Brugo remained silent and sullen as Anaya recounted her tale. He was irate at the fact that she had not warned them about the strange creatures and their tendency to go mad.

“So you cannot control them then?” He asked, picking at a piece wood he’d picked up from the dirt.

Anaya shrugged. “I do not know. Sometimes I think I can. But then, things like this happen and I am powerless to stop them.”

Brugo grunted, unsatisfied by her answers. “You think it has something to do with the sword?”

“Perhaps. Ever since we retrieved it, I’ve felt a strangeness in the air. I assumed it was something to do with the dark magic within the thing. I didn’t realize it had spread.”

She laid down, staring up at the sky, a haunted expression on her face.

Brugo wanted to be angry with her. He wanted to blame her for putting them at risk. But he knew he couldn’t lay the blame at her feet. How could he? Things were changing all about them, changing so fast he could hardly keep up. None of them knew what they were up against. The best they could hope for was to make it to Yaal and get help.

While they spoke, Harpyn sat at the edge of the firelight, hunched over the sword in his lap. Brugo eyed him suspiciously, finally getting to his feet and going to join the young mage.

“I owe you my thanks,” Brugo said slowly.

Harpyn looked up, his eyes watery as if he’d been crying.

“It, err… It was nothing,” Harpyn answered, unsure of how to receive this thanks.

Brugo shook his head, settling down on a stump and resting his chin on his hand.

“First battles are always tough, but you did a fine job.”

Harpyn gave a low chuckle, rolling his eyes. “Hardly a battle, I’d say. And it wasn’t me that did it. It was the sword.”

“Well, I don’t know much about magic or any of this, really, but it seems that the sword has chosen you as its wielder. You can take pride in that.”

This time, when Harpyn looked up at him, he could see fear in the mage’s eyes. “What if it destroys me like it did that soldier?”

Brugo swallowed, afraid to admit that he had the same fear. He’d seen the man’s body, burned and twisted as the lightning coursed through his flesh. He’d never forget the smell, and the screams…

He shook those memories away, putting on a hopeful smile for Harpyn’s sake. “The man had evil in his heart. You do not. You’ll be just fine. Besides, we’ll be in Yaal in a few days and the other mages will be able to train you properly in its use.” He paused, thoughtful. “But it might be a good idea to put the thing away until we arrive.”

Harpyn looked down at the sword, wrapping his fingers around it and lifting it up until it reflected the firelight. Little crackles of lightning burst around it and then quieted down. Wearily, he nodded, shaking out his old robe and carefully wrapping the gleaming edge. Finally, he took a length cord from his pack and tied the bundle tightly.

With the sword concealed, Brugo sighed with relief. He knew its magic was potent still, and he suspected that the thing would bring more trouble in the coming days, but at least this way he could turn his attention to the road ahead.

“Get some sleep,” he said, rising from the stump and making his way back to the fire.

It would be a long while before Brugo could sleep peacefully again. For now, he was content to take the watch while his companions rested. Although they didn’t say as much, he could see that the magic had taken much from them. They both looked exhausted, as if their energy was being drained out of them. He hoped a bit of rest was all they’d need to recover, because it was all they had.

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Brugo passed the first hour whittling away at a stump with his axe. Mabel foraged around the fire, picking up seeds and watching him work. He murmured to her as he did so, asking her opinion on things she couldn’t possibly understand. She was a good listener, though, and Brugo found it helped to sort out his feelings this way. When her belly was full, she hopped up into his lap and settled in, curling into a tight ball for a nap.

Brugo stroked one enormous finger over her tiny back, smiling to himself. When all of this was over, he was going to find the largest hunk of fresh cheese that Yaal had to offer, and he was going to share it with his little friend. They deserved it.

Brugo leaned back against the trunk of a tree, examining his work. The stump now resembled something like a wolf, head raised toward the moon. It wasn’t perfect. Perhaps with more time, he could’ve done better. But still, it was something, and he was proud of it. His own little magic leaving its mark on this world.

He closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the woods. Leaves rustled, the fire crackled, and the sword… every once in a while, he swore he could hear its muffled outbursts from within Harpyn’s robe. He tried to ignore those, focusing instead on the things that were natural. The real.

Somewhere outside the ring of firelight, a large creature moved, disturbing the woodland critters. Whatever it was, Brugo imagined it would make a good meal in the morning.

Rising, he crept through the trees, following his ears. He held his axe at the ready, prepared to strike as soon as he laid eyes upon his prey. His mouth was already watering at the thought of roasted deer meat.

His eyes caught movement and he froze, waiting for it to move closer. He forced himself to take shallow breaths, wishing he had a throwing axe instead of his mighty cleaver. Still, he was certain he could take the thing down if only he was patient.

There was a dull thud as something struck the tree to Brugo’s right, sending bits of bark spraying into his eyes. He growled, wiping at his face before realizing that an arrow shaft stuck out of the trunk, quivering still from the impact. Beyond the tree, the deer had taken off through the brush, snapping branches as it ran.

Brugo looked around, suddenly aware that he was not alone. He scanned the woods, searching for the arrow’s source. Was it possible a hunter from some nearby town had wandered this deep into the woods? Unlikely.

His mind was still shuffling for possible explanations when he heard a shout farther up in the trees. Not just a shout. Words. Sarizian words.

All at once, he realized that he had no escaped his pursuers after all. The Sarizian empire would stop at nothing to have him put down. As he ran back toward camp, roaring for Harpyn and Anaya to get up, he spared a momentary thought for the haughty empress, sending her own hunters out, supposing that the King of Andrysfal would fail her.

As Brugo thundered through camp, Harpyn and Anaya jumped into action, grabbing their things and running after him. He led the way through the trees, twisting and turning to avoid getting snagged by brambles, and tearing his way over a low rise, only to drop down into a shallow creek that soaked his leggings up to the knees.

Gasping as the icy water hit his skin, he plunged onward, clawing at the hillside opposite and reaching back to drag Harpyn and Anaya up with him. Alone, he might have been able to outrun the hunters, but if he was caught, he didn’t stand a chance. He only hoped that Anaya and Harpyn could muster a bit more of their magic in his defense.

They ran, breathless and frightened, until Brugo spotted a long ditch running perpendicular to their path. He dropped into it and turned toward the high road, hoping that they could cross and their prints would be invisible in the hard packed earth.

At the edge of the road, he paused, looking in both directions. They would have to cross in the open, and if there were any watchers, they would be easily spotted.

“Wait,” Anaya gasped, bent double as she fought to catch her breath. “Over here.”

Brugo came to her side, kicking aside some wet leaves. Sure enough, there was a culvert dug beneath the road, presumably to keep the high road from washing out during storms. Now, it was merely a damp, dark tunnel, barely covered with a loose grate.

With a grunt, he stuck the head of his axe between the bars and planted his feet. With a little effort, he pried the thing up. Harpyn and Anaya held it steady while he shuffled his large frame beneath it, pushing back as far as he could into the cramped space. Then, they each slid themselves under, carefully pulling his axe free and sliding it down to him.

He went to the other side, hoping he could push his way out and they could continue on, but the far side of the tunnel was not so easily opened.

“We wait here until they pass,” he whispered, his voice much too loud in the confines of the tunnel.

They listened intently, holding their breath as the hunting party ran by, calling to one another in Brugo’s native language. He thought he recognized some of those voices and he felt a pit forming in his stomach. Some of his men had turned against him. They were leading the hunting party, and they knew where he was headed. If he wasn’t careful, they’d be waiting for him in Yaal when he arrived.