Chapter 3 — Bonds

“Where... are... we... going?” Soranth, with his hair shorn close to his head, panted as they climbed up a circular stairwell. His face was red with exertion, chest puffing for breath. “Wait.” He tried to hold up a hand but swayed and fell against the stone wall. Instead, his hand, now covered in calluses thanks to his new sword training, dropped to his hip as he tried to regain his breath.

“My Prince, we are hardly halfway.” Chulsa wasn’t capable of sounding impatient if he tried but if there was ever a time, it would be now.

“What!” The Prince cried and allowed his head to collide painfully with the wall behind him. “Ugh. Just drag me, Chulsa.”

“The Queen won’t be happy to hear you’ve been slacking on your stamina training,” Chulsa deduced perceptively.

Soranth shot upright. “You wouldn’t tell her, would you? It’s just too boring,” he whined. “Run here, carry this, hold that in the air, do this a few million times,” he complained, not realising Chulsa had continued onwards without him. “Chulsa?” Soranth opened his eyes and looked around wildly. “Hey! HEY!”

By the time he caught up, he was panting even more than before and dragging each aching foot up one at a time. “Give me a break,” he begged, pulling himself up with help from the wrought iron railing.

“Alright.”

“Really?” Soranth perked up, surprised at the advisor-now-teacher’s easy acquiescence.

“We’re here.”

The Prince, with all the maturity of a teenager, groaned and collapsed on the dusty, moss-ridden floor. He barely reached Chulsa’s thorax and still had baby chubby cheeks, yet he had already lived an equivalent of just over twenty odd human years. “What are we doing here?” His voice was muffled.

“Look up, my Prince. The Queen has decided that is time to explain why the world is as it is.”

Almost instantly regaining all his energy, the Prince bounced upright and regarded the starry sky.

“A long time ago,” Chulsa began in his deep timbre.

“No wait, wait, I’m not ready!” Soranth ran around, dragging and arranging debris from the fallen roof of the isolated tower into a single heap. He then sat down on the impromptu seat and gave Chulsa his full attention.

“Are you ready now, my Prince?” Chulsa’s tone was dry but fond. Soranth nodded eagerly and waved his hands in a motion to start.

“A long time ago,” he repeated in a dancing cadence, “Humans dominated the land. They grew so widely in population that there grew enough conflict to start wars with each other, decimating the land as they did so. Unknown to them, the world was about to change very quickly. The day the Sun disappeared.”

“Humans depended on the Sun for many things—so many things that they didn’t know what to do without it. They couldn’t live. Plants died first, then animals and slowly the humans. The world slowly froze over, leaving no habitable surface for any living creatures. Humans retreated underground. Unable to tell the time, unable to do anything, they contained themselves in large underground castles called bunkers and tried to create creatures from old animal DNA that could survive on the new Earth.”

Chulsa’s words painted a morbid picture in Soranth’s mind. His thoughts shot straight to his parents—of how his young father would have survived in a turmoil-filled time as that. “What about my father?”

Nodding in answer, Chulsa continued, “Your father was one of the children of two particularly talented scientists. They made me as I am now,” he said, opening his pincers wide and clacking his mandibles. “But failed to provide a method of procreation before their deaths.”

Soranth grimaced at the thought of Chulsa procreating, or even another Chulsa-like arthropod wandering around the castle.

“I took your father up to the surface. After his parents passed, we thought that he might just be one of the last remaining humans. All the other creatures stayed back but Eric wasn’t like them. He wanted to see what Earth had become.”

“But why didn’t the other creatures follow dad when he first left?”

The arthropod’s mandibles met in the air several times. “Well,” he deliberated, “Now that you mention it, I do believe I remember your father befriending a young experiment that wanted to follow him out. But—"

“Is he still alive? Can I meet him?” Soranth badgered.

“My Prince, he didn’t make it out of that bunker. I believe the experiment was too young at that time, barely developed and Eric refused to put him at risk. He promised to return but when we finally made it back...”

“He was gone?” His eyes were wide. Death was an understandable concept for the youngster—having already lived through the death of his father, several fauns who helped raise him and a chemycus that had formed the growing royal guard. Even the short-lived weasel-lizard hybrids that had claimed the far southern side of Maraciel changed constantly with new faces every time Soranth and Chulsa visited them.

“They couldn’t find him. King Eric was devastated. It took the Queen discovering the ruins of this castle to make him smile again.”

“Dad must have really cared for him,” Soranth said softly. Chulsa smiled at his use of the word ‘dad’, something that he only did when he forgot that he was old enough to call his parents by their title.

“He did. He was a really unique experiment, I don’t think even your dad knew what the little one was a hybrid of. All I recall is that it had black hair.”

“It was during our return that Eric stumbled across Af, your mother. She had no memory of her family, no desire to see or do anything. He gave her that name and from then on, they were inseparable.”

“A few years after coming back from our unsuccessful search all around the globe for any other survivors, Mount Zarphan exploded. We decided it was safer to hunker down until the volcano settled, and bit by bit... Maraciel grew. Before your father passed away, he tracked the creatures he had previously released from the bunker—earning their pledge to serve him as their King along with his wife and soon-to-be-born child. You.”

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They reached the western border in time to set up camp. Soldiers were streaming in constantly from all areas, wearing a mismatch of armour and homemade weapons. Fauns of all sizes and ages bounded around, chattering like the bubbling streams that branched off Nahaliel River. They wore tight metal braces around their hindquarters and polished breastplates that gleamed in the firelight. A small number of fauns had horns curling from the back of their heads but far more of them walked around with only little buds peeking through or nothing at all.

Most carried slim rapiers by their sides as they were the easiest weapon for fauns to use with their quick reflexes. Some carried quivers with silver-tipped arrows. Their wooden bows were strung with silver thread from the goldenglow tree and the carved wood came from the numerous magis mahogany that dominated Maraciel. Towards the fringes of the camp was a scattering of disgruntled fauns carting farming equipment, peeved that the Queen’s order had taken them away from their fields.

Meanwhile, the chemyci had flocked to the war eagerly, bearing magnificent full-body armour and sharpened spears. On their hips hung carved intricate scabbards and gem-crusted hilts. It was as if in their short existence, they had done the exact opposite of their two-legged counterparts if only to further differentiate themselves.

Almost a quarter of the chemyci had quivers and bows slung across their backs rather than swords yet their heads were held just as high. Warriors of all types were celebrated amongst the chemycus society. The exalted status of being a royal guard was what led Haraldr’s ex-girlfriend, Alizar, to enroll in the first place. Twin curved daggers bracketed her slim waist, their silhouettes from behind her curtain of fiery red hair promising sharp retribution.

Surrounded by quick marching guards that seemed to know exactly what they were doing—with the exception of Alizar who held court with a gathering of doe-eyed chemyci soldiers and fauns—, Soranth, Haraldr and Valda looked out of place. In human terms, the twins would have been considered formidably tall and daunting in their effortless grace. Yet compared to the towering chemyci with their loping legs and the fauns with their majestic curls of horns at either side of their head, the siblings simply couldn’t compare, even with their unique rocky skin.

Soranth felt like the unwanted guest at a party he had been invited to merely out of obligation. While the Prince’s exclusion was hardly intentional, it admittedly did feel strange to be expected to mingle with those younger than him when he was so used to Chulsa’s ancient creaking joints or Nathanael and Sablo’s dignified ways. Spending his adolescence with Haraldr and Valda didn’t do anything to curb his maturity, it merely served to hone it.

He learned early on that dealing with Haraldr was simple if you knew the right steps: you could tease him all you want as long as you recognise his ‘strength’. Valda took a lot longer to figure out and in fact, he was still constantly learning new boundaries to toe or topics ‘one should never broach with a woman’. It was with these social skills that he promptly turned to his friends, shoved them into the crowd and disappeared back into the generals’ tent.

The siblings spluttered, left in his wake. Haraldr huffed and dropped down to sit on an overgrown root.

“Psst,” Valda hissed, nudging his leg with her own bare foot. He grunted in reply.

“She’s looking this way.”

He jerked and his head twitched in the direction she was looking at but he managed to restrain himself. “Stop it.”

“No, she is, she is,” she insisted, “Look! Look! There she just turned her head our way again. Argh, you missed it! Oh, what’s that guy doin—my my, how brave! Definitely didn’t expect that. Oh dear, looks like Alizar’s not too happy about it either.” She snuck a glance back at him and admired the way the veins in his neck stood out, pushing his solid skin out in a strange rivulet of dark maroon.

“Ah well, time to check up on Puffy-Wuffy.” She skipped off, having done her sisterly duty.

“Valda!” A cool, feminine voice called out.

On second thought, she thought as she slowed down with a sly smile. “Yes, Alizar?” She answered sweetly, turning to face her and her entourage.

Alizar was undoubtedly the apple of the eye, the cream of the crop, the brightest star. Valda could feel the bile already rising in her throat but kept an innocent facade.

“Walk with me.”

The chemycus cantered forward, leaving no room for refusal. Valda considered calling her pet just so she could ride it and not feel like a midget. The chemycus’ attitude had always grated on her but in the same way her beauty called to all, her talent was undeniable. Perhaps that was the reason why Valda simply couldn’t understand why someone who was supposed to be that intelligent would fall for her idiot of a brother.

Love works in mysterious ways, she thought, eyeing Alizar out of the corner of her eye. They meandered past the tents, walking closer to the fauns’ territory near the south-western border. The soldiers pouring in had trampled the field of delicate shrubs and fragile plants that had only just begun to overtake the arid field that bordered the forest surrounding the fauns’ territory. They began heading towards the clear break in the trees where troops from the fauns’ village had marched up to the camp.

Not a single word was uttered. Valda slowly lost interest and turned away from Alizar, not realising that it was her turn to be observed instead. A grand magis mahogany tree had sprouted bravely near a large thatch of edimbine, a choking weed that burrowed near the roots of a tree and sucked all of its nutrition dry to sustain itself. The effects were already seen on the tree from the brown tips of its long leaves and the silver streaks that ran through some of its larger branches. She considered the normal burnt black appearance of its bark—a trick that helped keep it in the shadows—and briefly considered chopping it down to put it out of its misery.

“You two are really alike,” Alizar finally spoke.

Valda held back the initial burst of HOW DARE YOU that resonated in her mind but retorted, “I’m told it’s because we were born on the same day but I’m still not convinced that he’s more than just a rock that’s learned how to talk.”

Alizar pressed on as if she hadn’t heard Valda. “You don’t have to hide it, you know. We both know how you feel about him.”

“What?” Valda eyed her warily, wondering if someone had slipped her some goldenglow juice.

“What?” They both stared at each other awkwardly before looking away. A blush dusted across Alizar’s freckled cheeks and for a few wild seconds, Valda coveted paler cheeks or even skin that wasn’t quite as crimson as hers. Of course, the moment passed quickly and vitriolic thoughts once again resumed their activity within her mind.

“What are you talking about? My brother? He’s a dolt.”

“Your brother?” Alizar cried in surprise before turning an even brighter red. “I-I’m not talking about him.”

“Well, who are you talking about then?” Valda pressed, half out of curiosity and half out of a desire to end this uncomfortable conversation.

“Why, the Prince, of course!”

“Huh?” Admittedly, it wasn’t her best moment.

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Turning to face the generals, Soranth was amazed that they hadn’t come to blows yet. Finding that both were already at odds with each other had been more of an expectation than a surprise. The one thing holding them back might have been a tiny familiar mediator resting atop the table between them. It had a long, armoured abdomen with a protruding pair of legs at each segment. Khaki-coloured wings drooped ineffectually down the back of its plated thorax while strong pincers bracketed its sides.

Mandibles clicked as Soranth took in the scene of Sablo stamping his hoof on the ground while glaring at the chemycus standing opposite him. Meanwhile, the four-legged general had his arms crossed over his impressive armour of polished gold and blue—the royal colours. His face was black with repressed fury and his tail flicked restlessly from side to side.

“I’ll come back,” the Prince decided and turned to lift the flaps of the tent once more—a black canvas material that blocked any sound from entering or leaving.

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“My Prince,” clone Chulsa called out squeakily. His voice had been something neither Soranth and his friends nor the Queen could understand as if it had been an exact copy of the original Chulsa, there was no reason for its voice to have changed to such a degree. It had reached a level where every time clone Chulsa opened its mouth near the twins, they would break out in ridiculous laughter or low insults that seemed to fly over the heads of the clone and original.

“You gotta help me out here!” it cried in its high voice. Another thing that utterly baffled them was how Chulsa’s clones always seemed to take on different personalities. Soranth recalled one memorable occasion where a kleptomaniac clone had been charged with theft after following them on a diplomatic mission to the fauns’ territory and had promptly escaped punishment by integrating back into Chulsa’s body as it was the only way to ‘die’.

In other words, Chulsa’s clones were virtually indestructible. Any part of their body was re-attachable or re-growable, and would actively seek to return to the main body. The only way to destroy a clone was to destroy every single cell of its body or destroy the original Chulsa. Soranth had found this out the hard way when they had ventured further into the Vermillion Plains than ever before with the help of a clone.

The trio, along with Valda’s nagacougar, had encountered the Slyrdion hound during one of these many trips but never had they experienced the strange lumps in the charred ground that spewed hot gas and rock at unpredictable times. As it turned out, neither had Chulsa. His clone learned this lesson when it stepped over the hole just as a spout of grey liquid blew out, disintegrating it in seconds.

Upon their return, they found out that clones had the ability to impart information upon its destruction to the original and the following dressing down from the Queen was not something Soranth ever wished to repeat. Hence, he had learned to never break any of the rules his mother had set for him... in front of Chulsa’s clone.

“These guys are dying for a fight,” the clone continued, inching closer to the edge of the table. Soranth looked back over his shoulder. Sablo and Nathanael hadn’t looked away from each other.

Sighing to himself, the Prince lamented over the fact that the only person who could stop them was safe in the Maraciel Castle. He joined them at the table and called for their attention. “What are we looking at, Generals?”

Clone Chulsa skittered to his side, moving away from a large map that had been nailed to the table.

To the very right of the stiff parchment was a collection of meandering shapes, inked on with a bright emerald dye. Expanding outwards was a rather large stretch of red-shaded land with spiked cones scattered around to represent the Vermillion Plains. However, it was dwarfed by a gargantuan black mass that extended from the top to the bottom of the map. Right in the centre was a neat little triangle labelled in white, nothing like the imposing Mount Zarphan in real life.

Nathanael finally answered, tearing his gaze away from the chief faun. “We’re beginning with the first sightings of the creatures, my Prince.” He tapped on a small arc situated at the very boundary between the plains and the volcano.

“What is this?” He leaned closer.

“It’s the divide between the plains and the territory of Mount Zarphan. The only way you can get to the volcano is using this bridge,” he said, gesturing at the semicircle. “It sounds dangerous but the bridge is made from the strongest material on Earth. It’s safe for the entire army to cross it at the same time.”

“What’s it called?” Soranth asked, his interest peaked.

“The Honeycomb Valley.”

Soranth stared at the General in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“He’s not capable of it,” Sablo spoke up. They glared at each other.

“We’re going to a place,” he knocked on the table map to get their attention back, “named after an old Earth insect’s nest that is notoriously full of holes?”

“King Eric named it that,” Chulsa explained. “Of course, that was while it was still under ice so there might be no holes after all.”

Suddenly, Soranth felt his reluctance be replaced with an intense desire to see it for himself. “How long before we get there?”

“Well, my Prince,” Nathanael’s brows were furrowed as he gave the map a considering look, “As you and those red devils have been out here most often,” here he levelled a disapproving stare at Soranth, “we hoped you’d be able to tell us that.”

Soranth grinned sheepishly and hid a laugh at the somewhat fond nickname the chief guard had given the twins after helping to train them in their later years. “Of course, General!” He cleared his throat and then frowned at the various landmarks on the map. “This here,” he pointed at a diagonal slash close to where they were camped, “Is what we call the Boulder Ridge and that,” he tapped on a series of acute triangles, “we like to call the Flatlands.”

They shot him dour looks at the irony of the nicknames. Clone Chulsa giggled.

“Right,” Soranth hastily explained himself with a hot flush, “there’s actually a very good reason we named it Boulder Ridge. You see, it’s more of a protruding rock that slopes up really slowly so we walked up it without knowing we were going upwards for a while. Then when Haraldr—not on purpose!—leaned on this large rock, it started rolling downhill and almost took him with it.” He gestured emphatically as if it helped prove his point.

“I’m almost afraid to ask what happened at the Flatlands,” Sablo commented drily.

“Well,” Soranth began, ready to launch into a new story. However, he was interrupted by the flap of the tent opening and loud voices and clangs of armour and weapons from outside. Haraldr carelessly allowed the canvas to swing shut behind him, a bored expression on his face.

“Max, what’s taking so long? It’s so dull out there, it looks like most of the female warriors are joining us later tomorrow,” he lamented. “Oh.” He took in the two chiefs and clone Chulsa staring at him. “Hey puny!” He greeted the clone before meeting the strict gaze of his old teacher. “I’ll just wait here.”

“Why bother, brat. Come here, the Prince has been telling us all he knows about the plains, you should too,” Nathanael ordered.

“Not a brat,” Haraldr muttered but obeyed his old general. Clone Chulsa shifted away, clicking in dislike as he came to stand next to Soranth and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“You’re acting like one, brat,” it said snidely. Haraldr gaped.

“What is this, a meaner version of Chulsa?”

“You did call him puny,” Soranth reminded. The only reply he received was a grunt.

“What about this place then?” Sablo directed their attention back to the map. He was gesturing at a collection of circles that rested solidly between the shortest path from them to the Honeycomb Valley.

“Ah,” the Prince dithered for a second. “It’s probably best if we go around that.”

“Why?”

Haraldr interrupted eagerly before he could answer. “It’s got all these holes in the ground and when you walk over it, it explodes.”

“Not just when you walk over it,” Soranth clarified, “but that about sums it up. The ground is not the safest to walk on; there’s some sort of yellow mud that bubbles and stinks. These guys couldn’t smell a thing of course,” he nodded in Haraldr and Clone Chulsa’s direction, “but I’d say it wasn’t the safest to breathe in either.”

“So you think we should go around?” Nathanael considered, tracing a path around the circle instead.

“Who drew this map?” Haraldr asked suddenly, looking transfixed.

“A group of scouts I sent out over the years,” the chief bodyguard stated while drawing himself up. “Do you recognise something?”

“There’s something,” he hummed, scratching his chin. “Something that’s missing.”

“Try your brain,” clone Chulsa said under his breath, breaking Haraldr out of his concentration.

“What did you say, you pox-damned flea.” He growled and slammed a hand on the table, jerking clone Chulsa as he did so.

“Got a problem?” Clone Chulsa skittered up close, mandibles clicking only inches away from the Haraldr’s nose, who lunged forward in answer, two hands reaching out in a choking motion. A gold spear suddenly appeared between them as Nathanael tried to hold Haraldr back.

“Take it outside,” he rumbled at the unmoving twin whose face was still twisted in a snarl. The Prince, realising that Haraldr would be incapable of civil conversation for a while, pulled at his companion’s bulky arms. The black of Haraldr’s pupils had taken over most of his eyes, making him look like a true demon with the craggy texture of his crimson skin.

“Har, listen,” Soranth urged. “You need to calm down, alright? Let’s get out of here.”

He didn’t budge for a few seconds before seeming to filter the Prince’s words. It took a while but Soranth finally managed to push Haraldr out of the tent as he refused to turn his back on the now jeering clone Chulsa.

Outside the Generals’ tent, they were once again under the onslaught of constant noise as warriors milled about, taking their time with last-minute preparations.

“You alright?” Soranth asked, patting a tense shoulder as he scanned the crowd. Haraldr grunted and the black slowly faded from the edges of his eyes. “Is that... Valda?” Soranth asked incredulously as he spotted her.

Valda stumbled up to them looking slightly dishevelled. Her newly designed armour was cut perfectly to show her trim shape and its mesh sleeves allowed her room to move. It was, unlike the other two, lightweight armour perfect for scouts and dyed black permanently to blend in better. Her black hair was tied up in a high ponytail with a silver ribbon, the brightest feature of her outfit. Wild wisps had curled around her sharply defined cheekbones, contrasting with the bright red of her skin.

“There you are! Where have you been?” Haraldr demanded, finally calm from his near fight.

“I—I think I’ve just had what girls call a heart-to-heart talk,” she stuttered. Her eyes were blown wide from shock and her face still stuck on an expression of muted horror.

‘I’ve never seen her this way’ Haraldr mouthed to Soranth over her head. Soranth shrugged back, equally useless at deciphering Valda’s mercurial moods.

“What happened?”

“My Prince!” The familiar voice had Haraldr cringing as they all turned around.

“Hide me!” Valda squeaked before hopping behind her brother. They looked at her blankly for a few seconds. Haraldr looked significantly uncomfortable.

“Alizar!” Soranth greeted. “I thought you’d be with the other female warriors?”

“Those old women?” She tossed a wave of perfectly curled red hair over her shoulder. “They’re just taking their time, I thought I’d come over and join the fun!”

“Old women? I know of a few who will not be happy to hear your description of them,” he hedged, throwing the concealed Valda a helpless look.

“My Prince,” Alizar cooed, impatiently changing the subject. She ignored Haraldr completely, to the twin’s joy and anger. Soranth would have laughed at the conflicting emotions on his friend’s face if the chemycus hadn’t snatched his arm and held it against her chest. He gulped.

“What can I do for you, Alizar?” he asked courteously, trying to pull his arm back. His wariness grew as he spotted a flash of hurt across Haraldr’s face before settling on a frown at Alizar’s not-so-subtle attempts of throwing herself at Soranth.

“Walk with me.” She gave him a large, inviting smile that had other soldiers halting in their tracks. Ruby red lips matched her lively hair, leading down to a shapely figure with a striking blond dappled body and swishing crimson tail. The red of her hair and lips was much brighter than the red of the siblings’ skin and made her stand out in a sea of brown- and black-haired soldiers.

“I’d love to,” Soranth smiled back at her, still trying to find a way to unobtrusively twist his arm out of her surprisingly strong grasp. “But you see, I’m a little busy with the Generals...”

“Nonsense, I just saw you come out!”

“We had to find Valda,” was his quick answer.

“I can help you with that.”

“Thank you for your concern, Lieutenant,” he replied diplomatically, making use of all the tricks he’d seen his mother use during one of her many negotiations. “But we’ve got the situation well in hand.” He hoped that using formal language would send across the message that he wasn’t interested.

After all, how could he when he knew Haraldr still had feelings for Alizar? Of course, this was all without him even knowing it but Soranth prided himself on his ability to sense these sorts of things in his best friend. He looked at them over her shoulder, spotting Haraldr’s frustrated expression as he tried to pull his sister out from behind him. She had clamped onto his shoulders and buried her head into the nape of his neck so all that could be seen were an extra set of limbs and long locks that streamed over Haraldr’s shoulder.

“I don’t mind helping out!” Alizar said cheerfully and pointed towards the back of the camp. “Let’s start over there.”

“Argh!” Valda yelped as her brother finally got a grip on one of her legs and pulled it away from him. She dropped to the ground, losing her balance. She took one look at Soranth’s annoyed expression and grinned sheepishly. “Ah, I mean here I am?”

“Valda!” the chemycus exclaimed, failing at hiding her disappointed look. “You’re here!”

“Yeah, I was just over at the... tent...” She trailed off. Soranth and Haraldr exchanged horrified glances—usually the best out of the three at lying, Valda was doing a horrible job at convincing even herself now. “Oh look, I think I see Pookums getting into trouble,” she pointed over Alizar’s shoulder and disappeared in the other direction.

“We better go stop her,” Soranth said seriously and tried to dart after her, Haraldr at his heels. The heel of a spear dug into the ground right before his feet, sending Soranth stumbling back into Alizar. She smiled sweetly down at him and retracted the spear.

“I’m sure Haraldr can manage his sister on his own.”

“I still think I should—”

“Okay, bye Max!” There it was again, the tremble of something in his best friend’s voice that made Soranth’s heart cry out. His red skin, usually so noticeable in a crowd, disappeared almost instantly from sight. Soranth cursed. He had to remind Haraldr that this meant nothing to him, that he had no intentions towards Alizar. Perhaps if I go along with it, I can explain things to her...

“Well, you’ve got me now,” he announced suddenly, dropping all pretence of amiability.

“My Prince, don’t you think we get along well?” She sounded serious, much more serious than he thought she’d be. He eyed her slightly defeated posture, the slump in her shoulders and downcast eyes. Her expression looked pleading but her body language looked reluctant. I thought she was just trying to make me another one of her toys. But maybe...

“You know who else likes to use the spear to trip people up?” He ignored her question, working off a hunch. “Haraldr.” She froze.

He grew more confident in his next statement, narrowing its focus. “The spear is great for many things, it’s versatile, flexible, quick. Haraldr likes the long reach of the spear, what about you?”

Her tail twitched this time. She looked caught by his question. “I—I like the long reach too,” Alizar answered before realising that she had merely repeated what he said. “I mean, it’s easier to hit people, of course,” she said, giving it a few swings and clearing the path in front of them as they began to wander away from the main camp.

“Of course. Easy to smack some sense into people when they’re being stupid too, I bet.”

She snorted. “I’ve had plenty of practice doing that.”

“He tends to do a lot of stupid things, doesn’t he?” the Prince said in a commiserating tone.

“So stupid. And arrogant and bull-headed and just plain sel—” She seemed to suddenly remember her audience. Alizar paled and hung her head. “I beg your forgiveness my Prince, I didn’t mean to make such disparaging remarks about your friend.”

“It’s alright.” He was surprised she had fallen into his trap but she did seem more distracted than usual. Soranth leaned back against a nearby tree, watching the smoke of the campfires rise above the canopy. “You’re trying to make him jealous, aren’t you?”

She sighed and stamped the butt of the spear into the soft soil several times. “It wasn’t on purpose—”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he chided. Suddenly, he recalled Valda’s spooked expression from just minutes ago and the words she told him as they were leaving Maraciel Castle. “In fact… something interesting happened a rest ago, before we left the castle. We were down in the armoury when suddenly, the door just slammed shut for no reason. Don’t you think that’s strange?”

“Yes, alright, I’ll admit it,” she said, looking more and more morose as he spoke. “It was me. He was talking about those useless, vain fauns and I just!” She sighed. “I’m sorry for trying to use you to make Haraldr jealous. But that idiot is just so…! He’s too dense! He can’t take a hint! He doesn’t even know what he wants!”

Suddenly, she let out a huge sob and large tears started to pour down. Soranth straightened in panic. “Wha—why are you crying? Come on, please don’t cry,” he tried to pat her on the shoulders, only for her to take it as an invitation to latch on to him. “Oh my stars, the things I do for the females in my life,” Soranth complained to the twinkling sky.

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Kobal moaned as he tried to massage the blood circulation in his numb cheek. Lying for hours on a hard floor was not conducive for a good rest. After being thrown into the nearest empty room, the spy had been abandoned except for a lone chemycus standing guard at the bottom of the stairs.

It was, he had to admit, a pretty smart idea to place him in a tall, isolated tower that only had one method of access. The roof had completely collapsed inwards in a pile of broken shingles, mortar and bricks.

“Can you give me some food?” He yelled down the open trapdoor, his nasal voice echoing back. The guard was a brown coat horse which was said to be more stubborn that the other black-coated chemyci. Browns were also more commonly seen in non-warrior capacity which might have explained why this particular guard had taken to heart his orders and completely ignored the prisoner.

“Nothing?” For a second, Kobal considered raging down a war of words on the poor unsuspecting guard using his gift for coming up with rather remarkable bullshit. However, he reconsidered, taking into account the orders that Master had given. “No time like the present to start,” he shrugged before settling down on top of the tallest heap of debris.

The ball of slime he had painstakingly picked from his fur had been collected into a small ball of viscous black goo. He cursed as the debris shifted under his weight but held on tight to his precious cargo. It settled in his hands like a deflated ball, settling gingerly between his soft paws. Kobal inspected it, humming in awe as a rippling view of the entire kingdom of Maraciel spread out across the flattened surface of the slime like a lush carpet of dark green.

Towards the west, the forest gave way to the dusty red of the Vermillion Plains, with the shadow of a distant Mount Zarphan looming in the distance. Bordering Maraciel on all other sides was an artic wasteland that stretched on and on, a desolate landscape buried under decades of deep ice.

Maraciel’s towering trees crowded into a flourishing valley in the centre, chequered with the silvery glimmer of the goldenglow trees. The thin blue trickle of the Nahaliel River cut through the dense foliage, collecting into a large open lake to the south of the kingdom. The view narrowed in on the lake, sharpening on a series of low rises built into the slopes around the lake.

“Aaaah, so it’s begun. Then this is farewell, old home…”

xxx

A Visitor’s Guide to Maraciel — by Clone Chulsa

Right you lot, we’re starting off with the fauns, the half-human half-goat fusion that no one asked for.

To be honest, there’s not much to say about them. They’re an incredibly boring race, perfectly average in all senses, lacking in grand achievements of any sort.

In fact, some might say that all they’re good for is digging. Digging and planting. They do make some good wine though…

Ahem. It seems I was mistaken. Fauns are the finest of creatures in Maraciel. You’ll never find a more giving, generous and kind species, especially when it comes to sharing their alcohol. They’re famously rather hard to rile up but give them a good party with plenty of that delicious wine and they’ll be swinging from the trees. Have you ever seen a faun swinging from the trees? No? Neither have I.

Excuse me while I go find a faun. For research purposes, of course.