The autumn sun retreated from sight, ducking beneath the distant hills. The golden blaze of sunset had long passed. Only a few rays hung within the coiled branches, fluttering like stray embers amongst kindling. Their light blended into the air and bathed the dusk-sky purple. Thomas had to squint as he marched. It was barely bright enough to navigate without a lantern.

Cold air nipped their skin. The party trudged along the forest trail. The atmosphere of excitement was dead, replaced with a dull, throbbing ache in their feet as they marched forward. Thomas knew it had only been a few hours, but he also knew how time stretched during long walks; The strange dance where the space between moments blur around each other. The bird song had faded. Only the sound of complaints that followed every annoyance lingered on the air.

Thomas kept quiet, hanging off to the side of the group. He would have preferred dying to getting tangled up in the endless cycle of whinging. If it weren’t for the band, the night would have been perfect. The chill bit him awake, keeping him sharp, his feet would cramp up if he didn’t spend an hour or two wandering. Every other footfall for the group seemed to always end with an awkward stumble as they tripped over a rock or branch. Thomas didn’t have to think, the trail showed him where to step, his foot met it without pause. He was more native to the trails than he was to any town or city. More than Orhill.

Especially Orhill.

He and the town had never meshed well. The woods were a refuge for Thomas. Free from the racket of the market, the jeers from the alleyways, and the awful stench of humanity. The songbird calmed his mind, his heart could get drunk from the smell the soil gave off after it rains. If bottles of cider and wheels of cheese could grow on trees, he would never leave.

“Oh?”

Before he could enjoy his daydream, Thomas was snapped back to the present. Paul was moaning at Jackson again.

“So, it's my fault we wasted an hour shopping for charms and leprechaun repellent? Go wild for all the useless junk you want, but I wasn’t going to be left behind because you can’t go half a moment without burying yourself in protective seals.”

Thomas placed his palms to his forehead and sighed. The twins were always impossible to tune out.

Jackson huffed, “I’m not angry that you pointed out we were going to be late for the rendezvous, and I am not angry that you dragged me out just as I was paying for the last of our insurances. What I am angry about is you constantly calling me an idiot when you forgot the jackets!”

“I tried to go back to get them. But no,” Paul dragged out his words for emphasis, “You needed my opinion on if the number two or the number seven wooden stake is better for stabbing vampires.”

“You know what I didn’t hear?”

“What?”

“Jackson, I forgot the jackets. We need to go back and get them.”

Paul stammered, “I did!”

Jackson raised his eyebrows and scoffed, “Calling me paranoid about moon goblins and saying that the only defence our immortal souls have in this shithole is a waste of coin does not in any way let me know that you forgot something.”

Paul sharpened his gaze, “I did not,” he said, bitterly.

“Oh, look at me, my name is Paul! Instead of telling people what I want, I just call them fuck wits and hope they can read my mind.”

“Oh, dear! My name is Jackson, and I made a silly mistake. Despite looking old enough to be our dad, I genuinely believe that hauling bags of useless overpriced snake oil is more important than clothing because I still believe in magic and piss the bed like I’m five.”

Jackson raised his voice, “If I am a big baby, then maybe you should have taken some responsibility and done something to help us prepare. All you ever do is follow what I do and whine about it.” Spittle shot from his lips.

“Well,” Paul sighed, exacerbated,“I’m sorry, I can’t be in two places at once, but If I wasn’t constantly babysitting you, then you would have wasted our savings on useless –”

“Stop calling it useless!”

“Stop calling me lazy!”

And so on and so forth.

The conversation spiralled into incomprehensible bickering. Paul and Jackson had repeated themselves enough that Thomas could tell the passage of time by what point in the loop the twins were currently in.

A few glares from the group brought the pair’s voices down to where he could attempt to focus on something else. Rodrick and his ‘friends’ were less annoying, but not by much. Every other time the twins came back to the subject of the jackets or how cold and tired they felt, the group would burst out into incessant whinging about the same. Several shouts that vastly overestimated both time and distance would follow, before being swept over by the most recent comment on blisters. Finally, Junior would request quiet, and the voices would be quelled once Theo repeated the order.

Rodrick was pleasantly quiet compared to his usual behaviour. This Unnerved Thomas. He would follow along with the current chatter, but within the lulls he would blankly stare forward, picking at a scab on his wrist. Only flashing his signature grin whilst in conversation and tucking it away when no one was paying attention. Rodrick looked serious. He was never serious.

The only two comfortable members of the band were Junior and Theodore. Whatever adventurous enthusiasm had died in the rest of the group had never left Junior, he was making the most of his jaunt as the leader, barking orders and encouragement, met by silence or tired agreement. Some God gifted youthful stamina kept him at the head of the pack, and a large wool coat made him immune to the evening chill. He looked like a kitten wrapped up in a fleece. Theo followed in lock step behind his charge, he had dealt with worse. The only words out of his mouth were whispered conversations with Junior and shouting to relay orders to everyone else.

The troupe’s chattering filled the Delmerk with sound, flooding the quiet vacancy.

Deer didn’t race into the brush with every broken twig. No owls broke the monotony with a sporadic hoot. And out of all the things the group could be complaining about, not a single person had mentioned anything about bug bites since they entered the woods.

Thomas was on edge. Everything made a noise. He remembered animal calls better than he remembered faces, an internal dictionary for deciphering the forest’s song into something understandable. But there was no song. Everything was gone. If they had scared away everything in earshot, there would have been some sign of flight. Even so, there would have been something still around. Gnats don’t flee from people. Thomas swore If the trees could move, they probably would have disappeared with the rest of the forest.

⁂

The hours dragged on, and the night grew darker. The final pinches of sunlight were finally worn out, and the purple haze of dusk was replaced with pitch black. A few party members were in a panicked race to get their lanterns lit before the dark swallowed them. Warm candlelight created a bubble of safety but exaggerated the danger beyond. The shadows of the trees twisted into thin, lopsided things with long, crooked arms. The banter had faded into hushed words. A few would flinch with every broken twig. One man’s laboured breaths became the panting of a hidden monster to another. Thomas’s mind was dead set on the path ahead, blanking out the world as he tried to remember where the closest camp site was.

“Thomas?” Jackson said. The sound of Thomas’s name stole his attention. “What about him?”

Rodrick scoffed, puffing out his chest, “You can’t be serious,” he began to count reasons on his fingers. “Stinks like a pig, the friendliest he gets is when he is being sarcastic and whenever you catch him in the corner of the White Lily, he just stares at you. Digging wee little holes into your skull as he just sits there sipping his pint. You can’t tell me that isn't unpleasant.”

“With the way I’ve seen you act after a night out, I wouldn’t be surprised that he’d give you a funny look,” Jackson said.

Rodrick’s gang snickered; they were about to join in on the grilling before a glare from Rodrick silenced them.

“You and your brother chat him up all the time, now you’re defending him,” he raised an eyebrow. “You friends or what?”

Jackson fumbled for the right words, “Well nah, I wouldn’t say –” A kick stole his balance, and his face smacked the forest floor.

“Yeah, you don’t say much.” Rodrick cleared his throat and hacked phlegm onto the back of Jackson’s head. “Not much at all. Oi, Paul! What do you think?”

Paul’s eyes widened, face boiling red, “Oi! What are –”

A pair of hands pushed him to the side, “Ay mate, you got to calm down.” Before his voice could raise into a shout, Paul was packed in both sides by the mob. A dozen eyes burned holes into his skin, waiting for the moment he’d try to step closer to Rodrick again.

“Come on, hurry it up. It's just a simple yes or no. No need to get all uppity,” Rodrick grinned.

Paul felt his heart race, a fist frantically banging against a door in his chest. His knuckles were squeezed white in his fists. He imagined taking Rodrick’s head and striking it against a tree till it burst like a rotten apple. He closed his eyes and took a long breath. Paul knew he wouldn't move an inch before he would join Jackson in the mud. He shrugged, “Dunno. He lets us talk more than anyone else. Can’t honestly say we are friends, though. Don’t know much about the guy.”

Thomas's eyes grew wide. He couldn’t believe that Rodrick was trying to start his schoolhouse bully routine. Not only here, but to them too. Thomas had been in enough scraps with him and his ‘friends’ to know how to handle it. Paul and Jackson, they were young and weak. They weren’t getting out of there alive. He eyed a large branch and stomped it, the sharp snap got the attention of the jumpier members of the group ahead, they noticed the pack lagging and a bark from Theo to keep up got Rodrick and his group to move up, giving the twins a necessary window to gather themselves.

“Are you alright?” said Paul, not waiting for a response as he heaved his brother to his feet.

“I’ll live,” Jackson groaned. “My head hurts, though.”

“Listen, you need to understand the kind of man you two are all chummy with. Ever since he got that hunting cabin from old Flanigan, my dear uncle, God rest his soul” – Rodrick muttered a quick payer under his breath – “he has been doing his best to keep to himself. You never see him around, never talk to anyone. Always putting on a quiet face. But that is bullshit.”

“Yeah, bullshit. Absolutely rotten,” the mob chimed in.

“The real Thomas is a nasty piece of work. Slimy nasty pervert. It hadn’t even been a week since he showed up, and I caught him chatting up my sister something fierce, getting handsy, wasn’t taking no for an answer. When I tried to butt in and remind him to use his manners. Blam! Straight in the gob, before I can blink the stars out of my eyes, he ran off.”

Thomas rolled his eyes as Rodrick told the story. His ‘sister’ was a random woman he paid to scream bloody murder about someone robbing her. When Thomas raced towards her, Rodrick slammed a door into his face and flashed a knife. Before he could process it, Thomas was running in the opposite direction, the woman was scolding Rodrick about how he screwed it up, and he was on the floor crying about a broken nose.

Two of Rodrick’s gang flanked the twins, so they couldn’t back off as he leaned in close, “But that is not the worst of it,” his voice descended into a mock whisper. “Do you know how he got that cabin he squats in?”

Thomas froze, hooking a hand around a hanging branch to keep him from tripping over his locked legs. Flanigan was a good man. Difficult, strict, but he opened his door for him. He was Thomas’s only friend. He winced as he braced for what was going to crawl out of Rodrick’s crooked maw.

“My dear departed uncle was a kind man, an absolute sweetheart. But he was always a bit naive, and as the years caught up with him, he became a poor judge of character.”

He was gentle with whoever was pouring his drink, otherwise Flanigan could flay a man by staring at them, and he kept his wits sharper than Thomas did for his knives.

“When Thomas came to Orhill, the two bonded over hunting. I could never relate, felt far too brutish for my tastes.”

Thomas bit his tongue, grabbing the instinct to comment on how Rodrick is too busy kissing his own ass to taste anything else, and pushed deep down.

“Before I knew it, I barely saw my old man anymore. Locked up in his cabin doing Lord knows what. Thomas was territorial and could barely get within earshot of it before he tried to chase me off. The only time I was able to get near” – he paused, taking a moment to squeeze a few tears out of his eyes – “God damn it the racket, broke my heart how he could do that to him.”

Thomas bit his lip, face quivering, he struggled to keep a calm expression. Flanigan was the only soul In Orhill that showed any kindness to him. The closest he ever had to a father.

“All of that just to scam me out of the deed for that dinky plot of land.”

Stolen novel; please report.

“It wasn’t yours!”

The night held its breath.

Thomas’s tongue ran before his mind could stop it. Rodrick looked at him like he had a second head, the twins slowly reeled back, dreading what was about to happen.

A shriek shattered the tension. The mob’s attention was drawn to the front. Junior was on his back, shuffling away awkwardly. “Something is in those bushes. I know what I saw. Everyone to arms!” Spears and clubs were hoisted to the ready, the gang shuffled into position. Thomas notched his bow and tiptoed to the side. His eyes and ears brushed over the scene in front of him, like drawing his fingers across his mother’s book. Again and again, tracing every detail. He found nothing.

Theo brought his poleaxe up high and crashed it down onto the bush. A burst of brown fur shot out, weaving through the crowd. It vanished into the night.

“Bloody Rabbit,” Rodrick groaned; the crowd echoed his annoyance.

The night was drowned in a torrent of whinging. Rodrick led the orchestra.

“What was that about?”

Junior stumbled, tongue twisted in nervous knots, “I-I thought –”

“You thought what? That there was a pack of bandits in the shrubberies?” venom spat from Rodrick’s clenched teeth.

The mayorling cowered, “Our foes could be anywhere.”

“I could have used that ‘foe’ for dinner. There is nothing out here, unless you believe Jacky about the Delmerk being haunted by fairies.”

Jackson raised his voice, “I didn’t say –”

“Shut up, no one asked you.”

Junior took several shallow breaths, his eyes began to water, “Cease this at once, Rod –”

“No, I don’t think I will. We have been pissing about in the woods for hours, freezing our faces off, looking for a bunch of murderers and thieves that are camping next to a comet. And after an entire night of getting lost, we still have no idea where we are going,” his goons jeered him on. “You are nothing but a scared stupid spoiled little brat. You have no idea what you are doing, so how about you stay down in the mud and let –”

There was a wet crack and a hard thud.

Rodrick screamed, blood and loose teeth sputtered out of his mouth as he coughed. Before he could let out a profanity, he heaved as Theo’s boot came down into his stomach, the bloody butt-end of his poleaxe pinning his head to the forest floor.

“That is Gilligan the Younger. Son of Gilligan the Elder. Mayor of Orhill. Insubordination will not be tolerated.” Theodore’s voice was soft and monotone. He took his time to enunciate every syllable. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Fuck you, you –”

Theo’s foot stomped down, and Rodrick was winded. His words faded away in a stressed whine.

“Do I make myself clear?”

“You, y-you,” his eyes fluttered around, looking for some way of escape. “C-crystal.”

As soon as his wrath came, Theodore left Rodrick and returned to the side of his charge. Lifting him from the mud and ensuring he was safe. Rodrick fled into the crowd, clutching his mouth.

⁂

The night grew long. A ring of campfires surrounded the group, half haphazardly pitched tents and exhausted travellers painted yellow by the firelight. A small island of safety within a murky sea of tar. They were penned in by the darkness till morning. The group were either passed out in their tents or huddled around one of the fires. Thomas sat at the edge; faint licks of distant flame blanketed his shoulders. His eyes were closed as his mind reached deeper and deeper into the Delmerk. He studied the sounds, the rustle of leaves, the sigh of the night air, a footfall, maybe imagined, maybe not, probably just from the camp. He focused again. Nothing. Still nothing.

Hollering stole his attention. Someone was trying to start something on the opposite side of the camp.

Rodrick and his thugs are having a shouting match, with the twins at the centre of it.

“Listen, we can all agree it's been a long day. So why don’t the two of you just pitch in your fair share, and we can forget this happened,” Rodrick winced as he smirked, his jaw was still tender.

“Come on, boys, listen to the nice man,” came a voice from the mob.

“Rodrick is just trying to help,” echoed another. The crowd repeated Rodrick’s words as they closed in around the pair, taking any chance to step closer or shove them.

“Back off, all of you!” Paul spat, he fought against his shaking legs, rearing up and puffing up like a cornered adder. Jackson was dazed, constantly being cut off or interrupted before he could finish a thought.

“Oi, Rody. Do you need something?”

Rodrick stared blankly at Thomas and blinked twice, “Rody?”

“Yeah.”

“Thomas, who the hell calls me Rody?”

“Better question, what's going on between your boys and the Twins?”

A man imposed himself between Rodrick and Thomas, “How about you mind –”

Rodrick smacked his goon on the back of his head and snarled, “Shut it and stay out of it,” the man whimpered and quickly shuffled to the back of the mob. “I can talk for myself, and I have a lot to say to you,” he waved a hand and the mob stepped back.

Paul let out a sigh of relief. Jackson slunk down, annoyed that he didn't get a chance to argue back.

“You see, Tommy boy. I was merely airing my concerns about this little quest. We’ve been walking all day and we still haven’t found these villains. Not only that, our leader is Junior, a useless spoil brat. The only reason he’s here is so his father can claim the glory without any of the risks of being gutted by bandits. Stupid fat coward. And if we don’t go along with whatever our precious leader wants” – Rodrick paused, tapping a finger next to one of the newly made gaps in his teeth – “you know how persuasive Theo can be. All I was saying was maybe things would have gone a bit more smoothly if someone else was leading the charge. Someone with people skills, willing to take what is his. But then these two had the gall to call me lazy, and I was rather offended by that. I just wanted them to apologise.”

“Oh, spare me.”

Paul tried to hush his brother, “What are you doing? This is not the time.”

“No, go on, Jackson,” Thomas said, gesturing to him to continue.

“This bastard has done nothing but whinge and moan since we left Orhill. He whines about how hard it is, even though the only thing he's put effort into is convincing the idiots who follow him around that they should make him the leader. Not sure how that would even happen, even if you somehow got past Theo, are they honestly going to do something to the mayor’s son? Honestly, I don’t even know why he came along in the first place.”

Paul bit his tongue, he did not want to escalate the scene any further. But he couldn’t resist, “Probably because he's too poor to pay his debts off any other way.”

“What debts?” Jackson raised an eyebrow, egging his brother on.

“Oh dear, unpaid tabs, gambling, fines from all those scraps he gets in. Difficult to name them all.”

“Sounds dire.”

“Very.”

“So, you think this is his last ticket?”

“Hero of Orhill, praise from the Count, generous financial compensation. Probably the only way to get the debtors off his back. Otherwise, they’ll strip him of everything he” – Paul fumbled his words, he took a pause to rephrase himself – “Well, what little he owns anyway.”

“And that will be enough to pay it off?”

“Probably put him in chains and have him work off the rest.”

“You bloody brats!” Rodrick raised his knife, readying to bring it down on the twins.

It stopped prematurely.

Rodrick didn’t fight against Thomas’s grip. He held his wrist like a vice.

Thomas’s expression was cold, dark blue eye sockets stared straight through Rodrick. “That's enough.” His voice was strained. He fought to keep what little calm he had.

“Was wondering when you were going to have a go,” Rodrick smiled, running his tongue along shattered teeth.

“The twins are idiots, dumb kids who don’t know when to stop. You want to start something over that?”

“Oh, Tommy, this got started a long time ago. This here is just decoration.”

“This isn’t going to go well if you don’t calm down.”

Rodrick scoffed, “oh, is the thief lecturing me now?”

“You were never around,” his voice trembled as he struggled to keep it below a shout. “You’d rather slump about every pub in town than spend an hour with your own flesh and blood.”

He let out a chuckle, coughing up phlegm as he did, “Does the orphan want to start talking about family? What do you know?”

“Flanigan knew if he gave you the land, you would have lost it in a game of cards by the end of the month.”

“Your mother knows a hell of a lot about getting lost.”

Thomas felt his heart go still, “Rodrick, don’t.”

“Everybody knows fuck all about you, but I heard some rumours. Stories of a lady who could lose a barrel of whatever swill you put in front of her. For a few coins, she would let you ‘lose’ something else inside her,” Rodrick’s lackeys laughed like children. “Hell, once her bastard was too much of a hassle, she knew how to get him lost, too.”

Thomas’s hand tightened around Rodrick’s wrist. He gritted his teeth as he vainly tried to pull it free. Thomas’s offhand slowly slipped into his quiver, grasping an arrow, scanning Rodrick up and down as he mapped out the motion. Jab it in, sever an artery, and twist. Twist hard.

A scream stole the crowd’s attention.

Junior.

Instinctually Thomas released his grip, in turn Rodrick sheathed his knife and turned to face the scream.

“If this is another bunny, I am going to wring your neck,” Rodrick yelled, he completely forgot about the stand-off. A chorus of annoyed groans joined him. “None of us are going to waste our time with it.”

From behind the tents, Theo marched towards Rodrick. His gang and the twins scampered, but Rodrick stood firm. His eyes were wide like two marbles, he strained against his locked limbs, completely petrified. At the last moment, he snapped his eyes shut to brace for what was to come.

“Halt.”

Theo cocked his head back, Rodrick wobbled over to a seat before his legs gave out. Theo leaned against his poleaxe as he looked back towards Junior, “You certain, sir?”

Gilligan the second inhaled deeply, doing his best to mimic his father’s gravitas, “Rodrick is right, a leader should take charge and lead by example,” With his chest puffed out, he walked towards the perceived danger with large, choreographed steps, feigning bravery like his father was watching over his shoulder. He drew little attention outside the occasional disingenuous encouragement or applause. The party was more focused on tending to camp or getting as much rest before the morning.

A few branches rustled.

Junior took slow steps, cautiously letting his weight settle on one before moving the next one forward. His walking stick raised over his head, ready to attack. Thomas dismissed it, still focused on how close he got to trying to kill Rodrick. He was ashamed of how he let him get under his skin.

Thomas eyes darted towards the edge of camp, locking onto the patch Junior was gunning for. He could hear weak breathing and a whimper.

Junior swung like a miner into a gold vein.

It was too fast for motion, the light flickered, and Junior was pinned by a wolf. He was too distracted to scream, only a few grunts escaped his mouth as he put all his strength and focus into forcing his walking stick between his throat and the wolf's gnawing teeth. Panic gripped the camp, those out of line of sight scampered like ants, running in circles trying to figure out what was going on. The rest paused, blinking confusion out of their eyes. They couldn’t believe what was happening. A few rushed to their leader’s aid, spearheads probing, trying to find an angle to strike the wolf without impaling Junior as they grappled each other.

Thomas rushed around, notching an arrow. He held his breath, studying the jerky steps of the spear men, the frantic twists and turns of boy and beast locked in a wrestle.

He found a gap.

The arrow slipped between the wolf's ribs and dug in deep with a solid thud. Snarls turned into a painful cry as it reeled. A shove and kick from Junior finally freed himself from the embrace. A flurry of spears stabbed into it in turn. Before it had a moment to gather itself, Theo cleaved his pole axe onto its neck. The wolf’s tongue lulled from his mouth, the head hung on by a thin length of fur and muscle. The warrior tended to his charge; Junior shivered like he was caught in a snowstorm.

Fortunately, he was unharmed.

Thomas pulled his arrow free, the shaft from a third down was lacquered in crimson. He rubbed it clean against his thigh before slotting it back in his quiver. His eyes passed over the wolf, the panic of the fray blinded him to the sorry state it was in. It was frail, mange fur pulled tight over its bones. There was a scabbed over stump where one of its back legs used to be. Thomas guessed it came here to die quietly in the bushes, until Junior knocked it upside the head and awoken the last ounces of fight left in it.

Thomas’s attention snapped to the wolf’s hindquarters.

Burn marks.

Thumb-sized holes, some were surface level, some dug down to the bone. Most were fresh, no older than a day. A familiar waxy residue clung to the fur around the stump.

“They’re here?” a voice called out from the crowd.

“Can’t be, we’re still a day away from Delmerk’s heart.”

“Then how did this get here?”

The party talked back to each other, only believing what was in front of them once they themselves had said it.

“Bloody grim, isn't it, Rodrick?”

“Least we’re going to get some action, right, boss?”

“Boss?”

Rodrick ignored his henchmen; he was slack jawed. His gang huddled next to him like ducklings, staring blindly and waiting for him to say something. He started. He stopped. The words were lodged in his throat.

Junior squatted over the wolf, eyes flicking between it and the bushes where he nearly had his throat ripped out.

The young leader looked towards the dishevelled bowman, “Your name is Thomas, correct?” he said as he managed a half smile. His voice was steady, a shiver in his fingers was all that remained from the fright.

“It is,” said Thomas.

“Do you know how far it could have gotten in this condition?”

He looked over the wolf again, he puzzled through his mind, trying to scrap together an answer, “It was starved, dismembered and covered with multiple open wounds. Freshest looks around a few hours old. If it was running at full tilt, probably only made it a few miles before it collapsed.”

“Are you certain?”

Thomas took a deep breath before answering, “Yes.”

Junior stood, swinging his arm as he massaged an ache in his shoulder. He whistled and Theo handed him a lantern, he shone it towards the bushes where he had awoken the wolf. A line of broken branches and disturbed foliage lead off into the darkness.

“Strike while the iron is hot, lads!” Junior shouted as he gestured with his walking stick down the discovered path.

“You can’t be serious?” a dissenting voice piped up, a hard stare from Theo silence the back chatter before it could start.

Rodrick quietly interjected, “Right now? Surely it would be best to wait till morning,” his normal boasts had been replaced with a low mumbling.

“Come on, boss,” one of his lackeys said. “We're going to get someone to bash, that's what you wanted, right?”

A reassuring hand tried to rest on his shoulder, Rodrick jumped and tied his legs into knots. He slammed to the ground, letting out a pig-like squeal as he realised the wolf’s carcase cushioned his fall. He violently thrashed before stopping, he looked up, and his mob had followed the others along Junior’s lead.