"Put him on the table," Tavlen said, speaking more steadily than she felt. She orbited the table, picking up the wooden, hand-crafted cups and plates, piling them in the crook of her arm. She scooped up two wooden spoons, then froze, staring at them. She dropped them. Dropped everything. Swept everything off the table with her arms, letting the dishes clatter onto the floorboards.

Adalen and Arlen were on either side of Venkas, supporting him while he favored his good leg.

The other leg was...not so good. Tavlen only needed one glance to know that.

Venkas hadn't made much of an attempt to dress or treat the wound, beyond what looked like a knot of torn cloth to stem the bleeding, with middling results. Blood welled in the fabric of his trouser leg, starting just below the knee, running all the way down, smearing the leather of his boot. He left a ribbon-like trail on the floor of the cabin as he limped along, escorted by his brother-in-law and sister-in-law, each of them half his age and half as tall.

He was pale. Too pale. Beads of sweat clung to his face and neck like moss on a tree. His eyes were glassy, his gaze distant.

"...Shaeyas?" He said, in a hoarse voice.

"It's Tavlen, dear," she corrected. "Shaeyas is out checking the traps." Must have been disoriented indeed to mistake Tavlen for her own granddaughter. Another bad sign. If there weren't enough of those already. "Kallen will be on his way to fetch her, I'm sure."

Venkas frowned. For a moment, his stupor was replaced by a certain sharpness, a certain dark clarity. He shook his head, slow.

Oh.

Tavlen froze, watching as Venkas was turned and laid--wincing and groaning--on his back on the table. There was already a slick smear of red on the corner of the tabletop, pooling and dripping slowly from the edge, glinting under the late-afternoon sunlight glancing in through the west window, shafts of light that knifed through the gaps between trees.

Tavlen wondered if she would ever be able to get out the stain. It wouldn't do, for a such a beautiful table--one Kallen had built and lacquered himself, all those decades ago--to be blemished so. The floor, too. It wouldn't do.

They had planned to have a big family dinner tonight, when Kallen and Venkas returned. For that, the table needed to be clean, not spattered with blood. It simply wouldn't do. It wasn't hygienic. And the table needed to be set, didn't it? The dishes were scattered everywhere--

Stop. You're dissociating.

She took a deep breath, snapping back to herself. For many years, she'd lived a nice, normal life--a far cry from the dangerous, thrilling adventures of her and Kallen's youth. She'd become soft. She'd become...happy.

What she was going through right now, what she was feeling--she needed to put that off, as long as she could. She had to stay in the moment, now. Otherwise, her granddaughter's husband was going to die.

"Adalen, sweetie, fetch me one of my kitchen knives," Tavlen said, pulling a hairband out of the pocket of her apron. She pushed locks of graying hair up and out of her face, putting together a ponytail behind and her head and fastening it with the band. She weaved around the table, over to the side of Venkas' bad leg. "Arlen, I'm going to need you to step back."

Arlen ignored her. He was staring wide-eyed at what was now a spreading crimson pool on the tabletop next to Venkas' leg. He had his father's--and Kallen's--eyes, bright blue, hooded, intensely inquisitive. His messy mop of dark-brown hair partially obscured one of those eyes, but the blue of it stilled sieved through the layer of strands.

Tavlen snapped her fingers. "Arlen! Space."

He jumped, looking at her like he'd just noticed she was standing there. "Sorry, grandmama." He scooted back, until his butt was nearly touching the west wall, though his eyes were drawn back to the well of spreading blood.

Adalen, the older of the two young ones, held out one of Tavlen's smaller kitchen knives, handle-first. Her hand was shaking, just a little. Her pupils were dilated, eyes dark with fear and uncertainty. Still, she was holding it together surprisingly well. She had that same defiant look that Tavlen had come to associate with her older sister Shaeyas. She looked so grown up, with her own dress, and apron, and a bandana she used to keep her hair out of her face while she did chores.

Neither Arlen or Adalen fully understood how bad things were. They probably thought this was just another problem Tavlen could fix--as she was always so at doing, grandmama's know everything after all--and that soon things would go back to normal. Which was highly doubtful. But now wasn't the time to disillusion them of that, not just yet. They'd figure it out on their own soon enough. And when that time came, Tavlen would comfort them as best as she was able. But for the moment, time was of the essence. There were things to be done.

"Thank you, darling," Tavlen said, taking the knife.

The knife was well-sharpened, and Tavlen was able to puncture the upper leg of Venkas' trousers, cutting a line all the way down the length. She stabbed the knife into the table, embedding the tip so it would stay put; an act that made Arlen jump again, next to her.

"Arlen, I said back."

"Yes! Sorry!"

Tavlen spread the two folds of the trouser leg, examining the wound.

It was exactly as she had feared.

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

Most of Venkas' leg was blotchy and bloated, mottled with red bumps and protrusions.

Well. That would explain the symptoms.

Honestly, I'm surprised he made it this far.

The wound itself was an open, jagged gash, crying with little bits of yellow pus.

"Give me your bandanna," Tavlen said, as she examined the wound.

She could feel Adalen hesitating next to her. Then her arms reaching behind her head to undo the knot. She handed over the cloth. It was dyed a dark red, with which just as well.

Tavlen took it, wrapping and tying it so the cloth covered her face, like a mask.

"Goblins?" She said.

Venkas' eyes came back into focus, a welcome moment of lucidity.

"Yes," he said. "How did--"

"The cut," Tavlen said. "I've seen these before. That, and the nature of the infection. They like using swords with sawblade edges. They coat the blades in poisons and other toxic substances. You're going into septic shock, Venkas."

"Septic...shock?"

She was losing him, again. He looked confused. And not just because he wasn't as well-read as she was. He was looking around at everything like he didn't know where he was. Trembling too, like he'd been left out in the cold. It was chilly out, but not enough to account for this.

"Where were you when this happened? Venkas? Listen to me, I need you with me."

He blinked a couple times, then his eyes found her. "The valley. A day's ride out."

"They ambushed you?"

"No. It...it was more like they happened upon us. We tried to run, but we were riding uphill to get away from them. They swarmed us."

Goblins traveled on foot. They were nimble things. Tavlen could imagine Venkas and Kallen trying to work their horses up the steep slope while a horde of goblins scrambled quickly behind them.

"Kallen..." Venkas went on. "One of them had already got to me, but he fended the goblin off. He...he dismounted, drew his sword. Told me to go on."

A bout of unsteadiness threatened Tavlen. She slumped, palms on the table, arms bracing to hold herself upright.

Of course. Of course he did.

"I'm sorry, Tavlen," Venkas said. "I truly am."

Tavlen sagged against the table, head down. "Don't be. There was nothing you could have done."

Kallen was a good man. He chose death for himself, so his granddaughter would see her husband again. What else could Tavlen have expected?

Not that she was willing to forgive him for it, just yet.

Get ahold of yourself, girl. For your grandchildren's sake. You can mope and wail all you want when this is over.

She took a deep breath, pulling herself up tall. "How many were there?"

Venkas swallowed, clearing his throat. "Could have been twenty or thirty."

A lot of goblins to be wandering so far from Bloodweald. They’re not known for playing nice in large groups unless they have a common cause or goal to unite them.

"How did they look? How would you describe them?"

Venkas' brow furrowed in concentration. "Dark green skin. They wore...rags, and leather, and rusty plate armor." He stared up at the ceiling, as if there was a portal to the past there.

He frowned. "There was...a man there."

For a moment, Tavlen's heart seemed to stop. Hairs stood up on her back and neck. She felt something tugging at her insides--a downward pull, like a grappling hook to the intestines.

"A man?"

"I...couldn't see his face," Venkas admitted. "He wore this...cloak. But he was taller than the others. He seemed to be the one giving the orders."

"What language did he speak?" Tavlen said. "High orcish? Common?"

All she got from Venkas was a blank, perplexed look.

Right. He wouldn't know. He knew other languages exist, but they had no significance to him. He'd only ever lived in one small corner of the world. The closest town in ten leagues--his hometown--was a few days ride away, and he'd been more than happy to move in with his bride's family rather than whisking her away. He enjoyed the slow, simple, secluded life.

As for Tavlen and Kallen, they'd had their own reasons for living such a remote, self-sufficient life.

A life that was now upended forever.

Tavlen closed her eyes for a brief moment, gathering herself. Trying to think.

There’s no time to waste. You need to move now, save what you can. Drop the dead weight. Keep the grandchildren alive.

But that was the old her, the old Tavlen, summoned out of the past by these extreme circumstances, believing her services were needed again. And maybe they were.

Only, Venkas wasn’t dead weight. He was the husband of Tavlen’s granddaughter, and a good man. Over the short time Tavlen had known him, he’d become like a son to her, a true member of the family.

And besides, what would Shaeyas say? Would she be so willing to leave her ailing husband behind?

Tavlen could lie. That would be the only answer. And both Arlen and Adalen would have to be complicit in the lie in order for it to work. The lie would be that Venkas died soon after he returned, after warning them about the goblin…bandits? Mercenaries?

“Tavlen,” Venkas said. “You...have to leave me. You have to take Shaeyas and the children, and you have to go."

Tavlen opened her eyes. Venkas was giving her a keen, knowing look, one that surprised her given his condition.

So. He understood. The goblins, that 'man' with them--they were here for Kallen, and for Tavlen. They'd already found the one, and Venkas had inadvertently led them to the other. Being on foot, they might still be a day or so away, at most. And Venkas was in no position to travel.

He was willing to let himself die so they could get away. It was exactly what Tavlen had already been contemplating.

And yet, it didn't sit right with her. Her family shouldn't be the ones to suffer because of her past. It wasn't right.

She reached out and took Venkas' hand. His skin was clammy, and startlingly cold to the touch. "I'm not going to do that. I'm going to treat you. I'm going to get you stable. And then..."

And then what?

She would hand herself over. Give herself up. What else was there to do?

But perhaps she should keep that last to herself. For now.

She pulled away from the table, but Venkas' fingers found her wrist, making a vice. "I could tell in half a day I wasn't going to make it. But I had to return. I had to see Shaeyas again. But if I'd known--"

"You're not going to die," Tavlen said, sternly, extricating her wrist from his grip. "Not if I have anything to say about it. And we're not leaving you behind." She turned to Arlen, snapping her fingers in front of his wide-eyed gaze. It took him a moment to react, to emerge from his fascinated stupor. "Go and find your sister Shaeyas. Bring her here. Quickly."

Arlen nodded, relieved to have something to do, and left the cabin in a hurry.

"Adalen," Tavlen said, turning toward the younger sister. "Go and fetch the spirits in the cabinet, darling."

Adalen nodded gravely, turning her back and heading toward the far wall of the cabin.

Steeling herself, wrapping her shawl tightly about her arms and shoulders, Tavlen stepped out through the open door of the cabin. The long tail of her shawl flapped behind her in the chill autumn breeze. Dry, fallen leaves crunched and crackled under her feet. The ground was soft without being overly wet, her boots sinking somewhat with each step, treading long brown blades of grass underfoot.

She grabbed the door to the shed and swung it wide. Blades of sunlight extended through the spaces in the wall, causing bright bars of airborne dust motes to glitter. This was where the family kept most of their equipment and tools. It was also where they butchered the kills they brought back from traps and hunts.

Her eyes scanned one wall of the shed, where various tools and implements were hung.

There.

She stepped toward it and pulled it off the shelf, removed the leather scabbard. Light gleamed along the edge of the blade.

It would have to do.