Two days and two anxiety-filled nights passed where they'd slept with their boots on. Not a single fire was lit to warm their food or steep a cup of tea. All the while, Mags harbored a constant bellyache. Her nerves were like that. Some practically thrived on tension. She was the lucky sort that could hardly keep down food in times of crisis.

No signs since, she told herself for the tenth time that morning. Don't curse our luck before the dice have settled. If kobolds attack, they attack. In this fashion, she tussled with her thoughts until the trail widened and they came upon open countryside.

Up ahead, a silver ribbon curved and swayed. "The River Layton," she said, a rare smile on her face. "Should be a crossing straight ahead! Marek, we're close! Even if we move slow, it won’t be long till we make it to Middlebrook!"

Marek rode up beside her, reining Lydia in so the mule didn't bite Mags or her mount. "Then we'll hit the Quartz Road... today? Or tomorrow morning?"

Pride overflowed in Mags' heart. Her gambit to use the old trail had worked. Not only had they avoided the open road, but they might even have shaved off a portion of their journey. "This afternoon at the latest. It’s been a long while, so can’t remember exactly. I’d guess a couple hours’ easy riding once we cross."

Overcome with excitement, she spurred Cinnabar. The mare dashed toward the river. Nimble and responsive, Cinnabar was the finest mount Mags had ever owned. Not the fastest, Mags thought as she hunched over the horse's back and lifted up off the saddle, but damn if she isn't quick. Nearly a gallop in a few seconds!

"Ha!" she cried. "Ha! Show us what you've got, girl!”

Marek hollered a ways back, probably stressed she'd abandoned him with Lydia and the gelding. They were in open country, though, and Mags didn’t intend to go far. Soon, the rush of deep water could be heard. Mags drew Cinnabar in and wheeled about.

Trotting in a wide circle, she waited for the fabled Remnant Mage to catch up. He rode high in the saddle. For a moment, he almost looked the part, noble and composed besides his disheveled travel clothes and hair. Then Lydia brayed and picked up speed, seeming drawn to the fresh grass growing beside the river. Marek tottered back in his saddle, eyes bulging momentarily, before he grasped the horn in both hands. There he is, she thought. May the Old Gods watch over him—there’s my awkward best friend.

“What was that? Thought you’d have a bit of fun, huh?”

Mags shrugged. “Suppose I did. Cinnabar needed to stretch her legs anyway. And by the looks of it, we weren’t the only ones excited to make it out of that trail.”

Marek fought with Lydia until the mule stopped her headlong charge. Then he dismounted and let her be. “Go on, then,” he said lovingly. “Go eat yourself some clover. You’ve earned it twice over.”

The mule performed a silly jump, her front hooves only clearing a few inches as she kicked the air in triumph. Then she chuffed, shook her head, and barreled toward the stream. The gelding followed close behind. He was more reserved, but after days of pushing through brush along an overgrown trail, the animals were in a mood to celebrate.

Mags leaned over and scratched the mare behind the ear. “What about you? Don’t want to join the others?”

The horse sniffed the air and walked to the nearest clover patch. Apparently, she’d gotten out her excess energy on the gallop.

Marek kicked out his legs and smiled up at Mags. “What’s next? You said we could ford the river here?”

“Yep! Should be a sturdy rope bridge ahead. It’s a little scary when it sways, but the ropes were tough last time I was here.”

Mags dismounted and left Cinnabar to graze as she wished. Then she joined Marek and headed to the river. The mounts weren’t the only ones excited to rinse off their feet and wet their mouths.

Her spirits wavered when she crested the high bank and saw the remains of an old bridge clinging to the opposite side of the river. “Damn,” she muttered. “That changes things.”

Marek stooped near one of the posts and held up a few feet of frayed rope. “I was worried they’d been cut, but looks like it wore out. This rope is old.”

Mags frowned as she took in the scene of disaster. “Aye. I guess the Scouts gave up on repairing it a while back. The trail was awfully overgrown, so that adds up.”

“What do we do, then? If we follow the river downstream, won’t we come to the Quartz Road eventually?”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“Yes, but it curves due east at several points. It’ll take us days to get to Middlebrook that way.” Mags tried to weigh their options. The river was swollen from the recent rains, but she’d seen others cross unaided just to please their mounts. “The river can be crossed, but you and I aren’t the best riders… and then there’s Lydia.”

“Damn the gelding,” Marek complained. “Lydia wasn’t meant to carry a rider like this, not all the time. It’s wearing on her. If I could ride the big fellow, she’d be able to swim across.”

Mags glanced upstream. A series of gentle rapids tumbled down an incline. That would make for an even greater challenge. Perhaps half a mile from their position, however, she spotted a copse of ash trees jutting up from the riverbank. “How about I go scout up there? Maybe there’s a better crossing beyond that grove.”

Her companion’s frown was answer enough. “Not a good idea. I’d rather not split up if we can avoid it.”

Nodding to the mule stomping a hoof in the river, she said, “Point taken, but can you put a stop to that kind of joy in good conscience?” Marek laughed, though his eyes remained troubled, and she could understand why. “You’re right. Caution never killed anyone, but how about this?” She waved Marek to follow, and they found Cinnabar still chomping away. “Take my old bow and keep watch. Cinnabar and I will take our time and do a little scouting. I won’t even get out of earshot—promise.”

Marek agreed and took the bow she handed him. He wasn’t much of an archer, yet two bows was better than one. She strung the bandit’s bow and tied the quiver on her hip opposite the shortsword. Then she smiled at her friend and studied him a moment.

His hair was unruly and had grown much in the short time since their departure. She guessed it was a product of his increased Constitution, same as the ridiculous jump in height. He’d changed in other ways as well, some good and others not so much.

Marek had that heavy look in his eyes that worried her. Almost like he saw a different world than she. He’s half in the shadow sometimes, she thought. My sweet Marek, why did it have to be you?

Her friend chewed his lip before asking, “No further than the ash grove, right?”

Mags nodded. “We’ll head in and peek to see what’s on the other side. I’ve a feeling the river flattens out up there. The rapids are wide at the top, so could be a shallow section with our names on it. If not, we head downstream when that girl of yours settles down.”

Marek shifted his belt, checking the position of the stolen blade before taking a few arrows from Mags’ quiver.

With their strategy settled, Mags mounted her mare. They kept to the shore where a game trail cut through the grass and bushes. She spotted a small berry patch, but most of the fruit had been picked clean by birds.

I'll bet quail come through here, and pheasants too, she thought. Too bad I can't ever seem to get the drop on anything. I'm itching to use this bow. Ever since Marek had shown her the bandit's weapon and the silver ring, she'd been unable to quash a burgeoning sense of hope. It happens, as Liam would often put it. Sometimes all it takes is for someone to perform an action aided by better equipment to unlock a Class.

She thought back to the enchanted swords and spears she'd been allowed to use during training in the army. Not only had it boosted her morale and filled her comrades with a sense of pride and urgency, but there had been benefits. Mikael had unlocked Fighter on his second day with the enchanted longsword. I didn't have the same luck, not with any of the weapons we worked with, but that doesn't mean there's no hope.

Liam would be proud of her stubborn optimism. Thinking of her brother's cocky grin sent a pang of guilt through Mags' gut. Stealing his most prized possession wasn't the kindest favor she'd done the man. I'll return it in one piece, she swore. And I'll give him something nice and shiny to go with it. Marek made us practically rich. I can buy Liam a trinket in Middlebrook that'll help with his Class.

Mags cleared her mind forcefully and shrugged her shoulders. Peering ahead, she scanned the shadows between the ash trees. Nothing was about, yet she shouldn't be overconfident. The tall grass in the grove could easily conceal a boar or mountain cat. As Cinnabar came within twenty strides of the ash grove, Mags dismounted. She nocked an arrow and clicked her tongue. "Follow me, girl," she whispered. "Let's go nice and slow.”

She crept into the wood on silent feet. The dense growth subdued the sound of the rapids nearby, and she felt calmed by the quiet space. Sunlight filtered down through the leaves, painting her face green.

Mags kept her eyes fixed to the game trail. Every now and then she stopped, took a good look around, and listened for any sounds of movement. Ahead, one of the ash trees had fallen, partially blocking the path. She reached back and took Cinnabar's harness, intending to lead the horse around through the brush. Before she'd taken another step, however, she hesitated. A great uneasiness settled over her shoulders and neck.

The wood was quiet. There should be birds or squirrels or something flitting about so near the water. Something’s wrong.

She released the horse and placed a hand on her bowstring. Turning on her heel, her eye picked up on a flicker of movement. There, in the deep shadow behind a holly bush, she'd seen… something.

A twig snapped behind her. Spinning and lifting the bow automatically, Mags came face to face with a too-familiar creature that stood not twenty feet away. The scaled face, the circular yellow eyes under a ridged brow, the clawed hands that gripped a short bow—all were exactly as she'd remembered.

Mags moved and took aim. A flash of golden light surrounded the kobold’s bow. Then a twang broke the eerie silence.

The arrow moved too quickly to see, yet she felt it. It shoved her off balance before heat and a cascade of tingles poured down her left arm. Staggering, she looked down to see a short arrow jutting from the muscle of her left arm. Numbly, she wondered why it didn't hurt.

The arrow had passed through her upper arm and stopped halfway. Mags studied the wooden shaft as it pulsed with yellow light. A moment later, a gush of blood poured from the wound, and a spike of fear pressed against the bubble of calm that had surrounded her. The kobold was Classed, and she’d been hit with a bleed arrow.

Wonder what bird they killed for the fletching, she thought, her mind absorbed with minutiae. That's a beautiful blue, isn't it?