For her, dinner was more silent than usual. She stared at her food as she ate, not watching the others. Rilya patted her on the shoulder, but Ferene shrugged her off, giving her an apologetic smile. Wordless communication between the two of them, as always, the smile responded to with a slow nod. A simple exchange.

The next morning followed the pattern of the previous day. Breakfast, chores, and to the training arena. Stretches, followed by mock combat. Challenger after challenger fought Ferene, and she did her best to fight back. Yesterday, some of them tested her, and she managed to win. Today, they did not test her. Defeat after defeat was not a harrowing experience for her. After seeing Linara fight, she knew the strength of the Hatharen. These warriors specialized in melee combat, entirely unlike Ilraghen. Every second she delayed her defeat, every time she made one of them falter for even an instant, every blow she narrowly avoided and every bruise she took when she didn't was a valuable experience.

Long ago, there was a time she fought this same way, fighting boys with blunted swords and knives. Far from sparring, those brawls were displays of skill and strength to the onlookers, to each other. Establishing intimidation and dominance, showing promise and value. The adults laughed as the children beat each other senseless. At first Ferene was smaller than her opponents, but she quickly outgrew them, but only because she survived. She was the smallest here, too, but she would not outgrow the Hatharen. There was no laughter, but applause at the end of every match, regardless of the result.

So she fought, opponent after opponent, parrying mock spears, swords, and a variety of other weapons. Knives, clubs, weights on chains, greatswords like hers and curved one-sided swords with hooked backs, axes of varying lengths, all replicated in crude weighted wood. The arsenal of the Hatharen extended far beyond what she saw in the human lands.

As Ferene fell to the ground yet again, the small audience quieted. Looking up, she saw her opponent staring at something behind her. Following her gaze, Ferene saw Sathar stepping into the circle, the towering Hatharen holding a blunted spear. She scrambled to her feet and turned to face him as her previous opponent stepped away. Behind Sathar, she saw Ilraghen, his lips pressed tightly together.

Sathar held his spear low, in both hands, fake tip towards Ferene. She fell into her own stance in turn. While Sathar could talk to her, he remained as silent as all her other opponents. For a moment, she wondered if any of them spoke her language, but then he attacked.

Unlike her other opponents, Sathar moved with a wildness. Not something random, but with a disregard for himself. As Ferene blocked the first thrust she saw multiple openings, but stayed on the defensive. Sathar repeated the risky, all out attacks, throwing himself into every strike, almost as if he wanted Ferene to beat him. On the ninth attack, Ferene pushed his spear to the side, stepping forward into him, driving her elbow into his shoulder, hoping to make him drop his weapon.

He did exactly what she wanted, with a smile. Taking his hand off the shaft of the spear, he grabbed her and pinned her against his body, trapping her arms at her sides. She dropped her sword immediately, squirming in his grip and kicking at his legs as he lifted her off the ground. Ferene felt like a child, helpless against his size as he started laughing.

Letting out a sigh, Ferene stopped struggling, accepting yet another defeat. She had fallen for his trap. Getting inside the range of his spear meant little when he was so much larger than her. A tactic no human opponent could pull off. Dropping her, Sathar nodded to her and walked away from the training ring, Ilraghen shaking his head. Whatever they wanted from her, it seemed like she failed.

Once more Rilya led her, battered, bruised, and sweaty, to the bathing tunnel, where they washed each other in an awkward silence. Rilya smiled at her, and Ferene smiled back, but there was worry in her eyes. Ferene reached out, pulling the Hatharen into an embrace.

Rilya left, going to attend to whatever she did later in the day, and Ferene found Sathar and Ilraghen waiting to intercept her before she could visit Tahrean.

“He wants to show you his own excellence.” Sathar said, clasping Ilraghen’s shoulder. The smaller Hatharen wore his longbow on his back. Ferene looked at them oddly, and followed them as they walked away, gesturing for her to follow. The two lead her to a large basket-like cage, just barely big enough for the three of them to stand in, shoulder to shoulder. Grabbing the rope hanging down beside it, Sathar pulled, hand over hand, and the ground fell away beneath them.

The cage stopped not far below the top off the cliffs, coming up to a ledge that gently sloped upwards. A short walk later, and Ferene stared out at the world. To the south lay everything she ever knew, and to the north, across the plateau, something else waited. She did not look at it, instead staring across the land that raised her. Roads and rivers stood out, far below, and she could even see Cefgras, the city lazily sprawling across the plains. Politely, her guides waited, letting her take in the sight, before Sathar put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her away, pointing instead along the plateau. Squinting, Ferene could make out what looked like a table in the distance.

Ilraghen took his bow off his back, nocked an arrow, and breathed in. Bringing the weapon up to his face, he waited, calmly holding the string back, muscles tense, his body perfectly still. One second. Another. Ferene did not know what he was waiting for. Then he let go. “Go get it.” Sathar said, smiling at her and pointing towards the table.

Ferene smiled back. She wasn’t sure if he knew, but this was her moment. The second day, when she ran from the training arena, constricted by the pathways, she could not properly stretch her legs. Here, she could. She crouched down and launched herself forward, legs slamming into the ground as she ran. Not only were there no obstacles, but she was completely unencumbered. No armor, no sword on her back, no gear at all. The wind rushed over her, her hair flowing behind her as she ran. For a moment, there was nothing else. No worry, no guilt, no regret. It did not last. She was too fast, slowing down as she approached the table.

While the wooden table looked sturdy, it also showed the signs of practice. The surface was scarred and chipped, gouges of arrows sliding along the surface and pits of ones that fell from above. From the battered, uneven surface rose a round, wooden pole, barely thicker than her finger. From the pole protruded a single arrow. Ferene pulled it out and ran back.

“Did he hit?” Sathar asked when she arrived, the smile on his face echoed on Ilraghen’s. Ferene simply held the arrow out to them. “Everyone has a role in a squad. Rilya and I are the front line and the muscle. We train to fight even when outnumbered. There is a trust between us, I know she will guard my back and she knows I will guard hers. Ilraghen is our long range specialist and assassin. We trust him even when he is far away, hidden from view, waiting for his moment. Filraehen is the doctor. She makes sure we live long enough to properly heal. We trust her judgment and do what she tells us.” He paused. “Also, she cooks. Alri is our scout and our tracker. She goes out alone, and we trust that she will come back. No worrying, no following. She works alone and we trust her to do that.”

Sathar paused again. “And Telhrian? What is his role in all of this?” Ferene asked. She never saw him fight, and the equipment he wore did not give her any information. She wondered about it a few times.

“We keep him around to make us laugh.” Sathar said. Ferene frowned at the answer. “Where do you fit in, Ferene? Life with us is more than just sparring, eating, and kissing. Our break will come to an end, and we will descend into the wild lands. What does the seventh member do?”

“I can run.”

Raising an eyebrow at her, Sathar smiled. “I do not think you are unique in that.”

“Tell him to shoot another arrow.” Ferene gestured to Ilraghen. “Then try to retrieve it before I do.”

He laughed, then said something to his friend. Ferene watched as the short Hatharen repeated his earlier process, breathing in, aiming, waiting, and loosing. As soon as the bowstring snapped forward, she ran.

Ferene was not certain she could outrun Sathar. She had never seen any of them run, but if she could not do this, then he was right. Unlike her last run, she did not let her mind empty as she felt the wind on her face. She pushed herself, straining, feeling the muscles of her legs stretch with every step, leaning forward. No pacing, just a sprint, as fast as she could go.

She arrived at the target table first. She arrived sooner than she expected, not having time to slow down. Instead, she jumped, leaping over the table, snatching the arrow from the post as she went. Of course Ilraghen hit the target. She landed on her feet and stumbled to a stop on the other side, turning back to look at Sathar.

He stood next to Ilraghen, a small figure in the distance. He didn’t even try to challenge her. She returned to the two of them, casually loping the distance, a fraction of her former speed. Both of them were smiling at her, grins wider than ever. Staring at him in silence, she presented the arrow again.

Ilraghen took it from her, and both of them turned and walked down the slope back towards the basket cage.

“Come spar with me tomorrow.” She said to Telhrian as the seven of them ate dinner. “Bring those two with you.”

He looked over at Alri and Filraehen, then back at Ferene. “What’s this about?”

“Sathar talked to me about trust. He says you all need to be able to trust me, but I need to be able to trust all of you. I know what half of you can do. I need to see the rest.”

She waited as he talked to the two women. Sathar smiled at her from the other side of the circle. She smiled back.

“Tomorrow, then.”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Ferene did not meet the three of them in the training arena.

Their breakfast the next morning was disrupted by a loud ringing sound echoing through the stronghold. Six Hatharen jumped to their feet and ran into their houses, Ferene following Rilya just a moment after. She found her friend hastily putting on her armor, and stopped to help her before donning her own. Grabbing their weapons - real, sharpened metal - they ran back outside. The other five waited for them, and then all seven ran down the pathway. Ferene followed, resisting the urge to run ahead. She did not know what was happening, or where they were going, but the group ran in silence, and she saw other groups doing the same, all of them also fully geared.

Their journey came to an end at a large wooden platform suspended between the two cliff walls, stretching across the gap. Not a rope bridge, but a solid, single structure, big enough to hold the massive amount of Hatharen that showed up. Pushing away the feeling of being dwarfed by every single one of them, Ferene turned to Sathar, who was closer to her, and asked what was going on.

Giving her a short glance, he waited until a voice spoke over the crowd, and then started translating. “Scouts have spotted a large group of monsters coming from the west. We think they are being pursued by a force from Treventhal, who are pushing them into us. We are going to go down and crush them.”

“How many are there?”

“That does not matter. We stop them or they will pass over the mountains.”

Ferene had more questions, but she took a deep breath and pushed them from her mind. All around her were looks of grim determination. Spending all this time with them made her ask too many questions, it was easier to just do instead of think. She reached up and touched the hilt of her sword on her shoulder. It was time to fight.

Rather, it was time to fall. Hatharen moved to the edge of the platform, grabbed ropes, and slid down into the dark abyss below. Ferene saw Alri hop over the edge, followed by Rilya, then Sathar. Filraehen stepped up, waited a few moments, just like those before, and flung herself over the edge, holding onto the rope as she went. Ilraghen did the same, and then Telhrian looked back at Ferene, nodded, and followed suit.

All around her, the groups were doing the same. Stepping to the edge, Ferene looked down. She could not see the bottom. For a moment, her breathing stopped, the darkness holding her sight, reaching out to her, drawing her in. She jumped, reaching out and grabbing the rope just barely.

How long did she fall? Maybe it was seconds, maybe it was minutes. Darkness surrounded her, nothing to see, nothing to hear, until there was light below her, finally. Tightening her hands on the rope, she slowed, feeling it burn against the leather of her gauntlet. After landing, hard, someone immediately pulled her out of the way. She looked up and saw Sathar standing over her. The group was all there, waiting for her. They nodded at her, and she nodded back, trying to forget the sensation of falling as they followed the flow of the other Hatharen away from the light of the lanterns sitting on the ground.

On the north side of the mountains lay a world untouched by human hands.

It didn’t look that different from the south side. Small clumps of grass and other wild plants, rocks, thin trees. Not quite a barren wasteland but far from an untamed expanse of wilderness. Ferene stared to the north and just saw more land. The mountain barrier did not hide wonders from human eyes, instead it existed as a break in the continuing flow of the land.

Some hundred and more Hatharen moved to the west, Ferene among them. Was this an army? Was this war? Never before had Ferene seen so many people together. The sight of all of them, armed and armored, walking in silence, filled her with an unknown emotion. In some ways, these were her people. In other ways, they were unknown to her, strangers she never met until a few days ago. She walked with them in front of her, beside her, behind her. Rilya touched her shoulder and Ferene turned to face her. Instead of a smile, the woman’s lips were pressed tightly together, her eyes looking to Ferene for…support? Reassurance? Ferene smiled back at her.

Two hours later, they arrived in a forested area, thin trees with frail-looking branches sprouting up from the ground. Someone yelled from the front of the line, and they all stopped, breaking into groups of six and spreading out. Ferene stepped towards Telhrain, the Hatharen wearing his metal-pierced cloak. “What is the plan here?”

“They should be coming along this path. Primary squads will prepare to stop them by disrupting their advance. Support groups will be in place to ambush them. Chaser groups - that’s us - will form a perimeter to catch any that get away.”

Nodding, Ferene fell in line with them as the squad moved into position. Behind her, she saw groups of more heavily armored Hatharen setting up nets. The main force was laying a trap. She would not be a part of that. Her group walked away from it, leaving the forest and moving further from the mountains, climbing up a hill that overlooked the forest. Sathar, Rilya, and Filraehen sat down, setting their weapons on the ground beside them. Alri stretched her legs, her eyes scanning the forest. Ilraghen took four arrows from his quiver and stabbed them into the dirt, kneeling behind the line he made. Telhrian stood silently, eyes closed, just breathing.

Ferene decided to go through her warmup routine.

Nobody taught her how to hold a sword, how to stand, how to move. She figured it out mostly through mimicry and trial. Her stance echoed what she remembered of the man she killed to get her weapon. Her swings were motions that felt right, motions that worked in the past. Sometimes she had chances to watch others fight with greatswords, and she did her best to remember how they moved, how they parried, how they attacked. Slowly, it all came together. She did not pay money for a teacher. She paid blood for every lesson, every mistake. Some fights, early on, she resorted to simply punching and kicking her opponents until they yielded. She barely survived against the Direag, and might have died if not for the arrival of the people chasing it, her new friends. Today, her opponents were more inhuman creatures, monsters she knew nothing about. More Direags? Something else? She lacked information, she lacked experience, but she had to believe that she could survive this just as she survived everything else.

“They’re here.” Sathar’s voice penetrated her trance. She stopped mid-motion, turning to look down towards the forest, then to the west. A swarm of…something approached. Distant shapes. Ilraghen stood up, drawing a single arrow from his quiver, leaving the four in the ground in front of him. The three in armor stayed on the ground, watching. Alri hopped from one foot to the other, her bow in one hand. Telhrian stayed still, eyes still closed. Ferene took a few steps forward, watching.

Monsters, beasts, creatures from beyond the human lands. Things the adults used to joke about. They came in different sizes, different shapes, far more diverse than humans or Hatharen. There were several Direag in the swarm, standing tall above the rest. A great number of them were less than half the height of those. Still more of other heights. Some of them looked like they had more than two legs, though Ferene could not make out the details from this distance. In the deep pit of her stomach she started to feel ill, so she looked away.

Sathar rose to his feet, putting a hand on her shoulder. “We wait. We are not soldiers, we are hunters. You can run and chase things? We are here to run and chase, but do not get too far ahead.”

Nodding, she turned back to look at the forest below. The swarm of monsters started to move between bare trees, with no leaves to block Ferene’s view. Even with the sickness she felt tense, waiting. There was an ambush here, happening at any moment. More and more of the creatures entered the woods, far more of them than the Hatharen, who were still hidden. The first monster into the woods approached the other side, unharmed. Then a second, a third, and a whole wave of them. Ferene frowned.

It started when about a quarter of them were out. The part of the swarm outside the forest kept going, but no more followed. Ferene did not know where the Hatharen hid, but they were suddenly there, in the middle of the monsters, fighting. The group outside turned, moving back, before they started falling. Archers struck, picking them off with no chance of hitting their own. Ferene stood and watched as bodies fell. She wanted to be there, but the thought of charging into that scared her. This was not what she was used to. She stared, unable to look away, watching the Hatharen form circles, backs towards each other, as they fought, opening up holes in the swarm. Groups of six. She saw them surround the large shape of a Direag, taking the beast down. In other places, those small groups were overrun. Lives were being lost for this. The Hatharen down there dying could be those she sparred with yesterday or the day before.

Despite the losses, despite being outnumbered, the Hatharen were winning. The swarm broke, splitting off in different directions. The majority of them turned around and ran back, but others ran off to the sides, none of them pushing forward to the killing field on the other side of the woods.

One of these groups ran towards the hill Ferene stood on.

“Telhrian.” Sathar spoke, pulling his friend out of the odd trance. Telhrian said something to Ilraghen, then pulled a small cloth bag out from under his cloak. The rest of them looked at it and nodded. “If any are left alive after we strike, you get to chase them.” Sathar told her, as he and Rilya stood up, weapons in hand, and charged down the slope to meet their enemy. Ferene looked at Telhrian, who nodded at her, and she ran after them.

The urge to vomit got stronger as she approached the beasts. Nothing she could do about that now. She made sure not to overtake the other two. Trust them to be the front line. Trust them to work together. She did not need to disrupt them. More than a dozen creatures ran towards the three of them. Several at the front looked like they would come up to her chest, but they were broad-shouldered and carried long spears. Stocky, muscled beings with furred faces. The five taller ones stood as tall as the Hatharen, slender but armored, holding swords and axes and shields. Helmets topped their pale heads. In the back, towering above all of the others, was the unmistakable form of a Direag.

Right before Rilya and Sathar crashed into the group, something small flew over their heads, hitting one of the taller creatures and exploding on impact.

Ferene slid to a stop as flames engulfed the monster, sparks falling to the ground. The group dissolved into chaos. They ran away from the burning creature, each going a different direction, the ones still moving forward quickly cut down by Sathar and Rilya as Ferene watched in horror. She could smell burning flesh and fur, as one of the smaller creatures caught on fire as well. An inhuman screech came from its mouth as it rolled around in the grass, but the flames seemed to cling to it. One of the remaining tall beasts turned to run, but an arrow took it in the back of the neck. When it didn’t immediately drop, a second one sprouted right beside the first.

The Direag bellowed and swung its giant club at Sathar. He jumped back just in time, then moved to the right as Rilya moved to the left. The beast swung again, and missed again, Sathar once more barely getting out of the way. Ferene saw the club had swords embedded in it, a spiked bat scaled upwards ten times. This one was not wounded like the one she fought. She raised her sword and took a step forward, getting ready to join the fight, when Alri grabbed her on her way down the slope. She pointed at two of the tall creatures that were running away, pushing Ferene towards them.

So Ferene ran. Each step felt heavier than normal, every impact of her foot against the ground threatening to make her vomit. But she ran. An arrow flew past her, lodging in the shoulder of one of the two beasts. Then she was upon them. She cut down the injured one from behind, turning as she slid to a stop, blocking off the other’s path. It glared at her with deep-set eyes from beneath its helmet. Up close, she could make out pale white skin stretched tightly over a wide, flat nose with overly large nostrils. Small, pointed teeth clustered together in its jaw as it sneered. She stared back, taking a deep breath. The creature raised its axe and fell over, an arrow in the back of its spine.

Tension left Ferene. She fell to her knees and vomited once, then again. After taking a moment to catch her breath, she stood up, wiping her mouth, and looked at the rest of her squad. The Direag was collapsed, four Hatharen standing around it. The hillside was littered with the bodies of the other monsters, some of them with arrows in them, others cut down by swords. Slowly, Ferene walked back to the group as they gathered around the giant corpse.

A face filled with arrows, one even through the low-placed eye socket, numerous cuts along its arms, and a burn mark on its chest told a story of how they killed the beast. Telhrian turned to look at Ferene, concern on his face. “You don’t look well. Were you hurt?”

She opened her mouth to respond, then immediately vomited all over the dead creature. All six of them stared at her, then started laughing. She just glared at them and turned to walk away. Away from the bodies, away from the forest, away from whatever those things did to her.