Warden Drya led the way to the broad wooden platform, roped and hooked to gears which moved the — what looked to be recently repaired — vines. Drya greeted the lift workers and explained where we were going, and how long it was going to be before they should expect at least her back, then ushered us forwards.
With a shiver, Lenya came to my side. I felt the gentle rush of her magic as a few small leaves and wood shavings were drawn towards her.
Drya widened her stance a little, bracing. Lenya and I followed suit. Alator took place near the tree and watched out over the horizon.
“Tih-la,” she called out, and the jungle-folk on either side of the platform moved to the large wheels and pulled a lever away. The wheels began to spin and we were dropped, barely slower than falling, towards the ground far below.
Plummeting down, the Hanging City of Ith-Korr fell away above, until we could see the full breadth of all its tiers over our heads, and the earth shot up to greet us. Lenya cried out and, as she had done on our way up, grabbed onto my wrist. Her fingers were thin, gentle and very soft. A blush and a smile warmed my cheeks.
Moments before it reached the ground, with Lenya’s eyes clamped closed, it slowed and set down heavily but steadily against the ground. The elf princess immediately released me and jumped off the lift and onto the ground, and breathed out a sigh of relief.
“Lead the way,” I said to Warden Drya, and she nodded.
We walked over stone pavings to the start of the wall, where a squad of the small jungle-folk wardens already stood atop the ramparts, yawning and swaying after a night shift. Drya again greeted them and explained the day’s events, then we passed out of civilisation and, for the first time in what felt like a good while, once again entered the wilds.
The broad trade road stretched out ahead of us, wheel-ruts still deep in the dirt, and we were instantly greeted by the chittering and calls of the dense, living rainforest.
“We’re heading straight into de jungle,” Drya said. “We Vyneshi are most comfortable dere, but if I outpace ya, or ya folks ever need a breather, just shout and I’ll slow down. Oh, and I’ll be keeping an eye out, but my eyes have never been de sharpest — if any of ya see movement, whistle and drop to da ground. It’ll probably be an anteater or bearcat, but ya never know.”
She took a few steps towards the treeline, at a sharp angle away from the trade road, and continued:
“Hold on, and dis is very important: it’s very unlikely, but in de event we come across a Stranglethorn, even a youngling, steel yahselves and prepare for de worst. We won’t be able to hide from it, and we’re certainly incapable of outrunning it, so it’ll be a fight.”
As she spoke, I consumed the noise and smell of the wilds, and felt my blood pump. I glanced to Alator, and saw the same effect on his face.
“We’ll be ready,” I grunted.
Stepping over deep mulch and ducking under thick branches overgrown with moss and pale green glowing vines, we bade goodbye to the suns and moved underneath the canopy. Within a few moments, we were lost in the dark, dankness of the jungle. Drya led the way, weaving easily between the trees, her hands darting out to steady herself and her tail flicking this way and that.
She’s a natural, I thought.
Even from behind, I felt a calm exude from her, even over the tension in her shoulders. She wore a woven pack slung over her shoulder, the soft brown of her travelling leathers darkened with the humidity, and her hand was never far from the hilt of the short bronze sword she had at her belt.
If we’re preparing for battle . . . . Analysis.
Name :
Drya, Wardship Warden, Level 3
Stats :
Str 6, Dex 12, Con 4, Mnd 5
Skills :
Vigour Lvl 1 (Lvl 2)
Inventory :
Bone Needle, Bronze Sword, Firestarter, Jungle Nuts, Slingshot, 4 Sling-bullets, Waterskin, 3 Copper Coins
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Weakness :
Clumsy with ranged weapons
Home :
Ith-Korr, Barbican
After half an hour or so, my breathing heavy and body soaked with sweat from the radiating tropical heat and quick walking, I stopped for a moment. I was going to call out for a breather, but Lenya a few yards behind me gave a light yelp.
Turning like a flash, hand gripping my spear, I saw that she’d just fallen over a mess of tangled roots, and was already getting back on her toes.
“Drya,” I hissed ahead, “Give us a moment.”
The jungle-folk stopped her quick pace and came back to us, squatting close. She brought out some dried berries and jungle nuts and passed a small handful around, then passed around her waterskin as well.
“Ya should really get one of yah own, dere’s no preparation here at all,” she said with a smile as I took a deep swig and passed it to Lenya. Lenya’s auburn plaits were already in disarray, her forehead beading sweat and her chest heaved.
“Just a few minutes, please,” Lenya gasped.
The jungle was fully alive in the darkness around us. Small yellow and red eyes peered from shadow, the undergrowth moved with thin snakes and lizards, and I caught the odd musk stink on whatever scant breeze moved through — whenever the canopy permitted.
“What else have you got?” I asked.
“Normal travelling stuff,” she shrugged. “Needles, strikers, and my sling.”
“Are you confident with your sling?”
“Funny ya should mention, I’ve never quite got the hang of it.” She brought out a finely plaited sling and slipped a wrist into the loop. Even I could see it rested uncomfortably in her hand.
“Mind handing it to Alator? Just until we get to where we’re supposed to be.”
She shook her head.
“You hate weapons, I know,” I preempted the complaint, and Alator snatched it away without fuss. He pulled the loop around his middle finger and pressed the cord between thumb and forefinger, then held his other hand out. She passed him three little lead ovals, with images or words scrawled into the metal.
After another stint of travel, it was my turn to falter. Light-headed, mouth parched, legs burning, I called again for a break and fell down hard onto the flat of a punky tree stump. I wiped my face dry, my palm squeaking, and pushed wet hair from my forehead.
Even my hair’s growing faster, I mused, tugging at the nape of my neck.
That moment, a TREMOR rolled through the earth, putting a shake through root and stone. Green-filtered rays of morning light streaked through the canopy as leaves shuddered above. Birds, hidden high in the branches, scattered into the sky, squawking alarm. Drya’s form stiffened, head swivelling, and motioned for everyone to get low.
Against the wet underbrush, Alator’s eyes closed and beneath the lids came a faint yellow flash.
“It’s two hundred yards away at least, just awoken,” he whispered, and pointed. “And heading in our direction.”
Drya looked at him, eyes now wide and ears twitching. The snout of her face quivered and her tongue shot out to anxiously lick her drying lips.
“It will . . . already know we’re here,” she stammered. “A Stranglethorn, and from da sounds of it, it’s a mature one.”
Her hands flitted around her pouch then her waist and she falteringly drew her short sword and held the hilt to her chest.
“Circle round and advance on it,” I commanded. Alator gave me a brief glance, his eyes hardened for battle, and accepted my judgement — he had a few times now witnessed my lay of the battlefield. He nodded and stalked away. We all followed behind, backs hunched, legs pressing into the ground, barely higher than a crawl.
Another tremor passed over us, and another, more powerful than the last, as we went, but nothing happened until a minute passed, when Alator stopped before a tangle of low holywood branches, shrouded with clusters of purple flowers. He clicked his teeth and we came up beside him. Peering between the rippled and densely covered branches over a small dry clearing, we spotted it:
The Stranglethorn ambled into view. It was a squat, barrel chested fiend with dark, matted fur that ran down its spine like a mane and tangled around four thick legs. It seemed much like a small woolly mammoth at first glance, but then its tusks came into view, if they could be called such; curling with thorns, articulated dried vines extended from either side of its mouth, bookending a long trunk. There were no eyes in its massive elongated skull-like head, and both its vine tusks wound and twisted like serpents, reaching over the ground and to the trees about it, finding its way.
Fiend :
Stranglethorn, Level 9
Stats :
Str 15, Dex 12, Con 2, Mnd 1
Attacks :
Trample, Tusk Whip
Loot :
Stranglethorn Hide, Stranglethorn Heartseed, Vine Tusk
Weakness :
Fire
XP :
82
Massive webbed front feet, covered in fur and mud, crunched on the dried ground as it stepped into the clearing and inspected a nearby bush. Its hairless but bristled trunk quivered in the air, then its head turned directly towards us. With a snuffling grunt, its front legs dug down into the undergrowth, tearing plants free. Its hind legs, still thick and covered with heavy matted fur, were longer and shaped more like a panther’s. Its vine tusks lashed out, wrapping around branches, shredding bark to a cloud of fibrous pulp, and with a massive burst of energy, its back legs shot it forwards into the clearing, tearing over the space towards us.