The forest’s underbrush was thick and almost impassable, the blades the party had brought along were barely able to cut a swath, and Loydovic’s blonde short hair stuck to his forehead in the humid air. Still, he led his men onward, heavy blade in his right hand, testing the ground for surety of foot with his staff in his left. They were only three in total, Loydovic had kept the party small on purpose. Loydovic himself, his most trusted friend Rudibald, and Oteker, a man of few words and many muscles. All of them were young, healthy and steeled for such an expedition into the wild and stubborn forests of western Ackarom’s heartlands. They thought they had prepared well, but as it was obvious by the heavy blades' failure to cut a sufficient path through the untended underbrush, they did not prepare enough. They wore simple, layered clothing, to act as light armour, but while it did protect their skin from any thorns, it also clung to the thorns, making them get stuck at every vine or bramble. It also did not protect them from gnats and other pests, as those still found a way to their precious blood. They brought barely anything other than hardtack and water, hoping to find additional food in the forest, but it was the apex of summer, and so nothing here to bear fruit yet. Their tough boots protected them from biting or stinging things in the swampy ground, but frequently got stuck there as well. Even Loydovic's magic could not tame this nature, so wild and stubborn was it. All they could hope for was that the blades did not dull further and their arms did not tire too soon. 

They eventually found a game trail, which made passage much easier. 

“We should head uphill, Milord!” Oteker said. “Easier to navigate!” 

When Oteker said something about getting around in the wild, it should best be followed. 

Loydovic sat down on a mouldy trunk and took out the map they brought. It was small, crude and not very detailed, but ever since the great cataclysm 200 years ago, the landscape had changed and with half the population killed in flood waves, landslides and earthquakes, not many cartographers were around to survey the deepest swamps such as these. “What would be the nearest peak?” 

Oteker came over to him and pointed to a spot on the map east of where Loydovic believed them to be. “This ridge, Milord. We might not be too far from it.” 

“But that would take us east. The ruins are supposed to be here!” He pointed to spot he marked on the map, northwest of where he assumed them to be and even further west from the northernmost tip of the ridge, on the other side of the valley. 

“Milord, are you sure you know where we are?” Oteker looked at him sideways. 

He had a point. If they stuck to the hilly ridge, they might be able to see across the land and actually know where they were. “Alright. We will follow your recommendation, Oteker. You never let me down before.” He looked to the sky to guess the direction they had to go by the position of the sun. Just loosely east would do. 

With his right he reached for his belt and drew a short dagger. Its blade was made of highest quality iron and therefore could be used to find north and south. With his left, he reached into a bag fastened to his belt and pulled forth a grain or two of a dark-blue iridescent powder. He held the weapon loosely by the hilt, closed his eyes and whispered the incantations of a spell crucial for treks in the wild. He threw the dagger into the air and as it reached its apex, he spoke the last part of the incantation aloud. 

“Lokeeaxis!” 

The blade stopped in mid-air and with a sudden jolt, aligned itself. Now its tip showed north, its hilt south. The three of them knew where to go. Loydovic let go of the spell and the dagger fell to the floor. The powder in his left was gone, only warmth remained at his fingertips. 

“I hope your magic is right, Milord.” Oteker said. He had always been wary of what he could not see or touch himself, and mages had become rare since the cataclysm. 

Although they were walking uphill and away from their supposed target, Loydovic still felt as if they were making progress. The ground was dry and solid and the trees got sparser, letting the wind blow through and lift away the stale air, like a wash of clean water. The three allowed themselves a stop to behold the vista. The evening sun bathed the canopy in deep orange and the sky was flooded with vibrant tones reaching from yellow to crimson. 

Loydovic decided they would not get much further ahead this day. “We will set up camp here. Tomorrow, a good view of the path ahead awaits us.” 

Rudibald had already gotten to setting up their tent. “Good idea, Milord, but I’d already be happy with just some decent food!” 

Loydovic slapped his cheek trying to get another gnat before it could take off. “For now, I'll be happy to be rid of those pests trying to suck my blood!” 

Dry ground meant dry wood and they could actually set up a proper campfire for the first time in a long time. As they ate their rations – hardtack and a few dried fruits – they watched fireflies dance among the trees and the milky swirl of stars pass over the sky above them. Loydovic however, was busy checking his notes. He had made daily entries to track their water and food consumptions as well as record any anomalies and landmarks. This was the tenth day since they left the ship that had taken them upstream from the last outpost of his house’s domain. 

Oteker tore Loydovic from his contemplations. “I hope that ruin of yours is worth all this trouble, Milord.” 

Loydovic was patient worth Oteker. He was bad at reading people, but a good tracker, hunter and navigator. “It’s not the ruins I am interested in, Oteker, but the potential treasures inside.” 

“Wait Milord, we are hunting for treasure? How are we going to transport it back?” Many would think Oteker to be a simpleton, but to Loydovic, his simple view of things was important in many situations. 

“Not gold and gems, books and scrolls! The old Pliranti Empire had powerful magics that were lost in the cataclysm. But their knowledge of these magics might have survived. With such magic, house Rucaive will gain glory and power!” 

Oteker’s face grew dismissive and he made a gesture as if shooing away a fly. “The shaman of my Ma’s hometown never needed scrolls or books, just songs, to make the crops grow big and plentiful.” 

“Well, a mage’s magic requires knowledge and precision, and so I will find the knowledge of the fallen empire. Too much has been lost, we can’t start over from nothing!” 

“Hmmm.” Oteker did not seem to warm up to Loydovic’s enthusiasm. “I hope you will be happy with what you find.” It was the best wishes Loydovic would get from Oteker, so he took them. 

The next day they found to get ahead indeed much faster on the ridge, but they already dreaded their descent back into the swampy lands. Just as they reached the most northern tip of the ridge and prepared their slow descent back into the valley, they spotted something from above. It seemed like trees had been cut down along a path down there. 

“Could it be that the people living in these lands have made a proper road there?” Loydovic mumbled, trying to identify the very faint bright line he was seeing from this distance. The path seemed to go around the hill ahead of them and to where the river flowed out from, and from that same area, they saw smoke rise, possibly from a multitude of chimneys. 

“And it seems we have a village nearby. We will stock up on provisions and gather information there, of they welcome us.” 

“I hope it really is a road.” Rudibald went down ahead. “I do not look forward to having to pour half the swamp out of the boots again.” 

They arrived in the valley and saw that in the soil and water, small foundations of rough-hewn stone had been set up, and from foundation to the next, boards had been laid, some of which were rotting or even missing, others seemed rather new. They gladly used the road to speed up and ease their travel towards the village. Loydovic could not help but look at the primitive construction with a certain smugness. Even a mage less talented than him would be able to shape a sturdier and prettier path through the swamps. Into arcs of stone seemingly leaping from place to place he would shape the stone, had he been given this task. Not many calculations would be necessary and the only limit would be the flux he had. Of course, a properly organized peasantry could produce much more grain than wildlings and barbarians, and from it, the nobles’ alchemists could distil flux – that valuable dark-iridescent powder he valued so much. 

Their travel across the local road was uneventful and relatively pleasant, given the circumstances, but Loydovic was still worried a board gave way a little bit too much. They came by a few forks and always decided to follow the path closest to the hill. Way markers seemed to be a new concept to the locals, so maybe these roads were rarely travelled by traders or other visitors. 

Noon came and went and they still had not seen any sign of the village, until finally, when the sun started to turn golden and the forest to the left of the road opened up to grant a vista over the broad, slow-flowing stream that made its way through the valley. Up ahead, they could see an island surrounded by a palisade, just a stone toss off the coast of the river, with a bridge connecting it to the road. 

“Finally, a sign of civilization!” Rudibald exclaimed what was on all their minds. 

“True, it does look more civilized than I had expected.” Loydovic admired the construction of the houses on the island. “It might be all made of wood and straw, but this looks like an organized town rather than some loose assortment of huts.” 

Oteker made a disgruntled sound. “We’re not in yet, Milord. They might not be welcoming to us.” 

“Your worries are noted, Oteker.” Some other people of Loydovic's family might see his constant concerns as insolence to nobility, but Loydovic was happy to have a man like him at his side. The party of three arrived at the gate of the town, a currently raised drawbridge. He got as close to the walls as possible and made his presence known loudly. “I am Loydovic-Pinpetos of the house Rucaive. I am on a quest to explore this land and would like to trade with you for food, lodging and knowledge.” 

His words seemed to flow around the walled island as the river did and be swallowed by the forest without anything happening. Loydovic was prepared to call forth another time when a male figure appeared on the wall above the closed gate. 

“What do you bring to us, foreigner?” 

Loydovic was not unprepared. He lifted a small leather bag and shook it to make the coins inside jangle. “Silver from my family’s wealth, enough to pay any price you name. We come with only friendly intentions!” 

A short while passed again during which the man seemed to hold council with someone behind the wall. When he finally reappeared, he addressed Loydovic. “Do you swear to leave in the morning and not barter with anyone but the headman?” 

Loydovic gave his companions barely a glance. “Of course, we shall not violate or strain the commandments of hospitality!” 

The drawbridge started to lower not long after and the three were let into the town just as the sun set behind the forested hills. An old man with furrowed brows received them, guards by his side, with simple spears and shields as well as tightly woven reed armour. The man raised his hand to greet the three as they crossed the bridge. “Welcome to Tretnang, strangers. My name is Chlodomer, I am the headman and your host tonight.” The men with spears moved into position to the left and right of Loydovic and the others. It seemed to intimidate Oteker, but Rudibald remained unimpressed and so did Loydovic. 

“My name is Loydovic, fifth child of Ludegert of house Rucaive. These are my companions, Rudibald, second child of Theodor, and Oteker, first child of Guntheran. We come to this land in search of a ruin dating back to the old empire.” 

“I must ask you to surrender your weapons. They will be placed in our care, fear not.” The man made a gesture towards the guards, who stepped closer to the three. Loydovic knew how important trust was, so he handed in his dagger. Rudibald was not happy about having to give up his trusty sword – a gift by Loydovic’s family and adorned with antler patterns on its curved guard, a broad blade narrower in the middle than at the guard and before the point, a priceless piece that proved his loyalty to house Rucaive and the house’s trust in him – Oteker had had an axe with him – part weapon and part tool – and all of them had their heavy, short blades for cutting down the underbrush. After they had surrendered their bladed weapons, Chlodomer beckoned to them another time. “Your staff too. I am not so simple that I would not know a Mage’s staff when I see one.” 

“Are you aware I can work magic without it as well?” 

“It matters not to me. Please, surrender so our trust is not hurt!” 

Loydovic complied and gave them his wooden staff with the clear crystal embedded at the top, but the headman had one last request. 

“And your surcoat.” 

“What? My surcoat? It can hardly be called a weapon!” 

“That is true, but it bears the symbol of the red stag. That is a symbol reserved for the Singers of the valley. To wear it without their approval is a sacrilege against them.” 

Loydovic hesitated. The red stag with golden antlers on green ground was his house's sigil. It was to regain honour within his house’s standing that he undertook this dangerous endeavour in the first place. Again, he complied. At least the air was a tiny bit more bearable without it. 

The guards carried their equipment ahead and Chlodomer followed them. “Come guests, do not lag behind. A tasty stew of the river’s fish has been put on the fire for you in the communal hall.” 

They followed, eager to eat something that hadn’t been dried, smoked or salted. As they walked through the streets, Loydovic had to admire the simple cleverness of the town's construction. The houses were all made of wood and thatched with straw, many of the houses arranged in small blocks with wide streets between each block, most likely to avoid fires spreading too quickly. Many people stood in their doors and peeked out at the strange guests. They wore surprisingly adorned garments, although not dyed. Embroidered leather patches, beads of bone, horn and shell, even tiny pearls were amongst the things stitched onto their clothes. But the most intriguing thing Loydovic found to be the ground they walked on. It was made entirely of large, sturdy boards, apparently the town had not been built on the island directly, but on large stakes that must have been driven deep into the soil of the island. He had heard about such buildings, they called them “crannogs”. No magic seemed to have been used, for all wood was left in their original, natural shape. Without fearing the high tides and the shifting rivers the people could live here, with the stream right beneath their feet, making both fishing and refuse disposal easy endeavours. 

“I see you admire our town’s sturdy ground!” Chlodomer said, while stomping on the boards with his feet. “And no, we did not use magic for construction. Only sweat and communal effort!” He chuckled and waved to a man at the side of the road, who then too stomped on the boards and laughed. 

“Well, it surely is good to see high walls to keep out the forest. I was afraid all we found would be some huts standing on a dry spot, but it seems you make your own dry spots!” 

“Hah, yes, but these walls don’t keep out the forest. We live in harmony with the forest, thanks to the Singers. We have these walls to keep out assailants. River pirates, bandits, and occasionally conquerors, but those hadn’t been here since I was born.” 

Loydovic heard that this area of the former empire had resisted reclamation efforts by the many noble families and clans trying to claim the shattered remnants and appoint themselves new emperor. He could not shake the feeling the headman had tried to point guilt his way. 

They arrived at the communal hall, which seemed to be able to host the entire town at times, but now had just a few benches and tables around a large fire pit. The tables were set for quite a few people and a pot of stew was being carried over. The guards put the group’s equipment in a large chest and locked it, then they handed the key over to Chlodomer. 

“I will hold on to the key, but you may keep the chest here, this way, nobody needs to distrust anyone. But come now, my family and I will be your company tonight while you eat.” 

The stew they had was good, not just because it was properly cooked food, but also because the inhabitants of this town knew their fish. Chlodomer's family was endearing, his two eldest sons already having families themselves. They talked much about the life on the river, their trades, how the entire community comes together to help when the town needed expanding or repair or if another boat was to be built. Chlodomer was not a jovial man, but his children and wife did their best to keep spirits high. The youngest grandchildren were sent to bed, then the party of three started to share a few stories of their own. Loydovic told them how he grew up, with four older siblings, all of who had undertaken a daring quest at some point in their life to prove their worth and bring glory and power to their house, now it was his turn. Rudibald told how the two of them had grown up together ever since both of them were suckled at the breast of Rudibald’s mother, and how a strong brotherly bond had connected them since earliest childhood. Oteker told little, merely that his family had always been in the service of house Rucaive. Eventually, the family left and only three guards and Chlodomer himself remained. His face took on a more serious tone. 

“So, your goal is ruins of the old empire. Why?” 

“We hope to find lost knowledge there. Old scrolls or books on magics or mechanics.” 

“I wasn’t even aware the empire had ever held dominion this far in. These are stubborn lands. I am sure the swamp has taken the ruins by now. Paper and parchment does not keep well here .” 

“It is not widely known, but from reliable sources, I learned that the Pliranti held a small fort not far from here. It would have been manned for maybe ten years before the cataclysm. We still have hope to find something of value to our family.” 

Chlodomer stroked his chin and leaned back. “I cannot make any promises. The valley belongs to the Singers. You may not pass without their approval.” 

Loydovic had expected something like this. Wilds such as these were often ruled over by witches and shamans that had power over nature itself. “How can we contact them?” 

“You can’t. They cannot be summoned. They appear as they please. Or not at all. Maybe the forest simply swallows you.” 

It had become icy and cold in the room, but Loydovic of Rucaive would not be intimidated by such trivial words. “Are you willing you help us?” 

“No, we are not to aid anyone further in. Stay on the roads and you will be our friend, but if you should cross the river to head further into the land, you will be at the mercy of the Singers there. This is not your domain.” 

Loydovic would not be deterred by simple village folk. “But it is! I am of house Rucaive, in my veins flows the blood of Queen Ingehilde, who hailed from and ruled over this land, the red stag was her symbol, too! Once house Rucaive is at peace with the assailants at our door, we can send ships further inland up the river again, maybe even reaching as far as here. This will benefit this town greatly. Prosperity will reach you too.” 

Chlodomer’s face turned sour. “I would never allow you to stretch your claws anywhere near us. This land has prospered under the guidance of the Singers; the fish in the river are big and plentiful, the forest gives us only the strongest wood and sweetest fruit, our children grow up free of disease or harrows. There is no prosperity of yours that we would want. Maybe we shouldn’t let you reach that ruin, if it really exists.” 

Loydovic realized the people here did not share his appreciation for the empire’s greatest feats and monuments. They would have tossed any scrolls they had found in those ruins on the fire as tinder. There was nothing more to be won here. “Very well then. Let us speak no further of that then.” 

Chlodomer stood up. “Indeed. Let us not!” He turned to one of the guards and gave him an order. “You will be brought bedding soon enough; this hall will be yours for tonight. Have a good night’s rest, you will leave the town first thing in the morning.” Chlodomer and the guards left the hall and closed the door behind them. 

The three men decided to go to sleep directly, but worries kept Loydovic awake. Worries of how they would find the ruin; the hints he found were inaccurate at best, if one even knew how to interpret them. Worries of their rations; if the townsfolk didn’t allow them to trade, they could run out and would have to hunt to survive, slowing their progress. Worries of failure; what if the ruin didn’t exist, or didn’t hold anything valuable? He had to succeed, his personal honour and his house’s future depended on it. He got up and walked over to one of the windows. He could see a gate in the palisade facing the lake. 

“That is where their boats must be.” Rudibald’s voice startled Loydovic. “Do you think we could take one of their boats and cross the river tonight, Milord?” His eyes looked tired, but unable to close tightly. 

“Rudi, I told you time and time again, we were fed from the same breast, we are like brothers, no need to call me Milord here. Besides, we would have to leave our equipment behind. Without that we stand no chance.” 

Rudi put on an impish smile. “That chest has no lock that would give me any trouble. It would not even be the most damnable thing we did together.” He put on an impish smile. 

Loydovic thought for a while. Sure, they could steal boats and set across, maybe even make good ground before dawn breaks. A few hours of rest until noon, then on towards the ruin. “I came here to prove my honour. That I am no coward. I will not betray this purpose now. If we cannot do it honestly, we can’t do it at all.” 

Rudi turned around and walked back to his bedding. “I only offered it. You are our lord, after all, so you decide what route we take.” 

There was no more talk between them, and after listening to the waves below the floorboards for a while, Loydovic noticed he too would fall asleep soon. As he lay down, a thick blanked of comfort seemed to push down on him, smothering him with serenity. He felt himself being slowly embraced by the waves of the river, cold but welcoming. 

In eerie dreams he stood at the shore of the river, the other shore called to him. He walked into the water. No current tore him away and he felt as if he could simply wade across. He saw an enormous stag rear its head from one of the hills, no the hill was its body! Its eyes were burning, and as it stood up, its antlers reached far into the sky, piercing the clouds. He had not yet reached the middle of the river when he saw the stag turn its head away, down the river, and Loydovic heard screams, cries. He looked back. Where the town should be, the spires of his family’s castle rose from the waters, burning, people plunging from the windows to their deaths. The river was blood, its current increased in strength, threatening to wash him away. He wanted to turn around, but he knew the stag awaited him. He must cross the river. He had come too far already. 

Loydovic was awoken by Rudibald. The light of the morning flushed the memories away, the dream soon forgotten by his waking mind. 

“We should soon be on our way, Milord, the sun is already above the horizon.” 

Loydovic got up. He felt horrible. The other two had already packed their things as far as they could. “Has Chlodomer been here already?” 

“No. But a guard came by to check on us. Chlodomer will surely know we are awake by now.” 

It was as Rudibald had said. The guards brought them bread and cold stew and the three of them had breakfast by themselves, no family or Chlodomer to be their company. Loydovic barely registered the breakfast, it seemed his dreams were still seeping into his conscious mind from a different place. They were allowed to trade their silver coin for some rations; there was little else they could use from this town. The villagers refused them any help or service in crossing the river. Finally, back at the gate, they were handed their things back and escorted out of the town by the headsman. 

“May the road easy your step.” Was what Chlodomer said for good byes, more out of custom than in earnest. The three replied in kind. 

They were out on the road again. With the river between them and the way for their west, the needed to find a solution. They headed back westward to get their destination at least a little bit closer. Loydovic thought that the movement would help clear his head and wake him up properly, but when he turned his view to the river, he could swear for a moment it was blood red. Then he stopped. 

Rudibald almost bumped into him from behind. “What is it, Milord?” 

“Something. Something is waiting. We have to get over the river.” 

“Yes Milord, but we have no boat or any other way to get across. What are we to do? Shall we search for a bridge?” 

“I doubt these people have built a proper bridge this far out here. The river shifts quite often in this untamed land.” Loydovic looked far ahead. “But we are not savages, we will make a way!” 

He pointed to a small spot off the road where a tiny hill was peeking above most of the surrounding land. “That small hill will give us dry ground. Get your tools ready, we’re making a raft!” 

They went onto the small hill and it was as Loydovic had thought: the ground was dry and solid, ideal to work on. While the other two were looking for trees suited for a raft, he went deep into thought and in his mind started to construct a simple spell, it only needed to cut in the most primitive ways. When the others were done, he went to the trees and circled the base of the trunk with a piece of chalk that had been infused with flux; it would be a good conductor to the energies of his magic. With a SNAP of his fingers and a few grains of the dark powder in his left, he released the spell in his mind and the tree was neatly cut along the chalk line. 

They cut down several trees like this, then they got to cutting off all the branches. While the other two were clearing off the branches and laying them next to one another, Loydovic again constructed another spell. This one would serve not as a blade, but as a rope, and was not as primitive. He unrolled a piece of paper and his quills and a thick book made from vellum pages. It had a strap fastened to the upper corners of the binding and at the bottom of the back a hook. He put the strap around his neck and the hook into his belt. While having both hands free, the book was thus held open, resting on strap and belt. Now he could easily study the contents of the pages and use the quill at the same time. It was his spell index, where he had written down the complex geometries, calculations and formula which his arcane spells consisted out of. From here he could copy and even recite the spells. 

Loydovic began to draw on the paper with special ink, infused with flux like the chalk. It took much longer than the primitive spell he had constructed in his head alone, but this type of magic was much more sophisticated and demanding. The wood needed to be convinced to change its natural shape and keep it that way. 

He was finally done and the other two waited for him, all the logs had been freed of twigs and laid out not like a rectangle, but slightly pointed, like a boat should be. They were educated men, after all, and knew that a pointed object glides through water much easier than a rectangle. Again, Loydovic drew a line around the logs where they would normally have been held together by rope. Finally, he put the paper with the spell written on it on the soon-to-be raft, dropped a pinch of the flux powder on it and snapped his finger. 

The lines of ink and chalk flared up in bright light. The paper was consumed by flame and the wood started to transform along the chalk lines, the logs growing tendrils into one another where the chalk had been drawn. The tendrils interlocked and bound the wood together soundly. 

“I will never get used to that.” Oteker said, almost under his breath. 

“I will never stop being amazed what uses you find for your magic, Milord.” Rudibald said. 

They let the raft to water to cross the river. With long sticks they pushed their ferry over the river. The current dragged them far downstream, but they made it across at an acceptable pace. The water was muddy and granted them no view on what waited below the surface. 

Oteker seemed to grow ever more restless as he kept his eyes on the waters’ surface. “I saw something!” 

“What was it?” Rudibald sounded worried, too. 

“A long body. Could there be wild monsters in this river?” 

Loydovic tried to calm them. Panicking on the raft would be more of a danger to them than any monster he could imagine living in these muddy waters. “It’s most likely just a large catfish, calm down.” He focussed his mind forward again, to the other side. Something waited there. From the corner of his eye, he could see someone standing at the shore, watching them, but when he turned his head to look, the figure was gone. 

The journey across seemed to calm down and they were halfway across the river, when the raft suddenly jolted. They all could keep their balance, but Oteker's words seemed much more relevant now. 

“See, I told you, something is it there!” Oteker’s words held true and fright gripped Loydovic’s heart. 

“FASTER!” With the body moving in the water, the other shore seemed far away all of a sudden. 

They hurried along, pushing the raft along the ground with their sticks with more and more force. Loydovic began searching in his head for a spell that could help them, but he had not been prepared. He opened his spell index, none of the pages bore anything he could recite in such a situation, but he let his hands not rest, he kept flipping pages in a hurry. The raft kept rocking and he worried more and more, but finally, it rocked a last time. They hit dry land. All three of them jumped to dry land, but as soon as they did, a maw emerged from the waters. 

As wide as three men, the shovel-like head broke the water’s surface, with its stubby feet the creature pushed itself onto dry land. The body from head to hind legs seemed to be at least fifteen feet long, and a possibly just as long tail was still in the water. Its yellow-green skin was slimy and covered in knobs, its eyes were tiny, sitting on top of its skull like rotten cherries. With hundreds of long, sharp teeth, the salamander got hold of Oteker’s left leg. He screamed in pain and lost his footing as the monstrous salamander dragged him back towards the muddy waters.  

With a battle cry, Rudibald drew his sword and dashed forward, trying to bury the blade deep in the monster’s head, but it slid off, leaving merely a shallow cut. Oteker too, tried his best with his axe and slammed it onto the maw that held him, over and over again. 

Loydovic had managed to find the page in his index he had been looking for. He looked at the intricate formula, tried to etch every nuance of it into his brain. Then he raised his staff towards the monster. 

“FULMINICTARE!” 

A crackling ball of energy formed at the tip of his staff, shooting tendrils into the air around it and finally unleashing its force upon the monster. In bright light, the monster recoiled, letting go of its prey and making an abominable screeching sound. Half of its head was bleeding from hundreds of cuts, its eye bloody and swollen, flaps of skin hanging loose at the side of its mouth. With wails and screams, the monster disappeared back into the waters. The raft had been knocked off the shore by the monster in its throes and was now drifting down the stream. 

Oteker was lying on the shore, shaking, with terror in his eyes. “We’re saved. I was almost salamander-food. Thank you so very much, Milord!” tremors gripped his body, his leg more than any other part. 

Rudibald dragged Oteker further onto land and got to inspecting the wound. The monster had gotten him halfway up the calf and the wound did not seem too bad. Many tiny incisions could be seen all around the legs where the teeth had buried in.  Loydovic never learned any of the healing magics, but an application of herbal salve and dressing with clean linen managed to stop the bleeding. Loydovic looked into the depth of the forest ahead of them. “This land is unwelcoming to us. I think we might have already drawn the ire of the Singers the headman talked about.” 

Rudibald did not sheathe his sword, growing more determined. “Let them come. I shall not leave your side, Milord.” 

A sapling was quickly turned into a walking stick for Oteker. His leg could support his leg just fine if necessary, but he should not come into contact with the stagnant swampy waters. Rudibald went ahead, with sword in his right and heavy hacking blade in the left, Loydovic stayed behind Oteker so he would not be the first to face danger. They knew they had to head westward and some part further south. They found a solid path soon. It was no wooden road like on the other side of the river, but it was dry and solid enough for them to keep their boots dry and make getting ahead much easier. It was just already past noon when they stopped for lunch. Their rations were stocked up freshly, and if need be, Loydovic could purify the swamp’s water with his magic, so they were set for supplies. Getting lost was their most immediate danger. 

“If we hurry along, we could make it to the ruins in the next two days.” Oteker was still hopeful, despite his wound. Luckily, the wound did not slow them noticeably, and on the mostly dry land, they made good time. For camp in the evening, they found a large dry spot. Before laying down for the night, Loydovic checked on Oteker’s wound. The wound did not to seem stop bleeding properly, which worried him greatly. Could it be the salamander’s saliva held some kind of poison that would make Oteker waste away? Lodyovic applied a fresh bandage with herbal salve and boiled the old bandages for future use. 

At the campfire, Oteker spoke up to Loydovic. “I dread to see what other monsters this land awaits us with. I don’t want to need your help so soon again, Milord.” 

“Lay your worries to rest, that salamander got a leg up on us, but next time, we will be prepared! I will not let my servants to be taken that easily.” 

Oteker merely nodded and hummed in agreement. He might not be especially interested in what they were searching, but he, like his father, was a man that took challenges head on, and the land – or more accurately, the singers who ruled over it – had challenged them. More than once, Loydovic’s head shot up when he thought to have heard a whisper or a note of a melody, only to only hear nothing but frogs croaking and other creatures in the night. 

In his dreams, Loydovic saw the grand stag again. It was towering over him like mountains in the distance, obscured by haze, judging him with its gaze. Not far ahead of Loydovic, the forest's leaves seemed to become colourful and air filled with song. From red and blue to white and black, the forest was ablaze with colours, but Loydovic soon saw that it was innumerable scores of flocks of birds, perched even on the thinnest twigs, all singing the same melody, over and over again. It seemed familiar but distant at the same time. The stag took a single step in Loydovic’s direction, and with it, the ground shuddered, the trees trembled, the birds broke their song and emerged into screaming panic, flying from their perches, enough to cover the skies completely, leaving Loydovic in darkness. He felt water rise, and dark slithers caressed his ankles. 

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Welcome home. 

“Wake UP!” Rudibald shook Loydovic violently. “Milord, you looked so distressed. Did you have a nightmare?” 

Loydovic sat up. “I don’t know.” The dream was washed away. Was it a dream? Or was it a call? 

“Oteker is doing well. The wound is not healed up, but he insists he can walk on his own.” 

Loydovic got up to see the wound for himself. It was indeed not healed up, but without any signs of festering. 

“It is all fine, Milord.” Oteker said while Loydovic was inspecting the wound in disbelief. “I feel like I can march a hundred miles today!” 

Loydovic hummed, still unsure what or who to thank of this advantageous development. “Well, you’ll still walk between the two of us. And do not toss that stick away yet. This swamp is anything but clean!” 

“I understand, Milord.” 

Loydovic changed the bandages again, with a fresh application of herbal salve, just to be sure, and soon they continued their trek in good spirits. Loydovic was glad he needed no magic for Oteker’s recuperation, healing magic was difficult, all he had was some healing and resting spells. Manipulating the human body and all the fluids and organs within it was a sensitive art. Even the most skilled healers rarely did more than closing wounds or mending bones. The greatest power to fight disease and corruption lay still in the body itself. 

The three of them got ahead so well that they decided to make their stop for lunch a bit longer than usual. Oteker and Rudibaldd took to their weapons, polishing, sharpening and oiling them, while Loydovic went through his spell index. The clearer he could imagine the weavings and formulas at work, the better and faster he could recite them later on. He also considered writing a few of them down with the special ink. The grandest and most important spells had always been written down like this. Luckily, he needed not use his blood, for he had the special ink. In the past Blood was most commonly used, or mixed with other pigments, but it bore great danger. Blood had its own mind and power, introducing those into a spell could have unforeseen consequences. 

He got to writing a few spells down, copying their accurate construction of geometries, calculations and formulas from his spell index. One important one would be a reliable spell he had often used on Rudibald and himself, Nascarmor, which made sure they were well protected, even in simple clothes. He brought it to paper three times, one for each of them. He decided he had paper and ink to spare for one more spell. Fulgoris Ostendere was simple but powerful in a fight in these dark swamps, lighting up their surroundings and making it hard for anything to hide. When he was finally done with the writing down, his mind wandered again. The swamp seemed darker and more than it was on the other side of the river. It was clear that the Singers had cast their spell over this land, most likely by consorting with darkest beings from beyond the veil, demons and devils willing to bargain with a mortal for power and blood. Had he only taken his duties of magic more serious, he could have found a spell to deter the monster before it even emerged. It was a melodic little whistle that tore him from contemplation. The birds seemed to be the only specks of joy in this land. The croaking frogs had little melody to them, and the only other sounds were cries of distant animals and the stirring of fish in the stagnant pools. 

They continued their trek well rested, Loydovic even caught himself humming a happy little tune he found both curious and familiar. The land eventually did become less charitable and made getting ahead difficult; the path they had taken disappeared into slow shallow streams and murky puddles and Loydovic made sure Oteker would not get his I hired foot wet. Finally, as the sun started to turn red, they found a large enough dry spot to set up their tent. 

They observed the red sun sink through the few sparse holes in the canopy as they ate their rations. Oteker seemed still rather healthy, the wound was still not healing, but Loydovic’s proper care and Oteker’s solid constitution must have fended off any inflammation. But something didn’t sit right with Loydovic. He felt they were being watched. He knew there was something around them. He decided to act as a guard for the night. Rudibald tried to convince him otherwise, but in the end, he went to sleep with a “When you feel you cannot stay awake any longer, wake me and I will take the second shift.” 

He sat at the fire for a while, letting it burn slowly to not waste what little dry firewood they could find. As he observed the flames licking over coal and embers, he fell into contemplation. He worried about his family back home. Castle walls could be much more dangerous and murderous than any swamp, if one did not pay attention to the company there. He was content with his best friend and a loyal servant of his house. He felt them bolstering his every step in this wild land. 

“Leave them.” 

The voice tore Loydovic back to the real world around him. He stood up and look around. He could see no one. “Who is that? Show yourself!” 

“We’ll meet eye to eye soon enough, Loydovic-Pinpetos of house Rucaive.” the voice was beautiful, feminine, soft, but determined. “Leave your companions, there is nothing of value for them here.” 

“Are you afraid to confront me?” 

“You are alive by our grace. What has been given can be taken away!” 

Loydovic took his staff and got into position, still constantly turning to find the origin of the voice. “Whatever you want from us, you’ll have to take it by force!” 

“Force is such an ugly way to negotiate.”  

He heard where it was coming from. He fixated on the direction and started to set one foot before the other, taking care to move without a sound on the wet soil. He had to keep the voice talking. “We will find a way to get what we want.” 

“I am in no doubt about that. You came a long way to prove your honour. But is that really what you want? Is it what you need?”  

He knew exactly where to head to, as if he could see where the person with the voice was standing. 

“That is for myself to decide!” There it was, the tree where the sneak was hiding.  

“Sure it is, but you should bear the consequences, not your companions. Send them away, no need to involve them any further.” 

He was almost there. He readied the strike in his head, he would aim where he assumed the neck to be, with all his force, both hands just below the point of balance of his staff, the heavy crystal at the top acting like a mace’s head. “My companions are loyal and honourable. You can’t defeat our kinship!” 

With a swift movement he made his step around the tree’s trunk and brought his mace down with all his might where the throat of the speaker would be.  

FTHWACK 

Should have been. The staff had hit the tree. Nothing was there. There was no speaker. He had been so sure. 

“And so you chose.” 

The voice came from behind him. He whirled around. Nothing, but for a fraction of a moment he believed to have seen a pair of eyes in the bark of the trees. 

He heard a bird flying off a branch, one of his companions grunt in his sleep and the embers crack in the fire. All else was still. 

He got back to the fire and tried to distract himself. What abhorrent magic where they using to drive him mad? To pester him at every step? To misguide his feet and his mind? He wanted to scream, but that would just have told them that they were winning. He’d defeat them! 

Rudibalt peeked out of the tent. “What was that sound, Milord? Is something about?” 

Loydovic came back to the campfire and made a dismissive gesture. “No, nothing, get back to rest.” 

“No, I think it’s about time I take your shift, Milord.” He came to the campfire and sat down next to Loydovic.  

“Please, drop the 'Milord', Rudi. We are in the middle of nowhere, they wouldn’t be able to tell our bones apart if we perish here.” 

Rudi smiled in that relaxed way, as if he dropped of a heavy burden. “Either way Loyd, go to sleep. You worry too much and need rest.” 

“I saw a weird figure follow us. I saw it when crossing the river, and more than once I swear, I heard someone – ore something – spy from the shadows. Someone is watching us!” 

“The villagers?” 

“Unlikely. It's more likely the Singers they spoke of.” 

“What are these Singers? Is it what they call mages like you?” 

“No, not at all.” Loyd shook his head. The two worlds of magic were indistinguishable by mundane folks, but the difference was crucial. “Singers, Shamans, Mystics, Mediums, many people have many names for them. While the mages' gift is born of noble blood, their gift is bestowed upon them by something else. They say it is 'the land', I say it’s dark fate that made them playthings of the whispers from the shadows they mistake for friends. Those too have many names in many places; spirits, demons, angels. In the end they are minds without bodies, hungry for the life force that flows through us.” 

Rudi attentively followed his every word. “Do the singers control the forest and its animals?” 

“Either that or it controls them.” 

Silence returned. Loyd got up to follow Rudi's advice and went to the tent. 

“Sleep well, Loyd.” 

Again, he felt the comfortable blanket settle upon his body, again, he found himself in front of the grand stag. Winds were blowing between the trees and Loyd saw animals fleeing away from him. He was alone, but not in danger. The blood of Ingehilde need not fear the crest of Ingehilde. He continued his journey and soon saw a forested hill to the feet of the stag through the canopy. There he would find what he sought. The whistling wind played him a tune, a welcoming melody. As he approached the hill, he did not feel the ground rise up, even as he stood almost at its base. He saw no more trees around him, but still, the hill did not begin to rise from the landscape and the sky remained covered by a canopy. Instead, in the distance he saw a light to the base of a large tree, larger than any other he had ever seen. Hundreds of ships could have been made of its wood and its leaves could be sails to them all. It dawned on him that there was no hill, it was merely the crown of the tree; he felt insignificant in its presence. This was the crown of the land, and none forged by mortal hands could ever rival its might or beauty. He felt the ground tremble in anger, he tried to hold his footing, but the shaking would not relent, he clung to the dream, to the might of the crown. 

The shaking and rocking of Rudi would not relent, and be was dragged back into the waking world. His eyes looked tired and worried. “What is going on in your dreams, Loyd. You look like you’re holding on to a nightmare.” 

Loyd sat up. Oteker was already awake, standing outside the tent while leaning on his staff. Loyd decided to get up too. 

Rudi looked tired but was still in a good mood, apparently. “I checked the wound; it is festering a bit but I made sure to apply fresh bandages.” 

“Well done, Rudi.” Loyd got dressed, left the tent and sat down at the last embers of the campfire. Rudi handed him a ration for breakfast. He hurried with eating; he felt their destination was close. 

The forenoon went by uneventful. They got through the swampy lands rather well and had little issue, but keeping directions was becoming harder and harder. The canopy became so dense that only a slight green dimness remained of the sun’s light. Eventually, Oteker spoke up. 

“I haven’t seen the sun in a while, are you sure we are still walking westward?” 

Loyd stopped and looked around. The thick canopy didn’t even grant them to guess the sun’s position. He took out his dagger once more, grabbed a grain of flux powder, threw the dagger into the air and recited that useful little spell once again. 

“Lokeeaxis!” 

The dagger remained at its apex for a while and turned this way and the other way, before deciding on a direction and pointing them slightly to the left. They had indeed gotten off course. Loyd picked the dagger back up after it had landed and they went on. He kept to himself that the spell had taken a rather long time to determine the direction properly but Loyd made no remark about it; no need to worry the others further. He doubted the Singers had the capacity to actually meddle with arcane magic. 

As they continued their trek, Loyd grew wary of the shadows. He could feel something observing him. The talk with the voice behind the trees was still fresh in his memory. Should he truly send the others back to safety? He was sure that it was merely a trap, set so he would split the group and their defences. Their unity and companionship were their strength, none shall come between them. It was almost noon and time for lunch when Oteker stumbled and fell. When Loyd had rushed to his side, he was already trying to get up again with his walking stick, but failing. Sweat was beading on his forehead, his skin was pale as parchment and he felt hot to the touch. 

Loyd recognized the symptoms. “He’s burning up! We should make camp now, make rest until evening.” 

Before they could find a spot, a sound came through the underbrush. Like cracking branches, large feet in mud and trees being pushed aside. They held their breaths as the sound drew closer. Finally, a creature came into the light, as tall as three men and almost as wide. Its legs were rotting tree trunks, its arms were formed out of green slime from a stinking pond, its main body was a monstrous ribcage of branches and fungus. Without a head or mouth, it bellowed. 

Rudi had already moved into the well-learned defence position and together, the two moved to defend Oteker. The monstrosity came closer, Loyd swung his index open, ready to recite. He pulled the loose papers and cast the Nascarmor on himself and his two companions. Their clothes became stiff and hard to protect them from blows and cuts, but remained flexible at the joints. 

The monstrosity lumbered closer, the ground shuddering with each step. Loydovic had found his first spell. He swung his staff in circles above his head as he studied the formula, grabbed a pinch of flux powder and spoke its incantation. 

“IGNISPHAERO!” 

A ball of boiling fire manifested above Loyd and shot towards the monstrosity. With the fury of the scorching sun itself, it crashed into the monstrosity's left arm, raised to shield its core from the attack. Green sludge and rotten wood splattered everywhere. A groaning like a dying giant escaped the monstrosity's foul body. 

Rudi was dashing towards the monster, sword ready for his strike. With all his force and momentum, he cut through his opponent’s left leg, nothing in there apparently giving any solid resistance. Loyd had gotten back to flipping through his index. Something that would give the being no time to shield itself from any serious harm. Rudi prepared for a stab at the monstrosity's hearty if it had one at all. 

As the monstrosity buckled to the ground, it brought its fist down towards Rudi, but he had already dodged out of his advance to safety. 

Slowly, but steadily, the monstrosity drew upon the swamp around it to rebuild itself, sludge, muck, mud, wood and anything else that made a swamp as disgusting and deep as this, moved towards the monstrosity and its body to reform the missing body parts. Rudi hacked away at the monstrosity’s limbs, each time retreating to avoid its swipes and slams. 

Loyd found what he had been looking for and needed to tell Rudi to return to position so they would not be separated and their strength divided. “Reform!”  

Rudi returned to Loyd's side just in time for him to start casting again. He needed no index for his next move. He just reached for the flux, took a few more pinches, and started focussing all his attention on the enemy. His target was the chest. With wide swings off his staff, he sent several cutting blades the monstrosity’s way. Left to right, right to left, left to right; just like he had cut the trees, just from further away and with much more force. 

The invisible blades impacted on the monstrosity’s chest, wide cuts opened and the mass of slime and rot started to slide apart. Under moans and cries, it tried to keep itself together as roots from the surrounding ground shot up to stabilize the monstrosity and put it back together. 

“FORWARD!” 

Rudi ran towards the monstrosity, swinging his sword and in passing, cutting through the roots, trying to take the monstrosity’s support, to no avail. It merely turned and hit him a swipe of his arms, flinging him backwards several feet. 

Loyd swung his staff again, flinging curses and even more blades towards the enemy, but the roots continued their efforts to keep it together. Rudi stood back up and returned to Loyd. They had merely slowed the monster; it was still well on its way towards Oteker’s unconscious body. 

“It is undefeatable, what do we do?” 

“No, magic obeys rules, even that of the Singers! We’ll have to utterly smash it apart!” Loyd’s mind raced. He had to think if a strategy and the appropriate spells. The monstrosity came closer, slowly but determined. There were only a few feet of distance left. They could not move from Oteker, or else he might fall victim first. 

He looked at the limbs. They reassembled so quickly that separating the torso from them would be difficult. He looked to their environment. Nothing but water, mud and rot to be found. Until it hit him. He was turning the pages of his index as fast as he could until he found it. 

“Prepare, Rudi. When I give the sign, lunge dead centre and immediately retreat, repeat until it falls!” Loyd made wide sweeping motions around him with his staff and took a good portion of flux in his hand, the water close by began to stir and move about anxiously. 

“CUSPIDIS FRIGORIS!” 

A multitude of spears of ice shot up from the water around them, piercing the monstrosity’s limbs, like poles they kept them in place, freezing the moist material they touched. 

“NOW!” 

Rudi dash forward again. With all his force he pushed himself up, directly at the monstrosity’s mouldy heart. His sword sunk in deep, the monstrosity groaned in pain as it tried to come loose from its icy shackles. But they were not yet done. Loyd was already preparing his next offensive. 

Rudi pulled his blade out of the monstrosity’s chest and retreated back for another attempt. Though it seemed in pain and weakened, it was not yet done. It struggled against its frozen limbs and finally managed to break free, tearing off its right arm at the shoulder and throwing itself forward, tearing the other limbs off as well. 

With a thundering SPLUD, the torso without a head hit the wet ground. Loyd saw his chance and pointed his staff to a point above the monstrosity, which was trying to already reform its limbs again. A ball of water gathered, suspended at the point above it, and repeating the previous spell – just slightly altered – Loyd again took a portion of flux and yelled. 

“CUSPIS FRIGORIS!” 

The ball froze to a cone and with great might it crashed down upon the monstrosity’s torso, shattering and squashing it. Bits of slime and muck flew in all direction. Rudi managed to shield himself, but Loyd was hit by a splatter or two. 

Silence returned as they both eagerly observed the remains of the monstrosity laying lifeless among the shattered ice. For a moment they could see the mud crawl back together, only for the movement to truly abate a heartbeat later. Rudi dared to come closer, bit by bit, and inspected the horrid mess. He poked at the remains with his sword, but no reaction came. 

“I think it’s dead.” 

“I hope so. These Animatas often have a limited supply of what makes them move. We just needed to exhaust it sufficiently.” Loyd turned to Oteker’s body on the ground. “We need to get him to a safe spot. 

They quickly found a spot dry and large enough and put up the tent. Now they had to observe his condition. His sleep seemed to be restless. He tossed from side to side, panted in his sleep, groaned and mumbled weird things like “We all must swim down these roots!” and “I saw the land, its shadow is powerful.” 

While Rudi stood guard outside, Loyd stayed at Oteker’s side, but his condition did not improve. He had held out for so long without any symptoms, but then quickly fell, but why? Was this what the voice had talked about? What has been given can be taken away! All he could do was watch as his companion, who had put his trust in him, wasted away. He tried to rebel. He got his spell index out and a large scroll of paper, larger than four pages of his index, and got to sketching ahead with a piece of coal. He knew he had chosen well when packing this large sheet in anticipation. He had originally planned to use it to stabilize the ruins or even excavate parts of them once they came that far, but that was of minor importance now compared to a human’s life. His father would have him reconsider such an expense for a commoner’s life, but what good is a noble’s rule if he can’t even use his magic to save people? 

He continued sketching until after sundown by the light of his magic. The little he could deduce from the notes in his spell index would have to suffice. He noticed that Oteker’s struggling was becoming less. Had he found a calm spot in his dreams? Or was he worn too thin to even struggle? Loyd did not stop. He had found a formula hinting at healing processes, he could not confirm its function, but he had employed it generously throughout this grand spell of his. 

He was not yet completely done sketching when Rudi poked his head inside the tent. “He stopped moving. Is he well?” 

Loyd looked up from the paper. He hadn’t paid any attention to Oteker. Now he saw him completely motionless, his head fallen to one side, the chest completely still. Full dread, Loyd reached for Oteker’s neck. He felt no pulse. His life had left him. 

A voice, familiar and feminine, came from the outside. “You had been warned, Loydovic-Pinpetos of house Rucaive. One already paid the price for your audacity.” 

As they hurried out of the tent, they saw her standing there. Clad in a dark robe, long red hair, a huge black wolf by her side, its shoulders reaching above her head. A smile could be seen on her beautiful face. 

Loyd had recognized her voice. “So, you’ve come.” 

Her smile widened to a grin. “I told you we’d meet eye to eye soon.” 

Rudi was panicked. “Who is that? Loyd, do you know her?” 

“Yes I do. And she did not come to help us. Ready your sword old friend.” Loyd already had readied his staff and spell index when he had left the tent, Rudi drew his blade. Like one they moved, brothers in arms once more. 

Loyd opened the index at the page containing the Nascarmor. No prepared paper of it remained, there was time for only one for now. He chose Rudi as the one to be protected and recited the spell from the page. This should be enough to fend of bites and cuts. One spell remained prepared: Fulgoris Ostendere. He drew the loose paper from the index and held it aloft. With a SNAP, the paper went up in a puff of flame and a ball of pure light formed. When it had reached the size of a human head, it ascended to the treetops from his hand. No shadow would grant these attackers asylum. 

Rudi knew many of such spectacles already, he was not distracted by any of it. He kept his eyes on the opponent, ready to defend Loyd as he would sling his spells. The witch came closer and so did her animal companion, which was growling and slavering. It broke out into a sprint but Rudi remained stalward, but both of them determined fighters ready to see the end. The beast lunged onto Rudi. Rudi let loose a scream of courage as he raised his arm to ward against the wolf’s teeth. It bit down, but the hardened cloth resisted the force under great strain. The wolf tried to tear Rudi’s arm out of its socket but quickly let go when it saw the glint of Rudi’s blade. He broutht it down upon the wolf’s side, but left not cut in the dense fur or thick skin. The beast winced back and Rudi got back into position between the beast and Loyd. 

Loyd’s finger meanwhile navigated along and over the apges of the index with certainty and experience. In these hektik moments, somehow, they knew what to do. Without fail. His left index finger had opened his index at exactly the right page, his middle finger had already found the page of another well-trusted spell. He started to concentrate on the formula before him. The weavings had to be enforced strongly in his mind, they had to withstand and control a great wrath. The witch was still walking towards him slowly, looking him dead in the eye, not even glancing over to her companion battling his.  

Loyd took an entire fist full of flux, brought his hand forward in a sudden movement and let loose with a bellowing yell. 

“CREMARA!” 

A torrent of flame shot forth from his staff, with roaring fury it spewed an inferno of fire and hate to where the witch was standing, but he could tell that something was blocking the flames. When the flames subsided, he could see a wall of scorched roots jutting from the ground, embers still glowing and sending sparks out into the brightly illuminated night. 

“Do you think you can defeat someone whose ally is the land itself?” Her voice sounded so clear and calm. 

Was she trying to be cocky? It made no difference to him. “I care not for your posturing, bring the best you got!” His middle finger flipped the page towards his next offensive. This one was primitive but powerful. He made the necessary gesture, a fist closing as he brought it upward from below.  

“CONVULTELLUS!” 

The ground started to churn and rumble, but the witch seemed unimpressed, she walked on stable ground nonetheless. The stones that should envelop her instead remained stable at her feet. 

Loyd readied once more that spell he had relied on so often already, he swung his staff and from its crystal, another invisible blade shot forth in an arc, but roots again rose to catch the brunt of the force. He realized he would have to get closer if he wished to actually do any harm. He strode from his position into range and with a leap, readied to strike the witch directly with his staff. She took a step aside, as if she saw every movement coming a moment ahead. He struck from the side, she ducked, he jabbed forward, she shifted to the side, he feigned an attack, she didn’t move at all. All while holding her hands open as if inviting him to embrace her. She did not even try to attack him. 

He felt his endurance leave him. He had been marching all day, didn’t get half a night’s sleep in the last two days and was relying on rations that were barely enough, but she seemed as if she had just gotten up after a long rest in soft bedding. He lost focus; a stray root made him fall. He tried to get up, but the witch had already grabbed him by his hair and twisted his head to face Rudi and the beast. They were still locked in combat. The beast was bleeding from a cut at its snout, Rudi was covered in mud and water, but still stood his ground. With a snap of the witch’s fingers, the wolf stood down. Rudi was perplexed, trying to make sense of it, not knowing whether to attack or stand down as well. 

The witch bent down to Loydovic and spoke in his ear. “I told you to send them away. Just one more to go.” 

Loyd wanted to say something, but before he could, roots shot from the ground surrounding Rudi. They grabbed his arms and legs, wrapped around his throat, entangled his fingers. 

“With blade and spell, you cut down trees you never even saw grow.” 

He could hear the roots and vines around Rudi tense. Rudi began to groan. “What is happening?” He wanted to say something else, but broke out into screaming. 

SRACK 

The pinkie finger on his left hand was torn off by the roots. Rudi’s screams grew louder. The ring finger of his left followed, the then others, one after the other, each time the sickening sound was swallowed by the indifferent swamp, his pleading eyes pierced Loyd’s heart. 

“You thought you could just come into this land and take what is not yours so you could send your infectious claws of ‘civilization’ deeper into the beautiful lands?” 

More roots started to rise up and shot into Rudi’s chest, burrowing violently as if drinking deeply after a long drought. Rudi screamed something that Loyd couldn’t understand, his body tensed and struggled against the binds, blood gushed forth from the stumps where his fingers had been. Loyd’s heart churned, it boiled with fear and anger. He tried to stay calm, but the blaze inside of him took over. A simple arcane gesture shot into his mind. He inhaled, then exhaled with the force of a charging bull. 

His scream echoed throughout the forest, a fiery wave expanded outwards from his skin, scorching the roots that held him to dust and launching the witch backwards away from him. He drew his dagger and dashed towards Rudi; he did not have much time. Roots and vines were starting to pour outwards from his mouth, his pained scream little more than a gurgling and sputtering at this point, his eyes begged for rescue from the pain. Loyd brought his blade forth on the last step. 

It sank deep into Rudi’s forehead. The twitching and struggling stopped, Rudi closed his eyes. Loyd sank to the floor. Coldness grabbed him as he saw the mutilated hands of his brother dangle in front of his face. The roots released the corpse and sunk to the floor with a disgusting, wet sound. He broke down into sobbing.  

“I’m sorry, brother.” 

Through his tears and cries, he heard the witch approach him from behind. “I believe you will find me soon enough.” She said with pleased determination. Then she turned away. Loyd wanted to lash out with his dagger, but couldn’t find the strength. 

Digging two graves with the soldier’s shovel they had brought was hard enough on its own, but Loydovic could not control himself, breaking down at his companions’ sides, unable to lift himself back up for almost an entire day. They had deserved so much better. His pride felt like a dagger in his heart, accusing him of murder and condemning him to death. 

He left most of their equipment and only took the most necessary. Carrying the tent would be too much if he also wanted to keep his index and most of the rations, so he kept a few of the pegs, the cord it was held up by and cut a portion of the sturdy cloth, as a tarp to shield against wind and rain. He also took Rudibald’s sword and the amulet Oteker always wore around his neck, returning them to their families was the least he could do. 

Loydovic rested for an entire day after burying the two until he felt strong enough to take it up with the witch. He had prepared many more spells, but he felt he could not win either way. She had proven to move and exist seemingly in a different reality than he had ever experienced. Still, to return now, hurt and defeated, would be more dishonourable than refusing to go in the first place. At least he could seek honour in death. He knew which path to take, it seemed as if the trees swayed aside and the land rose to his feet as he set out for the witch’s dwelling. She was calling him, a call he could no longer refuse. 

Welcome home. 

An entire day of walking passed by Loydovic without him noticing anything. His mind boiled, his heart screamed, the blood of his ancestors in his veins was pushing him onward. He would make the witch pay, he knew he would perish, but if he could draw even one drop her blood, he would die knowing he did all he could. Eventually, in the darkest corner of the swamp, a light came into sight. It came from a hut taken half in by an old and vast oak tree, apparently held together only by the tree’s roots that wrapped and grew around it. The light from inside seemed warm and welcoming. 

He readied himself. Index in his left hand, staff in his right. He took off his backpack, no need to burden himself with anything else. He stood before the door and inhaled, then he lifted his foot. 

With all force he hit the door with his heel, tearing the flimsy lock out of the wood and flinging the door open wide. A fire was alit in the fireplace, a black wolf of normal size was rolled up in its warmth, the witch sat at a desk almost buried under a heap of scrolls. She smiled at him, as if she was welcoming her dearest home. 

“I told you that you’d find me.” The softness of her voice was infuriating. 

Strength unknown to Loydovic up to this point surged through him. He raised his staff to point at her. “I will not stand here and hold chitchat with you!” He was about to summon forth fury and wrath once again, when she raised her hand and the fire stepped out of the fireplace, given form and body of a malicious devil. It seized him with searing grip while the wolf came to her side. 

“Do you really think I would have invited you into my home if I can't force you to hold chitchat with me?” 

The devil blistering grip twisted Loydovic’s arm into submission, when his knees touched the ground, the floorboards themselves weaved over his legs and around his wrists to bind him down, then the fire jumped back into the fireplace, being again formless and unsuspicious. This witch had a truly powerful ally hiding in every shadow and every light of this land. 

She stood up from her chair and sat down next to him on the floor, where they were eye to eye. “I called you here neither for you to deal out your revenge, nor to simply die by my hands.” 

“Then why? Why did you spare me?” Lodyovic struggled against his binds, but in vain. Screams and cries writhed in his chest. 

“I could end you, if you truly wished, make sure you and the knowledge you came to seek never leave this land. Or you could hear what I propose.” She smiled, almost like a taunt.  

“What could you offer me? You took my brother! Give me death as well!” 

“Oh, you think your life is worth nothing? Don’t be dumb, I know it is quite valuable. In your blood flows power. Power that came from this land, as you told the headman of the village: in your veins flows the blood of Queen Ingehilde. I want you to surrender that power to me.” 

Loydovic knew what she was talking about. Blood rites, promises on his life, so she would have control over the very life flowing through him. “Why would I ever agree to that?! Do you want me as your slave? Your lackey? A spy in foreign lands?” 

The witch stood up, went to her desk and took one of the scrolls, then came back and sat down. “I know why you came here. Do you think us Singers sit behind walls like the villagers? No, we tread on the vast streams of life force than run through this primordial land, with no cities or nobles to tame it. And on these streams, whispers can travel from one valley to the next, the entire vastness of the continent. And whispers told me that your family is not at its prime anymore.” 

Loydovic didn’t want to believe she knew what she was talking about. 

“The assailants at your gates, they have worn your fortress castle thin. Taxes are drying up from the lands frequently pillaged by your enemies, the sieged cities are surrendering to the foe ever faster. You simply do not have the men and resources anymore to defend against the other houses. Isn’t that why you came to this land, to search for knowledge? A military outpost that held off the barbarians for over a decade, they must have had some powerful magic. That’s what you thought, isn’t it?” 

Silently, Loydovic stared at her, his anger boiling in his eyes. 

“Well I am giving you the chance to return home, victorious, with everyone believing your honour is restored, you can tell the families of your companions they died a heroic death, rather than screaming in delirium and helpless fear. And you will be embraced by your father when you hand him this!” She held the scroll close to his face so he could see the insignia carved into one of the rollers’ ends: a military insignia of the late Pliranti Empire. He couldn’t help his eyes bulging out of his skull. “Yes, we found them long ago. It pays off having squirrels and moles as your friends.” The witch threw the scroll in the air and caught it a few times. “I know what this magic was developed for by the Pliranti of old. Conquest of this land, scorching its forests down to the ground, subjugating its people. I won’t let that happen. This knowledge comes at a price. Ironically, it shall never be used for its original purpose.” She stepped closer again. “A promise to me, sealed in your powerful blood, and you can return to your family. Meanwhile, this land and these people remain safe and protected from any noble houses or arcane magics seeking to enslave them.” 

He knew what she was talking about. If he swore an oath by his blood, his life could be ended if he ever intended to break it. 

“So, what will it be? I promise your death with be quick and painless, but without this, your family’s death will be certain, and it won’t be quick and painless, you noble families make a habit out of humiliating and violating your victims. Victory is never reward enough for you!” 

If she put it that way, he really had no choice. His heart sunk low just thinking about making a deal with the whispers from the shadows. Then she stroked his cheek and leaned close. 

“Or should I add something more to sweeten the deal a bit more for you?” She stepped in front of him and squatted down, her knees apart, her face close to his. Her eyes were deep and blue like ocean in the summer, she smelled of smoke and upturned soil. 

He tore himself loose from her entrancing presence. With a swing of his head he tried to hit hers, but she had quickly moved back.  

“Get off of me, you whore! Your lies of lust won’t work on me!” 

“Whore? Lies? No, I meant it. As I said: In your blood flows power. It would only be fitting to return it to the land it came from, an heir away from all the noble squabbles, would it not be useful, could come in handy if this power is not enough to protect your family.” she tauntingly tapped his forehead with the scroll’s roller before turning away and putting it back on the desk. “But if you refuse, I acknowledge that. Still, my offer stands. Do you choose death in defiance or salvation in servitude to this land? The land you accepted as part of your heritage. The land you threatened to take once more.” 

Loydovic breathed in and out a few times. There he knelt, in the witch’s clutches, bound by boards, being offered to choose between either honour and death of his entire house, or the illusion of honour and salvation of his entire house. He knew what the only sensible choice was. 

The fresh air from the sea was finally reaching Lodovic’s nostrils again. He had left the swamp far behind him in the wake of the cargo ship carrying him down the river, back to his family’s homestead. He had not restored his personal honour, but he had made sure that the honour of house Rucaive would endure. He stroked the pommel of Rudi’s sword. A memory, forever more.