Being stuck in Valen for the better part of a decade had dulled some of Falor’s old instincts while sharpening others. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit that he’d grown somewhat paranoid in the city. This was especially true after the Crepuscular invasion of his private chamber…

Even so, it was normal precaution—it wasn’t—to spread out a net of early warning whenever they rested. Every animal rutting about and every plant moved by the rain plucked at the strands of power and send a jolt of awareness up his back. It made him cranky with lack of sleep, but it was better than no warning at all.

I’m not being paranoid. He’d repeated it to himself enough times now that it came as wonderful relief when more than just normal forest life triggered his senses.

There were other travellers! They were nearby. And…

They’re keeping to themselves. I’m being ridiculous. One had climbed a tree and surveyed the general area. It was a good vantage point. Falor turned and looked at the peeking treetop, but could see no one in the crown. He was almost tempted to jolt the person just to signal mutual awareness, but thought better of it.

He wasn’t the only paranoid in the forest.

Barlo poured him a cup of coffee and grumbled something Falor couldn’t make out. He scalded his mouth and throat on the first sip and his attention was drawn away from the observer.

They would break camp and get some more distance today, now the rain was finally easing off. Quis had grumbled of her boots ever since leaving Valen, and it didn’t seem likely she would be any happier now.

They all sat around a small burner and waited for another mug of coffee to warm up.

Something triggered his senses and make him choke on his scalding drink. Violence! Sudden and bloody. In the direction of their earlier observers. They ran against something big and hungry it seemed.

He grabbed his hammer, whistled a short warning call, and took off in the direction of the clash. He couldn’t feel exactly what sort of creature it was that was attacking, but it was large and mean.

Barlo overtook him heartbeats later, crashing through the underbrush like a charging ox. He didn’t so much cross the forest as convince it to be somewhere out of his way. He cut right past Falor, disappeared into the thicket, and heartbeats later the angry, unmistakable roar of a gold-tongue reverberated through the air.

“Glory hog,” Falor spat through gritted teeth.

There were more. He skidded to a halt, slipping in the mud and nearly falling over. He grabbed Vial’s arm as the soldier appeared, and pointed him in a different direction.

“That way, go,” he urged. “There’s more fighting in that direction.” Two people, at least, and one more animal. He dropped the weave, its constant thrumming having turned into a distraction.

Quis joined him a heartbeat later. Barlo was fighting somewhere ahead. Falor felt his help would be quite wasted there if the vanadal wasn’t whistling for support. Instead he sent a pulse in the general direction of the fighting and received back a quick heartbeat.

“Give a woman some warning.” Quis also slipped in the mud. He caught her before she fell.

“Someone’s hurt,” he said without preamble. “Come on.”

And sure enough, there was Barlo, climbed astride one of the largest gold-tongue drakes Falor had ever seen outside of Aztroa Magnor’s mountain vastness. It was missing one eye and bleeding profusely from the wound. It was snarling and snapping angrily at the sudden weight atop its neck.

Barlo had mounted in across the head and was now busy driving the feral thing into a frenzy with blows to its thick skull. He’d yet to draw a sword but was, instead, pulling hard on the arm-thick bone spikes protruding out of its head, managing to get it to turn in place. It went into a tree-shattering roll but the vanadal held on grimly.

“In the bushes,” he called out as the drake came out of its roll and whipped its head about. It slammed into another tree trunk, Barlo having to move aside or be crushed. Rain water cascaded down from above. “There’s a girl in the bushes.”

Falor sent the pulse again and got a quicker location. They found the drake’s victim sprawled underneath a thorny thicket, face down in the mud, trying to crawl. It was a woman, wearing what looked like bloody light leather armour. He reached over and dragged her up to rest against a tree.

Quistis let out a soft gasp at the sight of her. She went immediately to work.

Falor let her to it and rushed to Barlo’s aid.

“It’s a mother,” Barlo said as the drake kept whipping him around even as he tried to drag its head to the side. “Got young. Why it hunts here. Bloody. Big.” The vanadal’s voice came in bursts that would have been comedic in another situation. The situation was quickly turning into a matter of life and death as the mother drake grew increasingly irate and destructive. It rolled around, smashed into trees, tried to claw at her head.

“Fine mount you chose there, Barlo,” Falor called. “Trying to break it?”

“It’s trying to break me,” the warrior argued, laughing all the while. “Lil’ help?”

Falor was already closing in. The drake, too maddened to notice him, kept at thrashing and rolling, swiping with its great talons.

Such a beautiful specimen. Such a shame to kill it for nothing.

Lightning coiled around his arms and descended to the hammer. Too much. He pulled back some of his strength as Barlo whistled.

The vanadal rode out the anger amid the gold-tongue’s horns. He dropped fully in a riding position just behind the drake’s head. His sudden drop pushed the head down and Barlo dug his heels into the ground and lifted the head by the horns. It was a moment of shock for the beast, to be staggered like this.

Falor swung the hammer and cracked it into the monster’s temple. He shattered one of its main black horns and sent it reeling to the side, head lolling, tongue flicking out.

It rumbled and let out a whimpered gasp as he spun the hammer again and hit it right between the eyes. He held back from a killing blow, instead sending a weak pulse of lightning into the monster’s wounds.

It dropped to the forest floor with a thud and a deep exhalation. Barlo unmounted and jumped aside.

“Best we got movin’ before it comes to its senses. ‘Less ya wanna kill’it?”

Falor didn’t want that, no. It was a beautiful animal hunting for food, and some travellers hadn’t been careful enough with their tramping about the forest. He wouldn’t kill it for the sport of it.

He retreated to where Quis was helping the woman to her feet.

“Is she alright?” he asked.

“She’ll be fine with a bloodberry tonic. Just got a bad knock. She’ll remember it.”

Barlo joined them and let out a soft harrumph. “Long way from Valen, elendine,” he said without preamble.

Falor’s eyebrow rose.

“Stow discussions for later. You two, find Vial and help him if need be. Regroup at camp.”

Quis’s eyes flashed for a moment between him and the girl.

“What? Didn’t the heal catch?”

“Ah, no. It… she’s fine.” Quis glanced at the elendine once more, then jogged after Barlo. Falor caught a tendril of doubt coming off her, but it was quickly snuffed out.

“Who… who are you?” the girl asked in a quiet voice, looking about at the rousing shape of the drake.

“Someone who’s helping. Come. It’ll be on its feet any moment now.” He took two steps back and beckoned to her.

Barlo had been right. This was an elendine. Blood red hair spilled out of her head covering in thick locks to frame a sweet, suspicious face. Her clothes were torn and, like her, covered in blood and mud but Barlo had recognised her. And so had Quistis.

“You are… miss Mergara, yes?” he asked dubiously as she looked ready to bolt the other way. “I don’t want to hurt you. My name is Falor. Please follow me. I really don’t want to kill that gold-tongue if I don’t need to, so I’d rather we move away. Our camp is nearby.”

Well, that did the opposite of what he’d hoped. Her eyes widened and she looked sharply to the side, fear pulsing off her as strong as a beacon. “My… my friend…” she muttered.

“My men are helping them. There’s no reason to be afraid. Please, come.”

The gold-tongue let out whine and it roused, head shaking off the blow. Falor had hit it hard enough that it failed the first time, legs jelly underneath it. It managed to half-rise only to fall on its side, hissing.

Finally, the elendine moved. She took a step forward Falor and he led her away down the trail Barlo had cut. Their camping spot was just a short jaunt away through the underbrush, thanks to the vanadal’s straight-line approach to navigation.

He heard the gold-tongue hiss and stomp away, trees creaking as it leaned against them. It wouldn’t bother them again.

The tents lay scattered about, half-way into the process of being stowed away when the commotion happened.

Nonetheless, he fished out a canteen of water from the sodden stash and handed it over to the quiet elendine. “Drink. You’ve lost blood. Quis will prep you a bloodberry once she’s back. You’re safe now.”

Fear still pulsed off the girl as she skittishly took the canteen from his hands. She surveyed the forest for a long time before drinking. He waited for her to finish but did not reach for the canteen. Was she in shock after the tussle with the drake? She must’ve been, since she nearly jumped out of her skin when the forest rustled again.

The man who walked in next to Barlo had Falor craning his neck to look up into his face. When the report had described the smith Toh’uhm as a human-looking demi of impressive height, this was not what he had assumed upon reading it. The smith was as massive as Barlo and about half-a-head taller. He rushed straight for the elendine and kneeled next to her, as if to a child.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

“Are you alright?” he asked in an urgent tone. There were deep gashes on his back, as if he’d also been ambushed and rolled through the mud. Quis tried to see to him, but he wasn’t paying her any mind.

“I’m fine, Tummy,” the elendine said quietly. “They… saved me.”

“Where’s the third?” Falor asked as Vial also joined them in the tight clearing.

He shook his head, then looked at the two travellers. “Didn’t see any third.”

“It’s just us,” the elendine said, perhaps a touch too quickly. “You said friends earlier, but it’s just me and Tummy.”

He frowned at that. He was certain he’d felt a third presence as well in the forest, as vital as anything. It had also been poking about their outside of their camp, but generally out of reach of his immediate senses. It could have been an animal scouting, I suppose.

His paranoia scoffed at the idea but he pushed it away. There was no reason to immediately suspect anything, so this got filed away for later consideration. Now that the crisis was over, he’d see about weaving his net again when they stopped farther on.

“Far from Valen, smith,” Barlo rumbled as he came to stand next to the couple.

That’s odd, part of Falor observed. She’s in charge. He’s waiting for instruction. Something was passing between the two, though he couldn’t immediately make it out in the subtle language of their gestures. It woke a particular memory in the back of his mind, one of his mother. He’d study it later.

“Thaw’s here,” the smith said. “We’re out for supplies.”

Barlo cracked a short bark of laugh at that. “Hunting yer own leather? And here th’ commander let tha’ biggun get away.”

It was the smith’s turn to smile. “Not the leather. We’re on our way t’ Garet. Need good steel.”

“Iron road’s safer than the forest,” Falor said.

Quis was being uncharacteristically quiet about the whole thing. That set him on guard. Whenever she got suspicious of something, it was generally for good reason.

“Drink this,” she handed a bloodberry to the elendine. “Follow up with water. It’ll make you thirsty for a day or so. Drink whenever you feel the need to.”

“Safer, but crowded in thaw,” the smith answered, pulling himself up to his full height. “Lots of people travelling now th’ passes are open. Wouldn’t be a problem to the Storm Guard, though.”

Falor heard the unspoken ‘Why are you out here?’ question and decided not to answer. He couldn’t fault the two their suspicion, given the mess they’d been subjected to in Valen. He recalled more details from Quis’s reports.

How would this look from their point of view?

Travelling through the back roads only to find themselves in the company of the people who had taken the elendine from her home, marched her past some very suggestive gallows, and then interviewed her relentlessly for an entire night. Only to then send her home with a soldier on her back. Who then nearly died on their doorstep.

Oh, and we’ve drugged her with summer wasp venom. Wonder if she ever figured that one out.

If it were him, he’d also be wary of this meeting. And it didn’t help that, in spite of saving her life, the elendine regarded him with as much distrust as he’d ever seen from someone.

“Alright,” he said finally. “May I suggest we start this conversation over?” He turned to the elendine and approached, pulling off his gloves and offering his hand. “I am Commander Falor Merchal of the Storm Guard, Primary Division. And I,” he cast a glare at Barlo and Quistis, “feel I owe you an apology, Mertle Mergara. What my men did in Valen was inexcusable in spite of our suspicions at the time. I can only apologise on their behalf.”

The elendine stared up at him and, reluctantly, took his hand. “Apology accepted, Commander Falor.” She held his hand for a long time and looked him dead in the eye. “My Sil is not who your men said she is. If you want to apologise, promise me you won’t hurt her if you find her.”

Ah. This. Cinder’s was this elendine’s lover. On physical contact he normally had a better understanding of the person’s state of mind. He’d expected fear and suspicion out of the elendine. What burned in her was a fierce determination that took him by surprise. She wasn’t afraid of him, but wary of his actions. He got a flash of a complicated lattice of instinct and preparation that rebuffed any other prodding.

He sighed and let go of her hand. “I cannot and will not make a promise I may be forced not to keep in the future. I will not lie for convenience’s sake.”

She glowered at him but relented soon after, turning the glare onto Quis instead. “She did promise she’ll get me news. At least that, I assume, wasn’t a lie.” The tone was absolutely venomous.

Quis looked at him pleadingly. Now, the air of the conversation began to clear for him.

“Alright, alright, that is neither here nor now. I’m certain we will cross paths with Cinder in the future and things will run their course. I can only hope your… Sil will choose to do the right thing.”

“Agreed,” the smith rumbled. He poked Mertle in the shoulder. “This is rude. They may have saved your life.”

“I would’ve been fine,” she answered petulantly.

“Not likely,” Barlo said as he took to dismantling and packing his large tent. Vial, unusually quiet as well, went to help.

Mertle poked her tongue out at their back.

Quis came to stand next to Falor and looked at the two. “Well, since we’re all travelling pretty much in the same direction, may I suggest you join us?”

“You’re heading to Garet?” the smith asked.

“No, but we will pass by it. Our goal’s farther out.”

“Aztroa then?”

Quis shook her head. “No. But you are welcome to accompany us to Garet. Safety in numbers.” She added a smile and went on, meeting Mertle’s gaze. “Not that I’m not certain you would manage perfectly fine on your own.”

Mertle and the smith—Toh’Uhm… how did one pronounce that?—shared a look and nodded to one another. Falor remembered Barlo speaking of sharing drinks with the man. Not many could drink with Barlo and come back for more.

“If I may ask,” he said. “How do I pronounce your name, smith?”

“Don’t try to,” he answered with a rumbling chuckle. “I’m Tummy. Thank you for your help, Commander Falor. It was about to get ugly.”

They shook hands and again he was struck by the kind of determination he felt flowing off the man. The direction of it was a fuzzy thing that Falor couldn’t distinguish in the carefully guarded feelings, but it seemed to be focused on Mertle. Barlo’s earlier estimate of the two—that they were an aelir’matar’s runaway thralls—seemed quite possible. Even at a glance he could notice Tummy’s ears had been rounded with a blade at some point, the wounds left to heal on their own. At once a mark of shame, and of ownership.

“Right then. We’re aiming for the old miller’s road,” he said as the other two finished striking down the camp. He opened a rend and they carried supplies inside. “You can stow your supplies with ours if you’d like to travel lighter.”

Tummy shook his head as he hefted the large backpack and handed Mertle hers. They were both muddy head to toe, but it was beginning to drizzle again. They’d be cleaner in a short while.

“It was our plan too,” Mertle said. “Heard it’s safer than these back roads.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Quis said. “We’ve had plenty of reports coming in over the seasons of banditry in the area. We were about to test some of those rumours and see if we can’t curb the issue while it’s in our way.”

“Just the four of you?”

“Just the Commander if he sets his mind to it. We’re just going to make sure he leaves someone alive so we can gather more intel.”

“You make me sound like a monster, Quis,” Falor protested. “I am perfectly reasonable to men who surrender.”

“And to those who don’t?” Mertle asked, a raised eyebrow needling his answer.

“Then I am pretty much what Quis describes, yes.”

There was no point in pretending silk gloves. The elendine had been marched right past the executions he had ordered, and that woman had screamed herself hoarse above the Agora for several days on end. Granted, that had been Rumi’s doing, but he’d signed off on it.

He shook his head to the look of horrified fascination on Mertle’s face. “Anyway, you are welcome to travel with us for now. We can part ways in Garet.”

A final pulse of power across the forest floor before they set out. There was, again, that answer, as if someone was nearby but not quite. Cinder had taught him to trust his gut if instinct warned him of anything suspicious. But he hadn’t sensed anything from either of the two, and this response was just barely there, like a shadow.

Part of him wished it was, indeed, a shadow. Or, more precisely, a particular Crepuscular that had eluded him in Valen.

The woman would either be stupid or insane to follow him.

He reeled in the power, hefted his hammer onto his shoulder, and they set out among the trees. It had grown warmer but the skies remained a milky white above, the mist hanging thick between the trees. They would all remain sodden and miserable for a while longer.

“Permission to sing a tune, Commander?” Vial called from the back of the line.

“Denied,” both he and Quis answered. They had accepted once and both had sworn never to repeat that mistake ever again.

“Permission to hum a tune?” the soldier asked more hopeful.

“Suit yourself, Vial. If you draw some gold-tongue to you, we’re letting it keep you,” Falor said, concealing a smile.

“I could do with some new armour. Is drake hide good for armour, lady elendine?”

They were marching with Barlo as their vegetation breaker, leading the column. Falor walked together with Quis behind the vanadal, and at their back came Tummy and Mertle. Vial was the last in line.

“Drake hide needs a long time to cure,” the elendine said. “It can be made into great armour if you invest the time to prepare it properly, but many of the trappers in Valen just destroy the best parts. It’s a shame, really.”

“Fancy that. Can I get the claws onto a pair of gloves? Would be wicked.”

Mertle laughed. It was a pleasant sound. “I did that once. Was a commission. Resulted in an absolutely crap pair of gloves and a wasted tenday for myself.”

Tummy rumbled a laugh next to her. “Spent days drilling holes in those claws so she’d sew them onto the gloves. They ripped the fingers right off the first time we tested it. Waste of time.”

“Tummy can make you some great daggers out of drake claws, if you want,” Mertle went on, growing excited as she spoke. “He once made me a bone dagger that weighed a quarter of what my steel ones do. I could throw it across the Agora and hit the apple atop the Gooseberry.”

Falor took all in all they said and his mind raced, an inkling of suspicion needling at him. He really had no right to pry into their lives, especially given everything else that had happened after the Descent, but he had to ask.

“Why did you leave Nen?”

They both clamped up with a silence that chilled the air. He almost felt it on the back of his neck, hairs standing on end. It passed almost as quick as it had come and Mertle was first to answer, “We owed money. They wanted to collect. In… particular fashion.” The last words were poisonous on her tongue. “We stowed away on a ship and crossed the Divide. We are not going back.”

He sighed and turned to her. What was the gesture for apology in elend culture? It had been a long time since his lessons in Aztroa. He touched the index and middle fingers of his right hand to his lips, then to his right temple. I have spoken poorly and will remember my error.

Mertle stared at him and nodded slowly. She answered in kind, same fingers to the temple, then hand raised and finger splayed out. Your words will not weigh on me. “I wasn’t aware you knew our custom,” she said afterwards, smiling in what Falor hoped was genuine fashion.

“Well… it pays to learn of everyone that’s come to live in the Empire. I did not mean to pry or riffle any unpleasant memories. Curiosity got the better of me.”

This had been the first true lie Mertle had spoken to him. He’d felt it on the air. Not the falseness of the words, but the fabricated conviction behinds them. Earlier, she’d been truthful in as much as his poorly-practices sense reading could determine, but that could be faked by someone with the right training.

This had a different taste to the words, a different shape of the belief. It was something grown and practised for a long, long time.

Mertle had expertly demonstrated what his mother had spent half of his life teaching him to recognise.

Barlo’s intuition had been nearly right. They were runaways from the aelir Dominion, but they weren’t thralls. Without having served the aelir, he couldn’t even know the likes of them even existed. You’d need to have been trained as one, or taught to recognise the signs by someone like his mother.

What they’d just welcomed in their midst were an aelir’matar’s assassins. Either they had gone rogue, or they were embedded sleeper agents, it made little difference to him. Falor was decided the two would not leave his sight again.