There’s nothing like a good hunt to make the blood rush. Avalon smelled the rancid fear that hung in the air as he loped through the forest. The spirits within the trees urged him onward, telling him when his quarry changed directions or hid himself in the brushes. Hippolytus followed behind as he carried Morgan’s longsword in his mouth, slowing when he approached too close to Avalon. The white stag snorted and stomped his hooves into the ground, eager to finish the hunt.
The prey crashed through foliage, wheezing hard for breath as he clambered to his feet. A raven squawked overhead and flapped his wings as he spoke, “Hey, he’s gonna get away. What’re you doing?” Avalon ignored him, there was no risk that his prey would escape.
The longer the pursuit lasted, the more exhausted his prey became. There were no roads or clear paths for a human to flee through. Meanwhile, Avalon remained energized by the forest and entirely at home among the trees. Before long, the pursuit ended when Avalon’s prey slumped against a tree.
“P-Please, mercy.” The man rasped.
Avalon couldn’t help but laugh, the wild magic of the northern forest sharpened his senses. His body had grown stronger since he first awakened as Aurora, bringing him closer to the greatness he once possessed. He could see the man’s arm tense as he controlled his breath, the focus in his eyes as he made a show of his exhaustion. Avalon side-stepped the burst of magical fire thrown his way, his prey’s final act of desperation.
“Good hunt, you were acceptable sport.” Avalon said.
With two swift strikes of his spear, he pierced his prey through the chest and severed his head. Roots reached up from the ground and pulled the man’s body into the ground, but Avalon claimed the head for himself. It was the prize he needed to collect his prey’s bounty from the adventurer’s guild. A branch descended and offered Avalon another fruit for the sacrifice of flesh, as succulent as the fruit he received for Sparrow.
The raven from earlier, who followed Avalon’s pursuit since it began, squawked for something shiny. Avalon collected the trinkets left on the ground, pushed back to the surface by the forest’s will. He jingled brass and silver coins in a worn pouch, off-white cloth stained by blood, but the raven wanted the gold ring. Which the man had worn on his pinky finger.
Avalon tossed it into the air, for the raven to catch it between his beak. The blood-red ruby on the ring glimmered as the raven flapped his wings, overjoyed, and flew away. A black feather drifted toward the ground and the smell of death wafted through the air. As to be expected from a carrion eater like a raven.
But better a raven than a Sparrow. He thought.
I am certain that most humans would consider that ring valuable. Was it wise to let the raven take it? It could have been traded for more of their currency.
I am not human, there was no harm in allowing the raven to claim the ring.
Riding on Hippolytus, as he had grown accustomed, Avalon returned to the Longfirth and made his way to the adventurer’s Guildhall. The receptionists wrinkled their noses at him and Adventurers chattered in his direction as he walked in. The latter disgusted, the former approving. For Morgan, who returned to his physical form during the journey back to Longfirth, it was the opposite. The receptionists were eager to catch his attention, despite Avalon, but the adventurers were wary of the spirit.
When Avalon tossed the severed head of his prey onto the counter in front of a receptionist, she jumped back in fright as adventurers laughed. A different receptionist thanked him for his good service and informed him that the guildmaster had his reward ready as she removed the head from the counter. Morgan returned to Hippolytus’ side as Avalon climbed the stairs to the second floor.
Passing through the barrier of the guildmaster’s private office sent a chill up Avalon’s spine, but it left his spear unaffected despite its magic. Eugenia looked up from the book she was flipping through and set it aside as she spoke, “Aurora, you’ve returned earlier than expected. How did the hunt go?”
“The hunt was almost too easy, but it was nice to be among the trees.” It was the first time Avalon was alone with the guildmaster. The woman was as friendly as she had been, but that didn’t mean she could be trusted. “I was told you’d have my reward.”
“How did you track him? All reports say he was a crafty foe.” Eugenia opened a drawer and rummaged through its contents, making a show of the action as she prolonged her end of the conversation.
“A man is like any other beast.” Avalon said simply and Eugenia chuckled.
“Men, eh? There are other bounties if you’d like, more bandits. An entire group of them rated Class E for difficulty.”
“Class E? But my recent prey was rated Class D. How can a single bandit possess a difficulty rating higher than a group of them?”
“He was an adventurer with combat experience and some skill with magic. These other bandits are village ruffians. Extra farmhands turned to crime.”
“Farmers.” Avalon had met farmers visiting Longfirth, while he traveled through the market quarter with Morgan. They were closer to artisans, who created things with their hands, than adventurers or soldiers, who were trained for combat.
“Bandits.” Eugenia said, as if correcting him. “But they’ll be easy pickings. You can capture them alive, if you wish, and sell them into slavery. Add the profit on top of their bounty.”
“I have no interest in fighting farmers, I want stronger prey!” Avalon twirled his spear from hand to hand as he spoke.
Eugenia nodded as she watched him appraisingly. “We have other bounties, monsters in the North. However, you will not be allowed to bring them south, and you’ll have to kill them. The bounties are for their corpses, so they can be harvested. That stag of yours, Hippolytus, was an exception.”
“I want stronger, human prey.” Avalon had no interest in rendering aid to Man as they despoiled Morgan’s home. The spirit himself was indifferent to defending his home, but that didn’t mean Avalon had to be. Regardless if the Evergreen had roots there or not. “Are there any bounties on stronger adventurers?”
“The next lowest bounty has a Class B rating. The gulf between Class D and Class C is wide enough.” Eugenia shook her head. “That master of arms your father employs might’ve been equal to a Class B adventurer, when he was a much younger man.”
“Do you mean Gunnar? He’s strong, but not much stronger than Class C.”
“He was notorious back in the day, before your grandfather civilized him. I doubt you’ve seen that side of him. Class C adventurers are what most people imagine. Brave and strong, physically or magically. Sometimes both. Class B adventurers are the proper veterans or the prodigies.”
“And Class A?”
“We have very few of those, two digits, some thirty-something throughout the entire kingdom. You’ll know when you see one.” The air around Eugenia surged with magical energy, thick enough to choke on. Avalon leapt backwards, but the surge ended as soon as his feet hit the floor. A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead as Morgan burst into the room with his sword drawn, but Eugenia just laughed at the blade pointed at her face.
“You are a Class A adventurer.” Avalon stated and placed a hand on Morgan’s blade, lowering it away from the guildmaster’s face.
“I was, but now I’m just out of practice. On the higher end of Class B, maybe, but B is not A.” Eugenia watched Morgan closely, the quiet sentinel beside Avalon, but the guildmaster remained unworried. “If you, Morgan, and your stag teamed up with the Fist of Ursmark, Daggert and those other young adventurers, I might allow you to hunt one of the weaker Class B bounties. It would be a good opportunity for growth.”
North or South? Morgan said through their link.
“North or South?” Avalon repeated.
“Pardon?” Eugenia raised a brow, rubbed at her chin. “Ah, the bounty is south. Will that be a problem?”
Avalon wasn’t sure if it would be, but that was a problem of its own. There was no reason to venture south until the beginning of the Academy’s next semester, when he would be able to formally enroll as a student with the hope of gaining access to the Royal Dungeon. There were few reasons for him to visit Longfirth as there were.
After being banished from Harold’s household, Avalon found his shelter in the North where he could rely on the forest’s magic to keep him strong. Longfirth was useful as far as its Guildhall was, directing him to promising foes with its bounty-hunting contracts. If there were no human foes he could test himself against, he might be forced to consider hunting the supposed monsters of the forest.
“I will think on the offer.” Avalon collected his reward, a handful of silver coins. Not nearly the treasure that Harold afforded to him.
“I’ll be here when you’re ready.” Eugenia said, expectant of some inevitable outcome.
It made Avalon more uneasy than Sparrow’s stench. She intended to bait him into some action or decision, he was certain of that much, but her human purpose for him was something he was unfamiliar with. Perhaps she intended to sell him, as Harold did, but Avalon wouldn’t go quietly. No matter how strong the guildmaster might be.
Avalon returned to the northern forests, feeling his anxiety fade as the magic connecting him to the forest grew stronger. Morgan retrieved the coin pouch hanging from Avalon’s belt and emptied its contents into his own sword. Whatever magic contained his spirit within the sword, Morgan repurposed it to also house shiny human trinkets.
If Morgan could store the forest’s power in the blade as well, to act as a wellspring away from the forest, it would make traveling away from the forest safer. There were expensive trinkets in Longfirth that did something similar, in stores that catered exclusively to licensed mages. As a second reserve of magic, it would raise the limit of magic at his disposal.
Even if he possessed the licenses the store clerks spoke of, to purchase their goods, he didn’t possess the trinkets of gold and silver they demanded. The wind blew through his hair and a leaf fell from a matted clump. During his earlier pursuit, his hair must have dragged through a patch of wet dirt. “Perhaps it’s time for a bath. Shall we go to the river, Hippolytus?” He asked and brushed a hand through the white stag’s fur, along his broad neck.
Hippolytus shook his head with a snort and dropped to the ground. He rolled back and forth on tall grass, staining his fur with a dull green. The stag’s tantrum was unbecoming, but Avalon wasn’t in the mood to bathe in the river either. He lifted the matted hair from his chest and tossed it over his shoulder, out of sight and out of mind. It would be enough for now.
A raven squawked as he descended onto one of Hippolytus’ antlers.
“You’re the raven from earlier.” Avalon said. “I have no more gifts for you.”
“I bring a gift of my own. Squawk! Follow me to old human ruins. There is treasure. Hidden, buried!"
It was obvious that the raven wanted some of that treasure for himself. “What, can’t you get to it yourself?”
“No!” The raven tilted his head. “Share?”
Avalon scoffed and climbed onto Hippolytus’ back. “Very well, lead the way.” He could appreciate the raven’s honesty, if only Eugenia could be as open with what she wanted.
The raven led Avalon to the northern river that officially marked the end of Man’s world on their maps, the Donau River. He considered taking a plunge into its deep waters, but the raven was impatient. Hippolytus was forced to travel along the river to find somewhere to cross safely, or risk drowning while swimming across the river’s wide span, and the raven flew ahead to find a crossing himself.
“Forest, dangerous! Warriors!” He called out. “Follow!”
There was little worry for Avalon in the forest, but he spurred Hippolytus forward. The white stag kept pace, darting through the thick forest beyond the river. The raven flew overhead and brought them to stone ruins entirely overgrown with foliage. The bird circled through the air and descended to a field of broken stones.
What is this place? Avalon wondered.
Morgan knelt to sniff at a clump of flowers. The raven has led us to a graveyard, where humans bury their dead. Those rocks are gravestones to name those buried here, but this place has not seen human habitation for over a century. Though, there is someone here. I feel them.
There were a few spirits in the young trees that encroached towards the graveyard and they spoke of a brief battle between humans and creatures called goblins. They were almost like humans, but shorter and greener, or so the spirits claimed. The wooden roof of what used to be the shrine had been set aflame while the humans were chased back to the south, leaving behind only stone. Or the corpses buried in their graves.
Avalon frowned. “Raven! I did not come here to unearth the dead!” His voice echoed through the graveyard and an elderly man in dark robes scrambled from a shallow hole in the ground, behind a cluster of stones. The man’s eyes were wide when he saw the party that the raven brought before him.
The bird stood on a gravestone and squawked, “Master, I bring help.”
Master? Avalon brought his steed forward, to look down on the elderly man.
Impossibly thin and withered by the years, he was almost too fragile to be left by himself. If not for the strong magic in his body, empowering what little strength was left to him, Avalon doubted the elderly man could stay upright. What was such an elder doing so far from the South? The raven must have intended to find help for his ailing master, a small kindness from a loyal servant.
“What are you doing in this place? There are many dangers in the forest.” Avalon asked and the elderly man eyed his spear. He tightened his grip on the shaft, sensing something suspicious. “Dangers, such as myself.”
The elderly man startled at the words and backed away, but the raven squawked. “No! Friends!”
Morgan stepped forward with a hand raised. “We mean you no harm, elder. The raven guided us to this graveyard with the promise of treasure.” He said and introduced the party, with Avalon the first among them.
“My… My peers know me as Corviano. It’s nice to meet you, adventurers.” The elder rubbed his hands together to remove as much dirt as he was able and reached out to Morgan, but Morgan stared at the hand until Corviano pulled it back. “Are you truly here to help me with my task?”
“What is your task exactly?” Avalon said and eyed a nearby wagon, skeletons stacked inside. Their bones were stained by dirt and age. Cloaked figures were silent in front of the wagon, where horses might’ve stood. As if they were meant to pull the wagon themselves.
“I’m here to liberate the dead from this abandoned graveyard. They are in need of a good home, not stuck in these graves and left to turn into dust. If my familiar promised you treasure, you can keep any gold or silver we find. Any iron will be mine, however. Are those terms acceptable?”
“Avalon climbed from Hippolytus and stuck his spear into the ground. “Yes, I accept your terms.”
“We can take turns using the shovel.” Corviano said as scratched the raven’s head, pleased with his familiar for bringing him help.
“It’ll be faster if we work all at once.” Avalon tried to call for the forest’s roots to unearth the skeletons in their graves, but the forest had no interest in the arrangement. This forced him to bend low and claw at a grave with his bare hands.
“I’m not in a rush.” Corviano called out as he shoveled the half-open grave he was standing in. “With all of our efforts, we should be finished well before dusk falls upon us. Enough time for you three to return south.”
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
“We do not intend on returning south, so we have to find somewhere safe to make camp. There are too many wolves for Hippolytus to rest easy.”
“Hippolytus?” Corviano cast a glance at Morgan. “An adventurer such as yourself is afraid of mere wolves?”
“Wolves are cunning and dangerous. They will exploit a weakness when they can find one.” Morgan said.
Avalon directed Corviano’s attention away from the spirit. “Hippolytus, the white stag. He is strong, but wolves insist on interrupting his sleep. It is their sense of humor.”
“Wolves with humor?” Corviano chuckled.
A hush fell over the graveyard as everyone focused on their work. Morgan’s hands were larger than Avalon’s, so he opened his graves faster. After the first few graves, Avalon realized he could turn wood from the surrounding forest into shovels. With a sacrifice of magic from his own body, the trees gifted him wood that could bend to his magic. Like the wood that formed the shaft of his spear, which calcified into form.
“Nature mage?” Corviano muttered. “If only you had been an Earth mage, but this is good too.”
With the new shovels, Avalon and Morgan combed through the graveyard until every desiccated corpse in the graveyard was stacked into Corviano’s wagon. There wasn’t an especially large treasure of gold, however. Most were silver or less valuable metals, such as copper, which Avalon claimed. Corviano had enough iron for himself. Each grave had a rusted sword more often than not, as well as clothing made of iron rings, something Corviano referred to as byrnies or hauberks. Whatever they were called, Avalon couldn’t help but feel he had wasted his time.
Many of these skeletons once belonged to warriors. Adventurers, perhaps. Corviano said.
The swords were stacked into the wagon and Corviano was almost regretful. With his chore for the day finished earlier than expected, he intended to return home to continue his work. Avalon didn’t care for what the elder intended with the skeletons, but Corviano gave Avalon some information before he left. Somewhere Hippolytus might be safe while he slept.
“There is an old keep further east, along the coast. The village around it burned down long ago, but the keep is mostly intact. And goblins don’t tend to wander that far east. If you need somewhere to sleep tonight, that ought to be the safest place.” He said and whipped the cloaked figures at the front of his wagon. The wagon rumbled into motion and the raven perched on the elder’s shoulder, squawking his goodbyes.
Avalon could’ve sworn that the whip glowed a sickly green. Not the green of the forest, but the green of pestilence. As the cloaked figures pulled Corviano and his wagon from the graveyard, their long cloaks waved through the air to reveal the bones of their skeletal feet. Shambling forward in unison, they clattered with every step. Corviano called out when his wagon rolled onto a path north of the graveyard. “If anybody asks, I was never here! I’ll do the same for you!”
Those were skeletons pulling his wagon, were they not? Avalon wondered.
They were the undead, yes. Reanimated corpses, like puppets with magical strings. Morgan answered. Some humans consider it forbidden.
Fascinating. Avalon had seen such puppets from travelling dwarves, but theirs were made of metal, not bone. To think humans had something similar, it was almost impressive.
After dumping his new trinkets into Morgan’s sword, Avalon returned the wood he received back into the forest. Once the magic that formed them into shape dissipated into the forest’s roots, he traveled further north to continue exploring. Eugenia had warned him to stay away from the Dohnu, for all the dangers that lurked along its banks, but Avalon was beyond it now. It was his opportunity to study the wild bounties the guildmaster intended to have him kill. A sudden chill blew through the forest and Avalon felt the energy of the forest change as he ventured further north.
The formless spirits residing within the trees were restless, wary of Avalon, unable to reconcile a kindred spirit from his vessel of human flesh. They were calmed only by Hippolytus and Morgan’s presence. While the forest viewed him with suspicion, Avalon could respect that these spirits were mistrustful of the humans. The way Morgan should’ve been.
Hippolytus hopped over a tangle of vines, but almost tripped into the ground. He recovered before he could fall head first into the mud, but he charged a tree and tore into its surface with an angry growl. “Calm, Hippolytus.” Avalon commanded, but it did little to dissipate the white stag’s anger. Did a spirit trip him?
Yes. I almost missed the act, but one of the vines reached up to tangle around one of Hippolytus’ rear hooves. I recommend we leave, these spirits are unwelcoming.
What is causing the spirits to behave this way? They are unnaturally aggressive.
I believe it’s the poison this forest’s roots are drinking.
Avalon climbed from Hippolytus’ back and ran ahead of the party. The poison Morgan spoke of grew thicker in the air, coinciding with the direction of the wild bounty in the area. The sound of slithering echoed through the air, like a snake in tall grass, but far louder than it should’ve been.
Hippolytus hacked out a glob of dark phlegm. Poison hung in the air like a miasma and the stag whimpered his discomfort, but he would survive. Avalon felt a tepid burn in his lungs, not enough to turn away, but the forest around them was slowly dying.
Closer to the bounty, there was more death. The number of flora thinned until they were gone entirely. The remains of dead trees stood alone, dead or close to it, and the spirits that once inhabited them had abandoned them long ago. They were pushed out, as the humans were.
On the edge of a glade, where trees were torn down and crushed into splinters, there was only dark earth. Not a single blade of grass could grow in the layer of fog that settled on the ground, pooling into small pockets of sickly green. The poison burned harsher in Avalon’s lungs now, but he could feel the magic in the air now.
The glade was a flat stretch of ground, almost circular, and at its center was a giant snake. Taller and wider than a human could be tall, its long body coiled around its body as it slept. It blew its poison into the air with every breath, to be carried further into the surrounding forest with every gust of wind. This Class B bounty was truly a monster.
Avalon tightened his grip around his spear. “The damage it’s doing to the forest. We can’t leave it be, it has to die.” Hippolytus kicked up dirt and lightning crackled between his antlers.
Does she? She’s just a basilisk. An inhabitant of the forest, same as us. Morgan said. Termites do harm to the trees as well, must we kill them as well?
Termites eat wood to sustain themselves, but this basilisk breathes poison into the very air. The basilisk stirred awake, sensing the magic dancing between Hippolytus’ antlers. As the basilisk slithered, moving itself to face the threat, Avalon saw a clutch of eggs underneath its body.
She is nesting, this is where her children will hatch.
More of its kind? The very idea is disgusting.
It’s the natural cycle of things. She will die and her children will scatter away to make nests of their own, but the magic here will fade and the forest will reclaim this land.
Avalon was unconvinced, but couldn’t bring himself to attack. As Hippolytus defended his glade, the basilisk would defend her nest. As well as her children. And though she poisoned the forest with her very presence, it was her instincts that moved her. Not thoughtless malice.
There were bones scattered through the glade, skeletons of both humans and creatures of the forest alike. She was like a wolf, preying on those living and carving her mark on the forest wherever she roamed, but doing nothing more than to live. In a way, she was like Avalon when he had been a centaur. He couldn’t fault her any more than he could fault himself.
“Hippolytus, away from this place.” Avalon steered the stag southward and the basilisk made no move to follow.
Moving toward cleaner air was a relief on his lungs, but Avalon couldn’t help but feel dirty. He was in no mood to keep exploring the forest, so he traveled straight east until he reached the coast. The dark blue of the sea, which humans called the Speris, was rippled with white sea foam. The water almost glittered in the sunlight, but dusk was approaching.
Unlike Avalon, Hippolytus couldn’t use his magic to stay awake. The stag swayed as he walked along the coast, more accustomed to waking in the early dawn than staying awake into the night. Avalon led him along the coast to find the keep that Corviano spoke of, until he found it on a cliff overlooking the sea.
The keep was smaller than the one Harold lived in, closer in size and shape to the towers embedded into the curtain walls that formed the outer shell of his castle. There were patches of stone around the keep, where a human village might’ve stood, but the keep itself was mostly intact. Avalon inspected the keep’s moldy doors. The doorway was too small for a stag with tall antlers to pass through.
The stables in Longfirth had the same problem. Nothing was built with Hippolytus in mind and the stag could find no shelter outside of the forest. But the air was clear, there would be no rain. As long as it remained safe through the night, it was a good place to camp.
Hippolytus rested in the tower’s shade. One of his antlers dug into the dirt as he laid on his side, but the stag was fast to fall asleep. Morgan stood on the keep’s flat roof, its battlement, to watch their surroundings. The view it provided his eyes extended further than the extent his magic could feel.
Avalon walked to the coast and tasted the salty waters of the Donau, before spitting it back into the sea. He stripped naked, setting his clothes and boots onto the sand beside his spear, and plunged himself into the ocean. The water was warm as he floated along the shallows, rubbing away the dirt and sweat that clung to his skin and hair.
At the castle, there were servants to help him clean himself, the same help he had when he was a centaur, but his new human body was easy to clean. When a centaur bathed, they needed help to clean their rear haunches. It’s why they groomed themselves communally, it made the most sense if they wanted to clean themselves thoroughly.
In contrast, a human didn’t require help to clean themselves to the same extent. It made him wonder why Harold tasked his servants to help his offspring bathe. There must’ve been better uses for their time, such as guarding the walls or patrolling the streets. It was one of those things that Avalon couldn’t understand.
Some humans were soldiers, others were servants, but those weren’t the only divisions in human society. There were people who dedicated their time to something they called professions. They stayed within those confines as best as they could, but centaurs and other spirits could perform different tasks as needed. The Keeper of the Sacred Tree, Leifey, was a notable exception, but only in her role as Keeper.
Morgan called out through the link they shared. Half a dozen riders approaching, bearing the colors of Lord Longfirth.
Avalon shook himself free of as much water as he could and pulled his clothes over his head, the long fabric of the dress reaching to below his knees. It was still torn from his fight with Hippolytus, but it made riding on the stag’s back easier. And it was the only piece of clothing left in his possession, Harold’s soldiers would have to overlook any lack of propriety on his part.
Eugenia had offered him some clothes before he left for the north, but Avalon refused the gift to avoid becoming indebted to the guildmaster. Their relationship was purely give and take, he wasn’t so foolish as to trust her. She was the master of adventurers in Longfirth and not all of those were as well-behaved as the Fist of Ursmark, if the guild’s contracts to take heads were any indication. He had to be wary of her, she was just another Harold after all.
Avalon greeted the approaching soldiers with his spear ready. Morgan and Hippolytus were standing back, but ready for a fight. Gunnar was at the head of his party and ordered a halt. He climbed from his horse and approached alone while his soldiers waited, their suspicious eyes on Morgan.
Gunnar looked Avalon up and down, frowning the more he saw. “What are you doing out here? We’re beyond the Donau, there are goblins on this side of the river. And why are you wet? Where are your boots?”
“I was bathing in the sea, after a day of adventuring, when Morgan alerted me to your party. There was no time to tie up my boots, so I left them by the water. Why are you here?”
The old warrior scratched at his beard and struggled to find his words. “I was- I wanted to see if you were staying safe.”
“Was that all? I have Morgan and Hippolytus to fight by my side.”
“Was that all.” Gunnar’s face twisted as he repeated the words. “Look at yourself, torn clothes and barefoot! With nobody but some vagabond and a wild animal to keep you company! Is this really worth throwing everything away?” Gunnar gestured to the keep. “You were living in a real castle, with servants. Now this man has you sleeping in RUINS.”
Avalon frowned at the implication. “I am the one who chose this location. Morgan serves me, not the other way around.”
“A grown man in service to a young girl cast out from her home. I heard from the guildmaster that you collected a bounty, where did the money go?”
“Morgan keeps it safe for me.”
Gunnar opened his mouth to pop the joints in his mouth, moving his jaw side to side. “He keeps it for you. And what about the gold your father gave you, does he keep that for you as well?”
“It’s in my sword, would you like to see?” Morgan called out and Gunnar pulled his own sword free, the blade singing with the motion.
“I would.” Gunnar stepped off to the side, distancing himself from Avalon, and Morgan approached. “Come on then, show me.”
Morgan pulled his sword free and Gunnar charged to bring down his sword against Morgan’s shoulder, but Morgan parried the blow and jumped back. Hippolytus strode away to give him room to fight. He’s stronger than I expected.
Avalon recalled his sparring match with Gunnar. He’s not that strong. He may be big, but he’s just another human.
Morgan advanced and blocked Gunnar’s sword, but the blow made his arms shake. He pulled back as soon as Gunnar did. There is magic in him, it strengthens his body as yours does.
“If my lord chose to fight, I would’ve killed you first. You stinking pig-dog!” Gunnar said, spittle flying. He charged again to jab and swipe, forcing Morgan on the defensive.
Just overpower him so I can send him away. I want him gone. Avalon said.
I can’t, he is stronger than anticipated. I feel magical energy growing inside of him. I could not feel it before.
Morgan tried to stand his ground, but the force in each of Gunnar’s blows were evident, harder and faster than when Avalon sparred with him. When Morgan swung out, Gunnar parried with a vicious strike. It forced Morgan’s arms to the side, struggling to hold onto his sword, and Gunnar kicked at his chest. The blow sent Morgan flying back, hitting the keep with enough force to crack the mortar between the stones.
While his body was a physical manifestation of his spirit, it wasn’t truly flesh. He didn’t sweat or grow exhausted. The food he devoured was merely to savor the taste, the material being converted to magical energy. And yet, Morgan grimaced as if in pain. Gunnar swung his sword at Morgan’s neck, clearly intending to kill, but Avalon darted between them to block the sword with the shaft of his spear.
Gunnar had been holding back during their sparring match, that much was obvious. After all, no servant would beat down his lord’s offspring when the intent was to foster growth. Even now, Gunnar had enough control to pull away at the last moment, before the blade struck Avalon’s spear. The blade chipped the shaft, despite the magic that reinforced it, and the force of the impact numbed his palms. Avalon was forced to acknowledge the old warrior’s strength.
“What are you doing?” Gunnar asked, pure shock in his eyes. Perhaps, he had yet to acknowledge Avalon’s own strength.
“Morgan, my trinkets. Now.” Avalon said, never looking away from Gunnar, and the sound of coins and other trinkets clattered as they fell from Morgan’s sword. “He has magic that can store my valuables.”
“I thought-” Gunnar stepped away in a daze, returning his sword to his scabbard as he looked between and the pile of trinkets at his feet. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you satisfied with your findings? I must ask that you leave us be.”
Gunnar walked back to his horse, but pulled a bag of leather from the stallion’s saddle and returned to Avalon. There was a dress inside, a bright blue, as well as other clothing. “Your favorite color and some other clothes that might travel better. Pants, blouses, and the like, as well as some delicate items Isabel packed. Your father allowed for that much. It’s going to be cold during the winter, outside the castle, so there’s a long coat in there for you. Some silvers too.”
Avalon set the pack down. The fresh clothes would be useful for the occasions he had to travel into the city, and the silvers would be helpful in acquiring what he couldn’t from the forest. Not as good as gold, and the pouch that carried them was old and worn, like Gunnar, but it was better than nothing. “What does Harold want in exchange? I’m not coming back when I tried so hard to escape.”
“Exchange? Nothing, it’s-” Gunnar cleared his throat. “It’s a parting gift.”
Avalon tossed the silvers to Morgan, who gathered all of his trinkets into his sword. There were two straps that could be used to carry the pack over someone’s shoulders, on their back, so he gave it to Morgan to carry as well. It hung tightly against his shoulders, designed for someone smaller. Avalon turned back and saw Gunnar watching them.
“Is there something else you need?”
“This betrothal you’re running from, I understand why you might run, but your father means well. If he knew how strong you’ve become, he’d send you to the Academy himself. No need to go running to the adventurer’s guild.”
“Harold intended to sell me so one of his other children could go to the Academy. I’ve forgotten her name already. It wouldn’t be possible.”
“Your sister, Lucilla. If it’s money, then you could accept the betrothal, but your father could sponsor your enrollment. If your betrothed is unable to secure a place at the Academy, you could avoid him for as long as you’re there. Set aside your pride and your father would welcome you home. You’re very much like him in that regard.”
Gunnar’s proposal was an interesting solution to Avalon’s problem, one that he hadn’t considered. Gunnar was more cunning than he appeared, but not cunning enough. “I would still have to marry my betrothed. And Isabel explained something called consummation. I do not intend to consummate.”
“Ah, Isabel.” Gunnar muttered and shook his head.
“Don’t blame her, she was honest with the responsibilities that would be expected of me. I am the one who chose to leave.”
“I won’t. She meant well, I know, she’s always been dutiful.” Darkness chased after orange skies overheard, as the sun was passing the horizon. “Very well, I’ll leave you two in peace.”
“There’s three of us.” Avalon corrected and Gunnar chuckled, his laughter much sadder than it should’ve been.
“Yes, the three of you. I’ll have to tell your father about this meeting of ours, do you have any message for him?”
“Say that I wish him well. He was kind to me during the time I knew him. You as well, I didn’t realize you were so strong.”
“He’ll be glad to hear that, as I am.” Gunnar wrapped his arms around Avalon in a warm embrace, which Avalon returned with his free hand, patting the old warrior’s back. Gunnar returned to his horse and led his soldiers away, but called out as they left. “Stay safe, Aurora! And Morgan, keep her safe or I’ll kill you if you’re not dead yourself!”
“Okay.” Morgan called back, nonchalant.
Avalon waved the riders away. What are goblins? Are they truly short, green humans?
Practically speaking, they might as well be.
I want to meet them and see if they are dangerous enough to warrant Corviano and Gunnar’s fears.
Their danger comes from their number, but there are fewer of them in the area than there used to be. Perhaps they migrated northward as the humans migrated south.
I suppose we shall see where tomorrow takes us.
Hippolytus had returned to sleep and snored deeply when crickets began to chirp. If Harold was willing to set aside the betrothal he arranged, Avalon might’ve never learned about the Elderwood from Daggert. If not for that, he would’ve never ventured north to fight the white stag and Hippolytus might be there still. A contract for adventurers to hunt and kill.
Avalon couldn’t help but wonder, Do you think I’m prideful?
Of course. You’re the proudest human I know of.
A king of the forest, a mighty centaur, is entitled to his pride! Avalon scoffed and stomped towards the beach to retrieve his boots. We will travel further north tomorrow, I want to find goblins.