“It’s who we thought it was, aye.” Mertle spoke in a whisper though it would have been impossible for anyone to hear her from that distance.

She hung upside-down in a fir tree, perfectly hidden in the thick needles. Tummy was far below, at the base, waiting for her. Deidra had disappeared somewhere in the shadows of the forest, but she was likely keeping close to them.

“Then come down and let’s think on it,” Tummy called. “I don’t like this.”

Plans had gone as made up to this disruption. Things not going smoothly was beginning to feel like routine.

The merchant’s caravan had taken them all the way to Bastra. And it had been fine. Lovely, quiet trip, with vibrant scenery flowing by and birdsong occupying every heartbeat of the day. In Bastra they were to swap the caravans and from there begin the long trek to Solstice, and then to Calabran. They’d missed the connection to the next caravan. It wasn’t uncommon. Sometimes travellers drank too much, made ill-advised deals, found true love on the trail, or simply died. No caravan master ever waited for a late traveller.

So their scheduled caravan hadn’t waited for them. As far as the combined efforts of Mertle, Deidra and Tummy could ascertain, nobody had followed them from Valen. They’d closed up shop there, hung a sign stating they’d be gone until wither, and that had been that. No suspicion. No uncomfortable tails. No issues.

Except this one.

And it was a rather big one.

“It’s the captain,” Mertle said as she dropped down to the ground, landing without a sound next to Tummy. “She, that Vial soldier, the big vanadal, and a man I haven’t seen before. Looked intense.”

“Carries a war hammer?” Tummy asked.

“Aye.”

“That’s Commander Falor. Saw him once in the city. Not an easy man to forget.”

Mertle shook several twigs from her hair and spat to the side. “She said they were leaving by gate. Why do you supposed they’re here?” Here being the middle of the forest in the expanse of unclaimed land separating Bastra from its wealthier cousin of Garet.

Not only were the Storm Guards where they weren’t supposed to be, but they were also away from the main road, following the old trails, same as Mertle and group were. In thaw, the trail was dangerous and often animals waited in ambush. Winter starvation led to thaw depredation.

Tummy had spied the tracks about four days prior and they’d been steadily gaining ground on the other group. It had been the vanadal tracks that had given the smith pause, and then lightning striking on a clear day. It had made them weary of their road fellows, enough for Mertle to try and gain a better look at whoever it was.

It didn’t look like the Storm Guards were in any particular hurry. If they were heading to Aztroa Magnor, they should have been on the iron road, not in the middle of the bloody forest.

“What’s Quistis doing here?” she wondered aloud. “She said it would take at least twenty days for her to get her affairs in order in Aztroa. It’s why we’re taking the bloody slow road in the first place.”

Tummy only nodded and shook the morning drizzle out of his coat and hair. “Don’t matter none,” he said. “They’re here. So are we. We’ll cut around them and move ahead before the pass.”

Mertle could follow what he was envisioning. If they cut ahead, they could get to Garet at least a few days earlier than the others. If they took to the iron road, they could be in Aztroa with time to spare.

And what will you do there? Sarrinare’s voice whispered in Mertle’s ear. New city. New dangers. No intel. No scouting. No targets to pursue and no support. What will you do, silly elendine?

At least Lucretia would arrive ahead of them, or at least that’s what Deidra promised. With this new development, she couldn’t help but feel suspicious of the night weaver and her disappearance into the gloom of the forest. They needed to overtake soon or risk hitting open country. It would be much harder to move undetected then.

For now they drew back and rested against a moss-covered tree, eating quietly. Both had spent enough time in enough forests to know to avoid open fire or any other way of marking their presence. It was driving Deidra ragged.

“I think I’ll try and get closer,” Mertle mused as she sipped some grimesh to ward off the morning’s chill. “Get close to their group, I mean, and eavesdrop. Maybe get a quiet word in with the captain.”

Tummy merely stared ahead, chewing on a piece of sturdy bread. “Barlo ‘ould spot ya,” he said. “I guarantee it.”

“You drank with him like… once,” Mertle began to object.

Tummy raised three fingers in the air. “Three times. He’s pretty much family now.”

“That’s only for tea, not those poisons the two of you inhaled.”

“He’d spot ya. I bet a good hammer on it.”

Mertle crossed her arms and lowered herself to the cold, wet ground, squatting. “You know for sure?”

“He’s good. May be better than I am. Long way from the steppes to here.”

Barlo, for all that Tummy had managed to needle out of him, was one of the last survivors of the Red Eye tribe, come over to Vas after avoiding aelir slavers for more than a decade. Made a name for himself as a sword for hire. Than an adventurer. Then part of the Storm Guard. Few people, of any species, could boast of experience even remotely similar to that vanadal’s.

If Tummy thought Barlo could make her, Mertle had no choice but to agree.

It was still drizzling so they waited beneath the tree, boots sinking into the thin mud. The others would likely not move either if the weather threatened its rebellion.

“Where d’you think Deidra went off to?” she asked for something to say. Waiting was one of the thing she’d never gotten good at, not without something definite to wait for.

“Scouting, I’d guess. Maybe trying to poke those four ahead and see what bites and what don’t. Or she’s gone to answer nature’s call. Ask her when she returns.”

“Ask me what?”

Mertle jumped at Deidra’s sudden, cheerful voice coming from behind her tree. She hadn’t heard the sorceress approaching… but Deidra had probably not approached and instead walked straight out of the shadows pooling there.

“Where you were,” she said with a hint of reproach. She absolutely hated being startled, and Deidra was making a dedicated effort of doing it as much as possible. Not spotting Mertle’s approach to the Sisters’ hospital was still a sore spot with the sorceress.

“Scouting. Quistis is here.” She waited, as if for a reaction. Mertle stared at her blankly. “Ah, you knew then. Capital. Fantastic eyes. I’m envious.”

“Did you talk to her? Know why she’s here and not in Aztroa?”

Deidra shook her wet hair and tightened the hood of her cloak. In spite of it, her clothes were thoroughly soaked and mud stained, as if she’d laid on her belly to spy. “Wouldn’t dare get close enough for that. I’m not stupid enough to tangle with someone who rang Tallah’s bell twice. Not a fight I want without preparation.”

Mertle explained the plan. It wasn’t a terrible plan but still carried some risk. They would be in open country at some point, visible for leagues around. It would be harder to move undetected, especially if ahead. However they chose to do things, there was a risk of being seen.

But there was also the chance of being ignored. Adventurers travelled now that thaw had bloomed. Three people on the same road was nothing unexpected, even if one was as large as Tummy.

Deidra listened and nodded along. All she had to add was, “I checked to see if the other two are with them. Rumi Belli and her bodyguard. Seems like they’re not here, or not close enough that I could observe. Did you spy them?”

“No. Only the four.”

That, at least, was a blessing. Rumi Belli had been the bane of Mertle’s time playing Tianna. Someone that could effectively see the weave and who smelled of the wrong kind of blood—not her own. Either that one hadn’t been brought on this expedition, or the woman was somewhere farther out into the forest, scouting on her own.

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“We could backtrack,” Mertle said. “If they’re here, we could head to the iron road now. Follow that to Garet.”

“Or we could take the deeper paths,” Deidra said. “I’ve come this way before.” Her head swivelled as she looked about for guidance. Only the Finger was visible from the deep forest, a lone peak that market the edge of Bastra’s area of influence. “Right. If we head north-west from here, we should happen across the old miller’s road. It’s a mud path, but it’s still usable on foot. It would add days to our travel, but that way we’ll be in deep country while they trudge forward. The paths don’t really intersect unless they decide on heading towards Drak’s Perch.”

Mertle stifled a shiver at the mention of the prison. It was an infamous place even across the Divide, one where the empire locked away the worst of its enemies. Myth and legend hung draped across the place and, even in Valen, very little truth was confirmed of it. What with Mertle’s allegiance to one of the empire’s most wanted women, the prison wasn’t something she wanted to dwell on for any length of time.

“I say we do that,” Mertle concluded, following what she remembered of the maps. “We’re not in a hurry. Aztroa’s not waiting on us.”

“Aye. Luci expects us by mid-summer. Even with Quistis taking the scenic route, Luci’s going to set up our own network.” Deidra grinned. “We’ve our own contingencies planned for you, lady Tianna.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Tummy hefted his large pack onto his shoulders and shook it around until it settled properly. He wore his old clothes and armour, fitting him as snugly as they had back in Diolo. Leather armour dyed deep green hid him in the fresh, lush vegetation of early thaw. Once he moved, it was hard to keep track of him if not for the deep grooves his boots cut into the fresh mud.

“I could stick that big pack of yours in my rend,” Deidra said, hurrying to keep pace. “You don’t need to lug it around like some pack mule.”

Tummy wanted to say something but, instead, shook his head and kept quiet.

“You don’t trust me as far as you can throw me?” Deidra prodded sweetly.

“He can throw you quite far if he wants to,” Mertle said. “I think that’s the issue.”

Deidra laughed as she hurried to keep pace with the smith. Mertle brought up the rear. Of the two of them, Tummy was the better tracker and trekker. He’d been the one planning her escape routes while under Sarrinare’s employ and he’d been the scout. His skills in navigating any new place made hers seem childish by comparison.

She had the better ears, though.

“Something’s following us,” she said some time later as the drizzle thinned to nothing. “It’s tracking us.”

“Something?” Deidra asked. “Or someone?”

Mertle shrugged. “It’s an animal.” She listened more carefully now, instinctively walking in Tummy’s large footsteps. “Two now. Soon there will be three. It’s a pack forming.”

Deidra drew into a shadow and disappeared. Some heartbeats later, a squeal resounded from off to their left. Something growled and snapped, then whimpered. Then was silent. Neither Mertle nor Tummy drew their knives.

“Well, that was disappointing.” The sorceress reappeared several steps ahead, walking as if she hadn’t just gone off to kill a dray. “Three drays, all skin and bone. Been a lean winter for them.”

“Shouldn’t have killed them,” Mertle tutted. “They were only animals.”

“I haven’t. Just scared them off. Gave one a good kick in the nether regions. It’s a wonder how quickly that sort of thing cuts their appetite.”

The cloud cover began descending and they soon found themselves slowing down to trek through thick mist. It hung long drapes through the forest, clinging to trees and bushes, shifting at the slightest draft.

Tummy tried not disturb much in the way of foliage, though there was little he could do about his prints. For now, they advanced, angling towards the north and west. On the map they kept in Tummy pack there were shown several villages in this direction, but only one of them nestled within the woodlands. They would try and skirt past that one until they hit the miller’s road.

Chances were poor that anyone would trickle back into Bastra and then into Valen to talk of one elendine and one large human walking past there, but it paid to be sensibly paranoid.

“I don’t think you’ve scared them quite enough,” Mertle said some time later. “They’re back on our trail.”

Deidra clicked her tongue in annoyance. “I’ll kill one this time. Should be a better deterrent.”

“Don’t.” Tummy stopped and turned. “It’s a not a dray.” He drew his sword and scanned the thicket around. The mist had reduced their line of sight to near nothing. He drew up his goggles to his forehead and sniffed at the air.

Something large slithered through the underbrush, followed by a low, guttural growl. There was a hiss.

“Gold-tongue,” Mertle said. “Hunting this far from the mountain?” She drew her mundane dagger and held it in a reverse grip as she drew closer to Tummy’s back.

“Lean winter,” Tummy grumbled. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Deidra could, probably, kill it on her own. But gold-tongues had an uncanny ability to strike lightning fast, and with very little, if any, windup. For an up-close channeller such as a night weaver, that wouldn’t be an ideal situation.

The sorceress nestled herself between them. “I’m in your care, dears,” she said with mock fright. “Do be gentle.”

“I don’t like you,” Tummy rumbled.

Deidra blew him a kiss.

The gold-tongue burst out of the underbrush and skidded to a halt in an avalanche of half-rotted leaves and mud. Two pairs of red-rimmed, slitted eyes regarded them with a mixture of suspicion and wariness. It likely hadn’t expected to be faced. Drakes normally grabbed their prey in quick bursts and dragged it away before anyone could react.

This one had clearly planned similarly and was now staring at them in momentary confusion. Prey wasn’t supposed to stand its ground.

“We’re going to get some prime material this year,” Mertle said as the gold-tongue stared at them. It looked about as heavy as Tummy. The hide on it glistened wet, a lovely, vibrant green that sent her heart fluttering. “Can you fit one of these in your rend?” she asked Deidra.

“It’d stink by the time you butcher it.”

“Just the hide?”

“No. I like my rend pestilence-free, thank you.”

The animal drew a step back, head moving side to side like a snake’s, no longer confident.

It would be a shame to kill it if they couldn’t carry away its carcass. It hadn’t even grown into its horns yet. She could see the nubs of bone atop its ridged head, barely poking out. It would be a beautiful specimen if it managed to reach adulthood.

“Scare it off?” she asked as the animal’s tail swished in the air and knocked against a tree. “What are they afraid of?”

“Noise,” Tummy said. He hadn’t drawn his shield or else he could’ve clanged on it until the drake ran off.

Something grabbed hold of Mertle foot and yanked her hard backward. She fell face-first into the mud and leaves and found herself choking on the sludge as she got dragged back at frightening speed. She tried digging her fingers but found no purchase on the soft ground. Gripping a root nearly tore her arm off. The root ripped free instead.

She was lifted up and found herself sailing through the air. Her back cracked against a tree trunk and all air went out of her. Stars exploded in her view as she dropped back to the forest floor, gasping for breath. Lungs refused to obey, back too tightened up in pain.

Her fingers still gripped the hilt of her knife. Something grabbed her legs again and she sprung up, fear and adrenaline giving her fresh strength. The knife stabbed down and slid off a rock hard skull. Through the red haze of pain and mud in her eyes she could just make out the rows of razor-sharp spikes protruding out of this head.

The gold-tongue earlier had been a juvenile.

This was its mother. And the great lizard clamped down on Mertle’s foot with the strength of a vice.

It lifted Mertle painfully up into the air and swung sideways again. She raised her arms and protected her head as the drake swung her against another tree, intent on the kill. It was all Mertle could do to wrap herself into a tight ball and grip with numb fingers onto the monster’s horns.

It growled and squeezed harder on her legs. She felt her light trousers ripping, fangs digging into flesh.

She stabbed down again with the knife. It clanged off hard bone. Again. Something soft gave way under her thrust and the drake shook violently. It threw her aside to crash through thorny bushes. She still couldn’t breath. The world darkened around the edges as she came to a rest upside down, hair and clothing snagged on the hook-like thorns. She tried to call out but no sound came. All she managed was a pathetic whimper.

This was a stupid way to die! Caught unawares by a gold-tongue in a forest of all places? It was pure anger that had her kicking her feet and pulling on the bramble, digging herself in deeper. She couldn’t fight, but she’d kiss an aelir before she laid down to die in some bloody forest in the bloody arse crack of Vas. Breath returned as her chest heaved with the effort and Mertle drew in a great lungful of air. She sputtered and coughed but found fresh strength to crawl away.

The drake approached, snuffling at the air. Mertle saw it through the thick leaves of the bush under which she’d managed to hide. It was unreasonably large! Emerald green scales covered its muscular body, with a row of jagged bone ridges carving a path down its back.

A golden tongue flicked at the air as it swung its head sideways. She’d carved out an eye. The socket lay bleeding, but didn’t seem to slow the beast at all.

Her chest was tender and throbbed in urgent pain. She could breathe, but her gasps came shallower. Her vision didn’t clear of the encroaching dark.

It heard her. Or smelled blood. Its head snapped up and the remaining eyes all looked straight on Mertle hiding place. She cursed and tried to rise. Little strength obeyed her.

The drake charged.

A massive shape barrelled into it from the side and Mertle heart stopped for a moment.

Thank the great communion, Tummy. Nick of bloody time…

She made the effort to rise as the figure slammed a massive fist into the drake’s head. It snapped back as if it had been hit by a boulder.

Mertle tried to rise but nothing obeyed. It was too hard to breathe! She coughed up blood, trying to find her voice and call out.

Hands gripped her and raised her up. She couldn’t see who it was, just the white hands pulling her away.

Mertle stared at the white fingers pressed on her chest and distantly heard the words.

“I require this one be mended.”