Danto’s turn ended. Beyond Danto, Galen glimpsed the situation in the camp. Nana Rette huddled inside the lean-to but wisely stayed put. Wilm hunkered low to the ground and reloaded his crossbow.

A low rumble filled the air. Over in the trees where Galen had glimpsed their attackers, an outburst of raven cries emanated from the trees. A glance at the tactical map showed a blue square on the camp’s far side—not Wilm, though.

Nana Rette?

Brin’s marker lit. A few feet ahead of Galen, she darted into the trees. Clinging to his spear despite how badly it wanted to tumble from his grasp, Galen tracked her movements so he could follow her.

Brin stopped suddenly and pivoted. The bright line of her spear flashed.

[Unknown Enemy takes 9 damage.]

A man’s voice screamed. Galen glimpsed him, limbs pinwheeling as he staggered backward.

“Run.” Brin spoke with flat calm. In the preternatural predawn quiet, her voice carried. “Or we will kill every single one of you.”

Brin’s marker faded, and the force holding Galen eased. Using his movement, he staggered up beside Brin. His spear dangled from his fingers, but he couldn’t quite manage to lift it. He tried to plant his feet and look threatening, anyhow.

The injured man pressed his hand to his side. Blood reddened his fingers and soaked his tunic. Galen had half expected the attackers to be dressed in reeds with streamers of white moss and black feathers. But he wore a tunic and leggings not too different from what Galen wore.

Pain from his shoulder turned Galen’s head light. His skin seemed to vibrate, and despite the pain he felt suddenly sharply in tune with his surroundings. All around him, the ground trembled and bird calls rose from empty branches. An energy welled up within Galen, a pressure that threatened to overflow.

I want to kill him. I could, right now.

But Brin had offered the man a chance to flee. Galen held his breath and tried to keep whatever was inside him from breaking free. It pressed against his skin like air inflating a balloon.

Galen ended his turn.

The man stumbled another step backward and then turned to flee. Underbrush crashed before his passing. The sound faded as he moved away.

But he wasn’t the only attacker.

[Danto takes 9 damage.]

Panic clutched at Galen’s throat.

Shit. I left him back there all alone.

“Danto?” Brin called back the way Galen had come from.

No reply. Stiffly, the turn paralysis ironically assisting as he tried not to move his shoulder, Galen twitch-turned to look behind him.

Danto strode toward them through the trees, one hand clutching his spear—still upside down—and the other pressed against his throat. Around him, a pure white aura swirled, touched by traces of purple-black so deep it seemed more like a void than a color.

Purple smoke, Galen recalled Danto saying when he told the story about the healed cat. Nana had suggested that she knew some power had touched Danto.

What did Nana see?

Danto removed his hand from his throat. Blood coated his fingers, but if an arrow had pierced his neck, the wound was gone now.

Healing. And not the herbs and bandages kind, either.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

And then Brin cried out. An arrow bristled from the back of her shoulder.

[Brinafa takes 7 damage.]

Brin’s knees buckled. Galen reached for her instinctively, but it wasn’t his turn, and only one of his arms worked, anyhow.

It didn’t matter, because Danto was there. He gripped Brin’s shoulder, and the aura surrounding him was night-sky indigo intertwined with brilliant white. Galen smelled dank earth and a bitter, smoky scent like incense.

The arrow fell from Brin’s shoulder, just as if it had never hit her at all.

Brin stared at Danto, but for less than a heartbeat. On the tactical map, lights faded and lit.

Brin spun, grabbing an arrow from her quiver and nocking it in one neat motion. It whistled into the trees, but no damage notification happened. Brin cursed and flattened herself against the closest tree trunk. Her fingers hooked into Danto’s arm, and she pulled him after her.

In the direction of Wilm’s unhitched cart, horses whinnied and thumped their hooves against the ground. Were they dealing with horse thieves, then?

The people Galen was supposed to be guarding were back there. Flattening against his own tree, Galen glanced again into the cleared camp site. Wilm and Nana both huddled beneath the lean-to.

But Brin and Danto were out here with Galen, and they were both in as much danger as he was. Quite suddenly, through the harsh edges of pain and fear, anger warmed him.

Enough. Someone needed to do something. It might as well be him.

He’d glimpsed one of the bowmen previously. As his next turn came up, Galen leaned around the tree and peered into the gloom until he picked out a trace of movement. Then, spear in hand, Galen crouched low and began moving in that direction, darting from tree to tree.

The trembling beneath Galen’s feet, so faint he’d nearly forgotten about it, intensified, thumping like a heartbeat. The scents of earth and grass rose like a palpable mist around him. He felt the eyes of his mysterious watchers upon him. Eve’s, maybe, assuming any of the things Nana Rette implied were true.

Spontaneously, Galen stopped and spoke to the forest around him. “Yes. I can feel you. Show me what you can do.”

A clammy sensation settled across Galen’s skin, as if he’d sunk into a muddy pool. The air around him shimmered a deep blue-green.

From me. It’s coming from me.

The trembling of earth deepened into a steady, threatening rumble which gathered beneath Galen’s feet and then flowed out and away from him. The color of Galen’s aura rose like heat waves over the shaking ground.

A startled cry ahead of Galen pinpointed the location of his enemy. With an odd lightness in his head, Galen strode forward, following the quaking ground.

A man wearing a worn tunic and holding a weathered shortbow stumbled in an awkward dance as the ground beneath him writhed. He’d been hit once already—blood darkened one thigh. Galen recalled Wilm shooting in this direction earlier.

So he’s taken what, six or so damage already? I just need to finish him off.

Galen lifted his spear, trying to get it into striking position with just the one hand.

He couldn’t do it. His arm simply wouldn’t work. Frustration burned in every cell of his body.

And then, instinctively, all that gathered fury flowed out of his body and into the tremor that already surrounded him.

The shaking ground lurched, hard. The bowman fell. A solid mass of earth detached itself from the forest floor, elongated like the tail or head of a snake. It rose above the man and descended in a vicious strike, bashing into the fallen bowman’s skull. Deep turquoise light flashed and then faded.

[You cast Wrath of Nature on Unknown Enemy. AGI save fails.]

[You deal 6 damage to Unknown Enemy.]

The man fell face forward onto the ground and stayed there.

Behind Galen, Wilm’s voice rose in an outraged shout. “Stop, you scavenging idiots!”

“Danto! Help him!”

“I’m going, I’m going!”

A momentary hush fell. At the edge of Galen’s vision, brilliance flared. He turned, and Danto stood in front of the cold fire pit—just stood there with his arms slack to his sides and his spear loose in his grip and stared into the pit.

A bonfire burned there, now, orange-yellow flames licking toward the lightening dawn sky.

That’s not right. How did that happen?

Brin stepped into view, spear leveled toward the horses. A figure stood there, illuminated by the sudden firelight, its hands on the picket line for the horses. Mirroring Brin’s stance, Wilm faced off against a similar figure by the unhitched cart.

“Step away, or I will kill you where you stand.” Brin spoke with utter calm, and Galen believed her.

The would-be thieves did as well, apparently. Both straightened and lifted their hands.

It’s done. All is well, now.

Galen wasn’t sure if that was his thought or if it came from somewhere else. At his feet, though, the ground ceased its trembling. The force holding him trapped in combat turns vanished, and he could move freely again.

[Unknown Enemy has died.]

The body of the bowman at Galen’s feet stopped moving. For a moment, Galen was standing once again over a woman in reeds, dying at the end of his spear. He grappled with a surge of dismay over both the deaths.

They’d have killed you. And they’re not even real people to begin with. Get over it.

More attention-grabbing was how this enemy had died. Galen was absolutely certain that no ability called Wrath of Nature had been on his character sheet last time he’d looked.

Nana Rette was right.

Right about Galen, and right about Danto, too. Something most definitely was going on with both of them.