush hunter

Strengths: Stealth

Weaknesses: Unknown

Attacks: Knife

Skill: Unknown

Lore: Rogues use stealth to sneak up on and gain an advantage in attacking an enemy. They are also experts at trap detection along with breaking and entering.

Human Brigand

Level: 2

Brawler, fighter

Strengths: Strength, stamina

Weaknesses: Unknown

Attacks: Scimitar, knife

Skill: Unknown

Lore: Brigands tend to gather in small to medium groups, living by ambushing and robbing unwary travellers.

It’s pretty obvious they don’t share my friendly nature when they pull weapons and begin to charge at me—well, one does. The rogue stumbles and falls forward clumsily, a vine he hadn’t noticed snaking around his boot.

‘Good girl,’ Elara has been hard at work.

I pull my sword and knife to meet the charge and step to the side at the last minute, parrying his strike with my knife while I try to strike back with my own blade. With a ring of metal, it’s deflected by the bracer on his arm.

I hear the distinctive zing of an arrow passing close by, followed by a grunt as it finds its mark. It seems Elara has her sights firmly on the rogue she downed, as more arrows follow the first.

The brigand and I are rapidly exchanging blows and counters, neither scoring much but both trying hard. He draws a wicked-looking curved knife with his off hand and comes towards me, weapons and arms outstretched and waving menacingly.

I step back and then quickly spin to the side to avoid his sudden thrust. As I do, his knife catches my flank and leaves a gash. It’s not deep, but first true blood to him.

I can feel the trickle of hot blood start to run down, and the coppery smell of it permeates the air around me. I know I’m outclassed and only avoiding something truly dangerous so far thanks to luck and circumstance.

At that point, I pass under the tree I’d been leading him toward. He yells and stumbles as a ball of furious ginger fur lands heavily on his neck, clawing and biting for all she’s worth. I take advantage of his distraction to thrust my own blade into him. It’s deflected by some obstruction I hadn’t spotted under his shirt, but it still goes deep. He yells, and with a violent shake, dislodges Misty, who lands some feet away.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Regaining his footing, the man starts to swing his sword down on me, and I desperately try to get my knife up to deflect it. With a metallic ring, my knife is forced from my hand—I deflect the blow, but I’m now down to just my sword.

Misty leaps again. She doesn’t land but instead takes a large chunk of his ear with her as she vaults across his shoulder. The man screeches in pain, swinging at her wildly and hitting nothing but air. I slash toward him once more, cutting a line down his arm as, with a thunk, an arrow sprouts from his throat.

A look of surprise crosses his face as the life flickers and dies in his eyes, and he slumps unceremoniously to the floor.

[You have killed Human Brigand, experience gained]

[You have killed Human Rogue, experience gained]

I drop to the floor and sit, breathing hard, recovering from the fight. It had been hard. I need to get better. Misty comes to me and nuzzles my hand.

“Good girl,” I praise her. She gives a couple of heaving coughs, and with a splat, a chunk of ear lands on the ground at her feet. She gives it a sniff, then bats it away with a paw before starting her grooming routine. There’s a rustle of leaves as Elara pushes through some underbrush and comes up beside me.

“Are you alright?” she asks me.

I regard my assorted cuts, none too dangerous, but they damn well sting like a bitch.

“I’m good,” I answer, “just need to tend to these, and I’ll be right as rain again.”

“Do you know who they were or what they were after?” she asks.

I sigh. “I’d guess a couple of cut-throats looking to kill and rob anyone they came across.” I point towards the body of the rogue, now sprouting a quiver of arrows.

“I think they were maybe having a bit of a disagreement over their last victim.” I shrug. “Let’s search them all. Maybe something will turn up to give us more clues.”

‘If not, Del,’ I muse, ‘we just chalk it up to more shit this world’s chucking my way. Damn place seems to exist on the principle of kill or be killed.’ I mentally raise a finger to an unseen entity. ‘I’m still here, though, BB. I’m still here.’

With a small groan, I reach into my pack. I still have that pot of feldspar paste I found on the goblin, so I use it to treat my injuries. There’s enough left for a couple more small wounds. I haul myself to my feet and look at Elara.

“Shall we?” I ask, then step over to the nearest body.

We strip off his cobbled-together armour—a vambrace on his left arm and a pauldron on his right shoulder make up the useful parts. Under his shirt, he wears a tattered leather under-armour that had deflected my earlier thrust. It isn’t worth keeping. On his hand is a large, gaudy ring, and in his pouch, he has some coins and a couple of other less ostentatious bits of jewellery. We gather these, along with his knife and sword, and I also retrieve the knife I’d dropped in the fight.

Leaving him to the ants and scavengers, we move over to the rogue and whoever their victim was. The rogue is dressed in a light outfit of padded cloth. The bandolier of what I now see are throwing knives is of good quality—the knives are sharp and well-cared-for. His pack holds cleaning cloths, oil, and a whetstone. He also has a nasty-looking stiletto in a wrist holster and a pouch of more coins to add to our haul.

From the look of the dead man on the ground, the stiletto had been his undoing, with a single deep puncture wound through his back right where his heart would be. This man is better dressed, more like a farmer or other labourer. I have no idea if he’s a ways from home or if this means we’re near civilisation ourselves.

As I move to help Elara retrieve the last of her arrows, I smile at her. “Now, this is why you have the bow.”

She looks up at me, and I see a small tear glisten in the corner of her eye. “I’ve never killed anyone before,” she says in a quiet voice. “But I had to, or you would be dead.” Her voice breaks on this last word, and with a sob, she throws herself into my arms, her head buried in my shoulder, body shaking with muffled sobs. I hold her gently as her arms grip me. I remember my own reaction to my first kill and compare it to how I feel about these men.

‘Am I becoming inured to this fight-for-survival crap?’ I wonder.

I stroke Elara’s back gently. “It’s alright, lass,” I murmur quietly. “You’ll be okay.” At our feet, I feel Misty rubbing against our legs, lending her own brand of emotional support.

With a great heave of breath and a gulp of a final sob, Elara pulls away a little and looks at me through reddened, wet eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispers as she wipes her eyes and face on her sleeve. “Can we just finish here and get out of this place, please?”

It’s almost a beg—as if I’d want to stay around the bodies any longer than necessary.

“Sure,” I answer gently. “You go sit over there and have a cuddle with Misty while I finish up, then we’ll be on our way.”

I search the final body, that of the cutthroat’s victim. I find a small, distinctive pendant, which I carefully remove and put away. Maybe someone will recognise it, and I can let them know what happened. There’s nothing else to suggest why he’d been targeted. A quick look in the pack nearby reveals a few meagre bits of food—nothing but basic fare, but the bread will be useful. With that, I stand back up, motion to Elara to join me, and we head back on our way downstream, Misty leading the way as usual. As the afternoon wears on, Elara tries to apologise for her reaction. I tell her I was worse, she smiles, and we make light conversation—interspersed with long periods of reflective but companionable silence. From ahead, I feel Misty’s touch on my mind.

‘Cave’ is the feeling I get, and we let her guide us a little way from the river to a crumbling hill with a small hollow we can shelter in. Neither of us talks much as I set up camp and prepare food. I look at our supplies—maybe enough pork for two more days with bread tonight. Tomorrow, if we don’t find a farm or village, we’ll need to hunt or fish for more. As we eat, conversation is gentle, studiously avoiding the earlier fight. I can see in her eyes that she’s still haunted by the events. Not long after she finishes, she says she’s going to sleep and curls up at the back of the hollow. When I check on her a little while later, her soft breathing tells of sleep, yet tears roll slowly down her cheeks from beneath her closed eyelids.