The crisp evening air was tainted only by the rich scent of food.
Michael smiled as he circled his home, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword as he patrolled the little cabin. It had been a journey, trying to find his blade hidden beneath all his clothes, but he had managed to haul the weapon out after some searching. He rarely needed it, but it had its uses at times. That was why he was out here now, patrolling around the cabin and searching the vast undergrowth for potential threats. Jumping at every rustle and shake of the bushes, only to relax whenever the cause, mostly an animal and sometimes the breeze, poked its curious head free before fleeing.
He’d jointed and stored the animal over the course of a few hours, preserving what wouldn’t fit in their storage or be eaten in the foreseeable future before hurling the animal’s remains into the forest. Anything he threw in there tended to disappear within a day at most, falling victim to the animals, or even the trees, of Gratsinmorn’s ravenous wild. It was a dangerous place to remain, but one that the two young women had tamed to a degree. Shortly after, he’d set a pot of water to boil on the stove, letting Amelia handle the portions of vegetables, meat and seasonings before letting the broth boil down into a rich stew. They’d eaten it with a relish, devouring the entirety of the titanic pot in minutes and leaving only a few drops of soup behind.
As the two young women washed and stored the dishes, he had turned to his typical routine: patrol. A final guardsman’s walk around his dwelling, ensuring that the rich smell of the meal had not attracted unsavoury attention. And fortunately, by his observation, it had not. But even as the scent dissipated, he continued his march, for it was not only the wild that would threaten the little cabin. While he too was entranced by the forest’s beauty, he knew better than to let himself be distracted, given what lay inside. And Michael’s grip tightened upon his hilt as his nose scrunched in disgust.
Murderers.
The cabin had come under attack several times in the last three years, and the number of raids was nearing triple digits. Once one or two raids a year, then four or five, the numbers quickly rose until every one of the year’s eighteen cycles was fraught with battle. Michael did not know who they were. Most likely, they were simple thieves or bandits looking to make easy money from a ransomed princess. Fortunately, whenever they barged into the cabin, the poorly armed criminals were often in shock for several fleeting seconds before he, Lunar, or Amelia could draw their blades and cut them down. Perhaps because they may have assumed he, or even one of the others, was the sole occupant of the cabin, though he was uncertain of how such a notion would come about.
Their poor armament, often leather and chainmail at best, stood no chance against the hardened royal steel. His blade, Lunar’s bow, and Amelia’s daggers tore through them with ease and left only bodies in their wake for them to toss into the trees, raiding their corpses for anything of value before disposing of the worthless wretches.
But he knew better than to dwell. It would do him no favours to be uptight and uncertain, and if he worried too much, he wouldn’t find solutions. And even if there were no solutions, he could at least use the band-aid fix and continue to dispose of them as the masses arrived. It was more action than he’d ever seen in the palace and better training than he’d ever received in his time as a knight, but he could adapt. After all, if someone like Amelia, just a regular town girl, could fit into this life, so could he. And there was a freedom he could enjoy out here, away from the regal stiffness of the royal court.
“Michael! C’mere!” Amelia hissed, and Michael jumped. Speak of the devil, and he doth appear. Think of the devil, and she will shock you out of a trance, he grumbled. He turned, fixing her with a baleful stare as her head poked out the door.
“What’s the ma-” he began, his voice booming through the near-silent forest before being quickly silenced by her panicked gesture. He froze, staring incredulously as she gestured for him to come near. He jogged over, blade already coming free of its scabbard as he hurriedly entered the cabin. And he ensured his question was a whisper as she closed the door behind him. “What’s wrong?”
“You didn’t see it?” she demanded, and he shook his head. Lunar was crouched by their rudimentary window. A simple hole they’d cut in the wall, shuttered by a wooden hatch that could keep the cold wind at bay, which she looked out of for a moment before ducking and staring at her two friends with a slight frown. But his heart lurched when he stared out, following where her gaze had been.
“Something moved,” he whispered. Amelia nodded fiercely, already pulling her daggers out as she loped toward the window, closing the shutter with a grimace.
“Ever since you looped around the house, a lot of somethings have moved. I’m surprised you didn’t hear them,” she muttered, critically examining each of her blades. Her typical cheer was vacant as uncertainty clouded her gaze. “I thought it was some raxten or yariks fighting, but all I’ve heard is some thuds. And they usually make more noise than that.”
“Do they?” Michael wondered dumbly, and Lunar took a moment to offer her friend a humoured look. He turned away, abashed, while Lunar offered a strained chuckle before he turned back the door and bolted it shut. “Should I go check it out?”
“That sounds like a terrible idea,” Amelia remarked tactlessly, peeking between the shutters. But she turned to him with a sly grin, her tone teasing. “Maybe. Better you than me!”
“Thank you,” Michael grumbled, rolling his eyes before sighing. “Jokes aside, what do we do, then? If there’s a threat, we should deal with it. Or maybe they’re just animals.”
“It might be animals, or it might be another group of bandits,” Lunar remarked dryly, and Amelia exhaled.
“They’re getting problematic,” she mumbled. “And they’re getting into my head. Like right now. It’s like I can hear their footsteps.”
“Well, that’s a little concern-” Michael began before crying out in shock and whipping around to the door, from which there had been a deafening crash. He drew his sword as the door shuddered beneath another thunderous strike before a third shattered the bolt and sent the structure flying from its hinges.
Lunar’s arrow spat into the first intruder, sparking off steel as he thundered into the home. His footfalls buried into the soft rayken floor, heavy beneath the weight of a full suit of plate armour, joined at the seams with thick chains. The dull candlelight flicked off the invader’s naked blade and those of his companions as three more identically armoured soldiers stormed into the home. Their footfalls echoed through the little kitchen, their war cries splitting the still air. Lunar fired another arrow, which also sparked uselessly against his armour, and Michael grimaced. This was no ordinary group.
But even he was trained for much more than this.
His blade caught the light as it swiftly parried the lead attacker’s vicious cleave, knocking the weapon into the kitchen counter as he slashed his blade across his opponent’s arm. The attacker snarled a curse before swinging his sword in a wild swipe for Michael’s head. The former palace guard ducked, raising his blade to block the soldier’s third attack, before burying the point of his short sword through the chains around his neck, the raksteel weapon shearing through iron and breaking out the other side. The man gasped, but Michael had no more time for him as he shoved the mortally wounded soldier off his weapon, letting the blood pour from the stab as he challenged his second opponent.
He was met with the soldier’s full-throated swipe, sending the edge of his shield toward Michael’s head. The former palace guard had only a moment to react, but it was enough as his flesh receded to be replaced entirely with raksteel. And the strike, violent and fierce as it was, did next to nothing, as Michael’s unmoving head ripped into the shield, leaving a gargantuan dent in the wood and its steel frame. The soldier stared at his mangled shield in horror for several seconds before the full power of the raksteel warrior’s fist buried into their gut. The breastplate crumbled beneath the strike, the man letting a muted gasp as the metal caved, the chains broke, and his equipment betrayed him. The warped piece of armour buried into his gut, and he had only a moment to ponder his sudden predicament as Michael advanced, grabbed the soldier by the head, and twisted his neck, cringing slightly as the deafening crack of bone filled the cabin.
He whirled around, bloodstained sword in hand, but saw only victory to the side. The sword of Lunar’s adversary was firmly buried in the rayken planks, and his shuddering body was right beside it, three arrows driven through his forcefully open visor. And as Michael watched, Lunar knelt at his side, lifted his chin, and slit his throat, drawing a final, muted cry before he fell still. And Amelia had long since discarded her opponent, whose chest was home to both her daggers, the little raksteel blades having managed to pierce the inferior chains and plate and drive home into the flesh behind. Even as he watched, she tore her weapons free and kicked off his visor, finishing him off in a way that Michael did not wish to see. He turned away, drawing a relieved breath as he ensured his two opponents were truly dead, before smiling over at his friends. Amelia grinned back, blood staining her jaw, while Lunar’s sparkling gaze peeked over the counter as she rose from the body of her assailant.
“Well, that was something!” she cried, and the tension broke as Amelia and Michael joined in a round of exhausted, somewhat nervous laughter. It continued for some time, turning awkward as the stress was exhaled through attempted mirth, and Amelia heaved a sigh.
“Someone’s going to think we’re insane,” she breathed, using a dirty cloth to wipe off her blades. “Laughing like this. Like we enjoy it or something.”
“What, you guys don’t?” Michael wondered, offering his friends a wolfish grin, and Amelia met him with a deadpan stare before laughing again.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“Oh, cut the act, you big lug. At least it was them and not us,” she mumbled, sighing as she began peeling off her adversary’s armour. “This is better than most of the junk they usually wear. I wonder who sent them this time.”
“Gotta be someone rich,” Lunar said with a frown, picking up her opponent’s helmet and carefully peering at the headgear. It was stained with blood but had no visible markings, and she turned it over and around several times to inspect it. “I’ve seen palace guards with armour less nice than this.”
“Same goes for the swords,” Michael murmured, picking up the blades of his two fallen adversaries. Both were uniform in length, the standard Gratsinmornian blade measuring around four feet long, and were all but untouched. He flicked a piece of wood off the edge of the first man’s sword, running his palm along the edge to feel for burrs and grimacing as he noted the notch his weapon had left. It was otherwise a well-kept blade, but the superior royal steel had bit deep into its hilt. It would be useless as anything but melted steel at this point, which was a shame, given its exceptional construction. “They’re quite nice.”
Amelia must have also noticed as she snatched one of the daggers and bared it to the light. “They’re almost too nice. Are you telling me someone got their hands on steel to give to these guys? They fell like dominoes!”
Michael shrugged off her concerns, tearing the discarded scabbard off his dead opponent’s belt and gingerly sheathing the weapon. “Might just be a couple of thieves. Maybe they got the better of a group of knights. Wouldn’t surprise me, given the state of Gratsinmorn’s military.”
Lunar grimaced at the suggestion, shaking her head as she recognised the truth in his harsh words. Gratsinmornian knights, once some of the leading figures in battle and renowned upon the Werrek Taron for their military prowess, were now nothing more than ornately clad bullies. Throwing their weight about, blustering and threatening those who opposed them with naked weapons and heavy armour. Cowering in their numbers against lone civilians and trampling any who opposed them. It was just one of the many faults in her broken nation, though she shoved the thoughts away as she dutifully returned to her task of disarming the corpses.
Blood still pooled from the wounds, but the starving rayken planks were absorbing the liquid. There was not a puddle or even stain upon the copper surface as the carnivorous plant greedily drank in its newest meal. Lunar noted the ravenous state of the cabin’s floor and made a mental note not to sleep upon the planks as she took the final piece of armour from her opponent. Unbuckling the vambrace and gently tossing it aside, letting the metal fall against the floor and shake about as she struggled to haul the body outside. But when she glanced out the door, she saw Michael hurling the bodies into the bushes, letting the rayken trees and animals beyond claim their prizes. She dumped the body onto the front porch, kicking away the makeshift ram the intruders had used, before glancing at the vacant doorway.
“This is going to suck,” she murmured, noting the shattered door, which still had its hinges attached. Splinters covered the ground, and several deep grooves disrupted the sawn and sanded floorboards. The door itself was split in two, the beam they usually used to lock it completely destroyed, and she sucked in a breath. She heard Amelia approach from behind and met her with a wan smile. “They couldn’t have knocked?”
“It was terribly rude of them. They didn’t even take their shoes off!” Amelia laughed, and Lunar’s glum mood lightened as she knelt down to pry off the hinges. But Amelia brushed her hands away, making her scooch to the side as she fell upon the hinges with a vengeance. And in moments, she had the two braxe structures free of the shattered door, waving the hinges with a mischievous grin. Lunar didn’t question it. She had long since learned that questioning rarely got her anywhere. Amelia always figured out a way.
It was not the first time they had to replace a door, though, and Lunar needed only to go to their storage shed and pull out a new one for Amelia to replace. They’d made a bunch the last time this had happened, and Lunar grinned at the foresight of the brunette. They didn’t have to sit down with another big plank. They’d already spent the necessary hours carving and shaping the doors, and she hauled her favourite over before letting Amelia put it into place.
Michael finally returned, the last of the bodies offered to the forest. He took the two pieces of the door and hauled them out, leaving the two young women to replace the door before moving back inside. Noting the suits of armour and beginning to organise them, the shattered pieces heaped in a pile while those he could salvage were gathered in another pile that was marginally neater than the first.
“These will sell pretty well, I think,” he noted, tossing the salvageable chainmail and plate together. “Speaking of which, maybe we should head toward the market and pick something up while we’re selling this. Not like we’re going to use any of it.”
“Govenheg should be a good place to start,” Lunar said as she came to inspect the equipment. Eyeing the chest plates, turning them over and around as she spoke. “Their market’s usually open around this time. More sellers and buyers, hopefully.”
“If I may ask, why Govenheg? I thought most of the village markets were open,” Amelia wondered, and Lunar shrugged.
“It’s closest,” she elaborated. “A day’s walk away from here, and it’ll probably have a good couple of travelling merchants too.”
“If this brochure is anything to go off, there’ll be a few more people than usual,” Michael noted, and Lunar whirled around to see the blond man holding up a bloodied pamphlet. Her nose scrunched at the bloodstained sheet, likely pulled from one of the discarded suits of armour, before she gingerly took the sheet and scanned the page. And upon reading its contents, she let out an exasperated sigh.
“Of course,” she grumbled, answering the silent questions of her friends with a grimace. “Twice a year. Every nine cycles, they always have to send two or three detachments of royal guards to perform for the people. Make them scared, or at least impressed, by showing them what a bunch of lunatics in armour can pull off.” She glared at the page as if staring intently at the blood-soaked sheet would force it to combust as the edges crumpled in her balled fists. “And people eat it up.”
“It’s all they’ve got, isn’t it?” Michael asked hesitantly, relaxing as her gaze met his and softened. “Not like we’ve fought, let alone won, any wars in a while. They’ve gotta find hope in our military somehow.”
“Not while their homes are burning down and their cattle are destroyed. The Northern Districts are the only effective fighting force we’ve got, and they’re busy dealing with whatever Khavel and Shadinara throw at them unless the Forgotten Forest starts acting up again.”
The Kingdom of Shadinara, once nothing more than a group of motley city-states, had taken hundreds of years to develop. But its rise to power had been swift as the nation expanded, various settlers from around the Werrek Taron and beyond flocking to the newly conceived nation. With Gratsinmorn’s fall from grace and the rising threat of the overseas Galvic Empire, an enemy to all the Werrek Taron and her people, Shadinara had bolstered its military. Even as Khavel splintered away from the Kingdom and became a nation of its own, Shadinara remained the most formidable force on the taron. It made sure Gratsinmorn knew this well by occasionally sending soldiers through the Forgotten Forest, forcing small pockets of soldiers to make the two-cycle march through the vast maze of rotting trees Lunar had once navigated and strike at Northern Gratsinmorn. Of course, her father did nothing to curb the threat.
Then again, she thought, there wasn’t much he could do this time. Not against a nation twice Gratsinmorn’s size.
Her moping and griping were interrupted by Michael’s question, and she glanced up to see him gesturing to a mark on the inside of the chestplate he was holding. She frowned, inspecting it closer, and noted that it seemed oddly familiar.
“Is it just me that finds this familiar?” Michael wondered, and she shook her head. Amelia wandered over, looking inside the piece and running her hand along the emblazon.
“Definitely seen it before. Can’t remember where,” she murmured. “Maybe a blacksmith could tell us. They usually know the work of other smithies.”
“I guess we’re back to square one, which is planning for a little vacation,” Lunar remarked, slightly smiling as she turned her attention elsewhere. “Head to the market, sell this junk, then maybe buy some things for the cabin?”
“Sure! Give me ten minutes,” Amelia agreed readily, rushing off to her room and leaving the bemused pair of former palace dwellers to hurriedly follow suit.
“Never a dull moment with her,” Michael noted as he made haste for his room, and Lunar chuckled in agreement before ducking into her room.
By the time Lunar had finished packing her travelling sack full of a day’s worth of clothes and her tent, her friends had gathered the armour and weapons in a neat package. Michael was wearing one of the suits of armour, his raksteel skin glinting beneath it as he hauled a bulging sack of armour across his shoulder. Amelia was buckling beneath the weight of both her and Michael’s belongings, and Lunar hurried to take Amelia’s pack and sling it over her shoulder. She offered her friend an apologetic smile, but Amelia waved it off with a humoured grin as she led the way toward the main path.
They made small talk as they walked through the looming trees, treading with as much caution as they could exercise, given that a walking hulk of metal burdened with four men’s worth of armour and weapons was lumbering alongside them. But Lunar knew, no matter how much they tried to cover their tracks, that the cabin would be found time and time again. It always was. They didn’t even need the tracks. With so many opponents out to get her, it was doubtful that she’d ever see a cycle of peace again. But she would make do with what she had as the three travellers found Gavleni’s central trading path and walked along the kavetstone path. However, the reinforced concrete held beneath Michael’s heavy footfalls, allowing him to walk with relative ease.
The group made small talk as they marched, occasionally taking a break to allow Michael to rest. Though Lunar and Amelia offered to ease his burden, he assured them he was alright, citing the armour as the problem rather than the weight. The restrictive build of the steel equipment was both uncomfortable and hot, according to the knight, but it made for simpler transport, so he would make do. The breaks were also excellent opportunities to take sips of water or converse with wandering traders who followed the path. They assured the group that Govenheg’s market was, in fact, open and prosperous, and one even offered his transportation services, albeit for a generous sum.
The latter was politely declined.
The young women were able to repay the former palace guard when the time finally came to camp, though. When the sun had given way to Gratsinmorn’s twin moons, the group found an alcove aside the path and let free their burdens. Michael collapsed upon a stump while Lunar and Amelia hurried to set up their tents and a nice little campsite. Though this was undoubtedly a risk, given their exposed position and precarious situation with the recent attack, the group doubted that anyone would come romping by. The bushes concealed most of their camp, and the gundar hides across their tents were the same mottled fabric as their hunting gear.
They snacked on a quick meal of dried meat and water, not daring to light a fire yet. Not in the colder, but still relatively dry, season of yuvik, where the trees would light aflame at the slightest misstep. And even in the growing cold, there was hospitality in their warm, fur-covered tents.
“I’ll take first watch!” Amelia offered as they finished eating, and both Lunar and Michael smiled as they retreated into their tents without providing any chance to retract the statement. It was always Amelia who offered, and they weren’t going to stop her act of heroism any time soon. Though Lunar felt a wave of gratitude for the brunette, always being such a cheerful and helpful light. And she smiled as she lay in her cloak, bundling herself up before rolling over and letting sleep take her.