The Trickster woke up gently to the rocking stride of someone awkwardly carrying a heavy load. She opened her eyes, and looked up at the face of a tired-looking man she didn't recognise. He had a choppy, outgrown haircut, and relatively hollow cheeks. His tunic had bloodstains, and his knuckles had half-healed bruises. The Trickster was content to be carried until she caught sight of the red compass medallion around his neck, whereupon she promptly tried to strangle him.

"Wait ten minutes before you try to do anything strenuous, or you'll do your neck in again," Magnus's voice said from behind the Trickster's head. She reluctantly released her hold on the cultist, who gave a grateful gurgle.

"What are you doing with this cultist, Magnus?" the Trickster asked.

"He defected," Magnus said. The Trickster felt the cultist take a breath to object, but he evidently decided against it in the end and let out the breath in a sad sigh.

"Why have you kidnapped me?" the Trickster asked.

"I rescued you, not kidnapped you," Magnus said.

"So where are we going?"

"The Glade."

"Alright then," the Trickster muttered. She assumed Magnus was up to something, but if he was taking her where she wanted to go, there wasn't much use in running away and having to walk--for now, in any case.

"What happened to the village?" the Trickster asked.

"You really did a number on it, didn't you?" Magnus said. "It was still standing, barely, when I saw it."

"What about Arnold?"

"Who?"

"Never mind," the Trickster sighed. She assumed that Edith would make sure that he was safe.

The Trickster settled back in the cultist's arms, and idly watched the world go by. There were more green leaves on the branches above them now, meaning that they really were heading to the Glade. The cultist's breath was even, and his heartbeat slow.

"So, how do you feel, being an undead plaything of my brother?" the Trickster asked the cultist. He started.

"I'm not undead, and I'm not a plaything!"

"So… you were alive when Magnus found you? It's all right, nothing to be ashamed about. After all, you could technically call me undead, and you're my cultist, right? It can't bother you that much."

"Can you stop blathering on? You'll put your spine out of alignment," Magnus said stiffly.

"Don't be coy, Magnus, you just want me to shut up."

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

"Well, will you?"

"No," said the Trickster, but this turned out to be a lie, as she was silent for a while after that. The winter's cold wet air was clashing with the Glade's warm growth and rot, and made patches of mist pool where the ground lowered a little. Magnus's cape kicked the mist up into turbulent swirls, and the Trickster amused herself by pretending she could read the future in the random designs they made.

"Why bother? You already know the future," Cassie said in her mind.

"You already know," the Trickster muttered.

"What was that?" the cultist asked.

"Nothing," the Trickster said quickly. "What is your name?"

"My name? Why do you want to know my name?"

"I can't keep on calling you 'Magnus' pet cultist' now, can I? You'll just get upset."

"You want it for some nefarious purpose, don't you?"

"If you're upset that we have not been introduced formally, I am afraid that Magnus is hardly going to oblige. But look, I will start: good morning and fortune to you, young man, I am Cassie Strathfield."

"... Brian Alberton," the cultist said reluctantly.

"Brian Alberton, you say," the Trickster said, her eyes gleaming - -

"It won't work," Magnus said from ahead of them, without looking back. "I have not taken his will, so you cannot use it yourself."

"I knew you were up to something!"

"Brian, you are one of my cultists, correct? Or at least were one until recently. If you hadn't thought I was up to something I would have been very disappointed."

"Brian?" Magnus called.

"Yes?"

"She has probably healed by now."

Brian promptly dumped the Trickster on the ground, and continued after Magnus. The Trickster sat on the ground, collecting her thoughts. After a moment she sighed, picked herself up, and headed onwards to join the others.

The trees they passed became larger, with wider leaves and thicker roots. They had to carefully walk around a clearing filled with holes as wide as a person's reach across, where a family of giant rabbits had made their home. Huge chrysalis hung from the trees, home to moths the size of your head.

"I don't think you have been through the next town in a while," Magnus said, "But they have become very anti-god in the last century. We have to not let on what we are, and that means keeping a low profile. Do you understand what 'low profile' means?"

"Why don't we just go around?" the Trickster asked.

"We can. It will add around three weeks to our journey."

"Ugh. I can be low profile, no problems."

Unlike the villages which housed a large proportion of the people on the continent, the town was large and built up. The path leading towards the main gates was covered in short, young grass and ash. The town was ringed by a smoke stained stone wall.

"Were they beseiged?" the Trickster asked.

"They set the approach on fire every seven days to burn back the forest," Magnus said. "They tried salting the earth at one point, but it was very expensive and did little long-term but encourage mangroves."

Despite the imposing wall and the thick iron gates, the guards were very friendly and let them in without trouble.

"Welcome to Frieton," one said.

"Thank you," Magnus replied. He looked back at the Trickster and Brian, who were busy gawking at the giant stone archway they were moving under. "Hurry up, you two."

The two caught up with Magnus, and together they walked into the town.