Night in the Bloodsucking Forest saw the Naga forces cease their advance, lihyallow wool tents erected for those worthy of the extra effort while the rank and file coiled up on the grass.
The largest tent was naturally that of the Sultan, sized to fit not only him, but his council and guards.
Qamar halted at the threshold, hesitating to enter. The royal guards to either side eyed them, but said nothing.
The silver-blue scaled naga had waited until they knew their old friend would be alone, but while their opportunity had come, they still had no idea how to talk to him. Lately when they tried it seemed only to annoy or provoke the Sultan.
But nothing came of languishing at the entrance. Qamar pushed aside the curtain and slithered in with a respectful bow of their head.
The interior was dark and smoky, lit by the purple flames of ceremonial wood. The Sultan was at silent prayer, coiled before a small altar. He did not stir as Qamar entered.
Several minutes passed before the sovereign of all Naga raised his head. He turned to acknowledge the newcomer.
“Qamar.”
They bowed low in response.
“My Liege.”
“The details of the attack are settled, are they not? Why do you disturb me?”
“I wanted to talk to you about our plan. Attacking the humans.”
“Then talk.”
Cold. There was none of the warmth of longstanding friendship in those words.
Qamar could barely recognize the young boy they had once known, the cousin alongside which they had grown up, sharing hardships and rare treats alike. The beaming face of a boy munching a rare windfall of berries was replaced by the steely facade of a Sultan.
“…yes my Liege. I am… concerned about the plan. We already mean to make war with the Harpies, but now we are to attack Bellwood too. A declaration of war can’t be taken back, and should the conquest of the Eyrie take longer than anticipated our people will be vulnerable to invasion by the humans. You have made our people strong, for the first time in a century. Now is the time for caution, or we risk uniting all our enemies against us, undoing all that we have worked for.”
“Shortsighted as ever, Qamar. You fail to understand the strategic value of this attack.”
“Perhaps you could enlighten me?”
The Sultan looked irritated, but ceded to the request after a moment.
“The vulpine made clear to us the quality and scale of the force ahead of us in the pass. The best adventurers and mercenaries in all of Bellwood are at this moment defiling our lands in their hunt for their mimic.”
“Is that not all the more reason for caution?”
“It is reason for decisiveness. With one stroke we shall destroy the heart of Bellwood’s offensive power. We shall gut their ‘guild’ of its vital adventurers and deprive their military of its most elite unit. With this attack it will be a generation of human lives before they can mount such an invasion again.”
“Can we be certain that the attack will succeed, and that Bellwood will not be able to retaliate? I fear we attempt too much too quickly.”
A rare moment of understanding passed between the two as the Sultan met their eye.
“Fear… you and I know much of fear, do we not, Qamar? I have not forgotten our youth. Living in the shadow of the war… the devastation of the Harpies. Always afraid, always hungry. Never knowing who in the tribe to trust, who would rule with the next sunrise and who would lie dead, or even if the tribe would still exist. I will not let us return to those nightmare days. Our children will not face that same torture.”
Qamar nodded slowly. “All I do is to ensure that.”
“If that means I must destroy every human nation and harpy roost in Aludor then I shall do so without hesitation or remorse.”
“If that is what must be done, to secure our future.”
The Sultan nodded, fist curled tight.
“You say we are strong now, Qamar. You are right. We have strength beyond our enemies’ dreams. It is time we use it. It is time for humans and harpies to be the ones to live in fear, to tremble in the cold of the night and suffer the pangs of hunger. We shall make the humans of Bellwood regret ever entering our lands.”
“Is this also the will of the Gods?”
“You mean of my God, do you not, old friend? I know you never cared for the cult, but all Naga have the right to choose their Gods, even I.”
Qamar hesitated before answering. “I would never question your faith… my friend.”
In the privacy of his tent, the Sultan gave a singular smile.
“God has indeed spoken to me, Qamar. Our destiny lies in the mountains, of that alone I can be certain. There is no choice but to face it.”
“Then I face it with you, as we have faced so much together already.”
“Even if this destiny should lead us to damnation?”
“If you are to face damnation then I shall face it with you… Adivan.”
“I know. Of all of them, all the courtiers and chieftains, advisors and viziers, you are the only one I ever trusted, Qamar. Only you….”
Failing to deny the name he had long renounced, for a moment Qamar saw in the Sultan their dear cousin; a young man at the centre of a vast, turbulent cyclone, trying desperately to steer the wind as he swallowed his fear.
Qamar joined him in that rare smile.
“How are your hatchlings?” Adivan asked.
The question surprised them, but the silvery naga was glad of it. They couldn’t help but smile as they answered.
“Qana is a hatchling no more. She already trains with the new recruits. She tells me she means to be a warrior one day, to protect her parents and her Sultan.”
“And Qarak?”
Qamar chuckled. “He still clings to us when we are home, but he is bright, brighter than I am. He learns in days what I studied for months. He will be a great pillar to our people one day, I’m sure of it.”
“He will need guidance. I must ensure that his parent returns safely to him.”
“What of hatchlings of your own?” Qamar suggested.
Adivan looked strangely uncomfortable. He always had, when proposals of union and siring had been raised.
“In time. When our lands are stable and our enemies slain.”
“But if anything should happen to you-”
“You would succeed me. Better someone I can trust than scheming wives, seeking to elevate their mindless hatchlings to puppet monarchs.”
“It won’t come to that.”
“So you say. You were lucky with your spouse.”
Adivan sighed, long and low, a rumbling sound releasing tension from his muscular shoulders as he worked them in a circle.
“I have heard enough of this from Pyreza. Come, Qamar. Drink with me. We so seldom speak informally like this. I want to enjoy it. This may be our last opportunity for some time.”
~~~
Leaving the guildmaster’s tent in the dead of night, Lyanna’s head was spinning, and not only from the drinks Bomond forced on her.
Miserable and confused, she couldn’t face returning to Dolm and Marcus. She had no idea how to tell them what had happened. First she needed to clear her head. Perhaps if she walked the camp long enough they would go to sleep without her and she could explain things in the morning.
The hope was dashed the moment she got outside – Dolm and Marcus were waiting for her, sat on a pair of barrels opposite.
“You were a long time,” Dolm remarked.
“Yeah… he insisted on having some drinks.”
“What did he want?” Marcus demanded.
From his tone she could imagine he was still sore about the afternoon, even if he’d calmed down.
“We shouldn’t talk about it here,” Lyanna suggested. “Maybe I can explain things in the morning?”
“Now would be better. Reckon we deserve to know what’s going on in this party, Lyanna.”
Dolm’s words shook her from the blur of swirling thoughts. She saw a steely sharpness in his eye that was a rarity. She couldn’t keep putting him off any more.
She let herself be led away from the guildmaster’s tent. Dolm directed them towards the clear patch to one side of camp, devoid of tents. It had been the supply store before the fire. Now it was workspace for the assembly of new carts and containers, and space to process and sort foraged food. Given that late hour it was deserted, save for the odd patrol.
Dolm took a seat on a half-built cart and watched Lyanna quietly.
It was Marcus who spoke first.
“So I was out walking earlier, just after sundown. Know what I saw?”
Lyanna could only shake her head.
“I saw Bomond’s lot, coming and going from his tent. While you were in there meeting with him. Useless Eustas and a woman I’ve seen around a few times, really familiar face. Definitely Guild staff, but I couldn’t think what she did for Bomond.”
“Marcus, what’s this about?” Lyanna asked, trying to sound impatient instead of anxious.
“Another silver-ranker saw her, and he said her name’s Katia. That’s when I realized why I knew her. She does all Bomond’s official contract work. When we did a commission for that alchemist last year she drew up the agreement.”
“That’s right, Bomond wanted to talk to her about hiring us for more jobs after this one,” Lyanna said.
It was a poor lie, especially given the tension between Thunderbolt and the guildmaster, but she had to say something.
“Forget about it for now, Marcus, we can discuss it when we get back to Faron. Let’s just get back to our tents and go to sleep, before anyone sees us out here and-”
“Stop it!” Marcus snapped, startling her with sudden vitriol.
A passing guard turned to look at the sound, but Dolm dismissed his concern with a wave of his hand.
Marcus lowered his voice, but anger was plain on his face as he leant closer to speak.
“I’m not a child anymore Lyanna, I can tell when you’re lying to me. Tell me the truth. What happened in that tent? What’s going on with you and Bomond?!”
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She closed her eyes, wishing he would just go away, just for a while. If only Marcus would leave her alone, to sober up and think, she could figure out what to do. Figure out how to protect him and Dolm from her mistake.
“You can’t just get rid of me,” he hissed, reading her expression. “Why are you signing a contract with Bomond in secret?!”
“None of your business, Marcus!” she shouted back, frustrations bubbling over.
“It’s my business when it affects my party! What are you hiding from us? They won’t let us leave the camp! Why is everyone so suspicious of us? Why are they acting like we’re the ones who burned the supplies?
“Because we are!”
In the wake of her shout a deafening silence fell.
Marcus simply stared at her. His face was a study in shock and betrayal, the hurt in his eyes more painful than any words.
Behind him Dolm was similarly astounded, but with typical presence of mind he was looking about, scanning anxiously for anyone who might have heard the conversation.
“We… you! You did… what?!” Marcus managed after a moment.
“I had to,” she answered miserably. “They were going to kill Reynard, even though anyone could see he was innocent.”
“You helped him escape? By sabotaging the expedition?!”
“I didn’t want to, but I had no choice. I couldn’t let him die for nothing!”
“For nothing?! He’s a thief and a liar! He killed people!”
“That a nonsense and you know it! He was just an easy target to pin the blame on to placate the Lastborn and the Baron! Maybe you can live with that, but I can’t!”
“I’ve got more important people to worry about! Or did you forget about mom?! You’re a real hero, burning the camp to let some fox run off! Bet mom’s gonna feel real proud as she’s dying because we never brought back the mimic and we ran outta money!”
“That’s not fair-”
“When’s anything ever fair, Lyanna?! If life was fair mom would still be here and I wouldn’t be stuck with a sister who cares more about stray animals than her own family!”
Lyanna hated herself for the tears that ran down her cheeks at his venomous words.
“It’s too late to do anything about that now,” was all she could say.
“Bomond caught you?” Dolm asked, before Marcus could find the words he visibly wanted to scream at her.
“Yes… that’s what tonight was about.”
“What did he make you sign?”
She hesitated, but there was no way out of it now.
“A contract to give him control over Thunderbolt.”
“You signed us over too?! Without even telling us what was happening?!” Marcus cut back in. “What’s wrong with you?! What are we to you, just some dumb servants who follow you around and do whatever you say?!”
“Keep your voice down! None of this would have been happening at all if you’d just listened to me in the first place! All you do is whine and pout and throw tantrums and every time I have to clean up your mess! You almost started a fight over a few stupid monsters and left half the expedition to think you’re a saboteur! I can’t do this anymore, I can’t… I can’t raise you as well as looking after mom….”
Lyanna regretted her words even as she spoke them, but it was too late. Through her brother’s shock she saw pain welling up with the tears trickling down Marcus’ face.
“Mom raised me! All you ever did for me was use me to make money!”
“I’m sorry…. I… I know I could never replace her, but I did everything I could for you. I was earning money to support us both and pay for her treatment, and I was trying to teach you to be a halfway decent person at the same time.”
“How about learning that for yourself then?” he sneered. “I guess your own brother’s freedom and our mom’s life are less important than the health of some beastfolk stranger to you?!”
Lyanna spoke with a quiet, clear rage as she answered him.
“For your information, Marcus, the contract is between the party leader and Bomond. The other members aren’t even named. When we get back to Faron and get our reward the two of you can leave Thunderbolt and you’ll be free of the guildmaster… and of me.”
“So that’s it?! You’re just cutting us loose like that, after everything?!”
Her words should have calmed him, yet all she saw on her brother’s face was the anguish of betrayal.
“No, I did this to protect you!”
“From who, you?! Some protection, you’re just dumping us and leaving! Just like mom did!”
“Marcus, I’d never-”
“Never what? Put some stranger before family?!”
She could barely recognize her little brother under the layers of pain and resentment.
“Marcus… I’m not leaving you. Mom didn’t either. We… we shouldn’t be fighting like this…. These things just… sometimes things go wrong and we can’t fix them…. I’m sorry, I really am, but I did what I had to. What I’d want anyone else to do for you if you’d been in Reynard’s place.”
She raised a trembling hand towards him.
“It was what mom would have done.”
Her fingers reached towards his tear-streaked cheek.
He slapped them aside.
“Well done, Lyanna. You killed the party and mom all in one go.”
With that he was gone, vanishing into the maze of tents beyond the workspace before she could think of a single thing to say to him.
In his wake he left silence, misery and regret.
She slumped down on a cart opposite Dolm. The older man was still sitting quietly, having watched the whole argument play out. He at least would see that she’d done her best with an impossible situation. Perhaps he would even talk to Marcus, calm the boy down and make him see sense.
Yes, they were losing their party, but Dolm and Marcus could easily find or start a new one. When Bomond found out he’d be angry, but he’d be powerless to punish them – and far more concerned with punishing Lyanna.
She didn’t relish the prospect, but it didn’t matter what lousy jobs he gave her as long as she made enough money to treat their mom.
“Lyanna.”
Her friend’s voice was stiff as he interrupted her reverie.
“Dolm… I’m sorry about all of that,” she spoke quietly. “I should have told him sooner – and you too – I just didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to get anyone else in trouble with me. He’ll understand when he calms down….”
Looking up at the older adventurer she saw a deep frown on his umber brow, hostility glimmering in his normally calm eyes.
“Lyanna.”
His voice, normally so soothing, cut with a razor edge.
“How could you do this? How could you be sol selfish?”
Her heart sunk like a stone, back into the inky depths of despair. Not him too, not Dolm. Not the one constant in all of this mess.
“How could I…. Dolm, I was doing what I had to, what was right. I couldn’t let that poor boy die! Surely you at least understand?!”
“No, Lyanna, I don’t understand. How could you go behind my back and try to sacrifice youself? We’re supposed to be a team – why didn’t you take me with you?! We could have saved him together! If you’d talked to me about it you might not have gotten caught either!”
She gaped, stupefied by his reaction.
“But… I…. I didn’t want to involve anyone else…. What I was doing was a crime, Dolm…. If anyone other than Bomond had caught us-”
“It wasn’t your decision to make. You’re the leader, but we’re supposed to be a party. We decide we have to help the kid then we help him as a team, and we face whatever consequences come as a team too, Lyanna, and as a family. That’s what adventuring parties are, the good ones anyway. That’s not something you just walk away from.”
“I’m sorry, Dolm! I just-”
“Didn’t trust us to make the right decision?”
“No!”
“Thought we’d rather lose you than break a few laws?”
“I just…. I wanted to protect you….”
The anger was gone from his voice as Dolm rose to his feet. In its place was sadness and disappointment. That was so very much worse.
“How are you going to do that when we’re not even in a party anymore?”
Fresh tears distorted her vision as her old friend turned his back on her.
His rippling silhouette faded away in silence.
~~~
Rising over the trees of the Bloodsucking Forest, the morning sun illuminated an army of Naga, already busy decamping. After a light meal they set off east once more, with Reynard in tow.
The vulpine’s leg was still tender, sharp pains running up the bone where it had recently been healed, but with his natural recovery accelerated by magic he had been deemed fit to walk.
That meant fit to attempt escape too it seemed; his gauntleted hands were clasped tight in primitive but sturdy metal cuffs, attached to a short chain. It was uncomfortable but not painful, at least so long as he didn’t stumble. A trip, with his hands bound and his helmet missing, could prove very painful indeed.
The body of the cuffs was hard and durable, as he had already found when he tried and failed to pry them open on a rock. He had worked at it for almost a minute, driving the pointed edge at the seam around the lock. His excuse had been adjusting the armor around his missing shin guard, but his watchers had noticed him hunched over and forced him back on his feet before he found any success.
As additional security two of Qamar’s people flanked him, the same two to guard him the previous day. The silvery naga themself was a short way ahead, at the side of their Sultan, as was the pink-scaled vizier. They slithered near enough to the head of the column to direct the march, but not so close as to endanger the elderly Pyreza or the other non-combatants in the Sultan’s retinue.
Given the pace they set, the Naga probably meant to overtake and attack the humans the following day, after they made camp for the night. That would allow ample time for their scouts to confirm the location of the expedition and for the warriors to get into position.
As the sun rose and burned away the haze the temperature rose, enough that Reynard was quite glad of his missing helmet, despite the risk. The Naga seemed as uncomfortable in the heat of the middle of the day as Reynard was, but still they slithered onwards.
Thick, dark clouds were on the horizon, lining to skies to the North, over the plains of the Hronaram Gulf, obscuring the forests of Bellwood entirely. The brewing storm promised a break to the heat when it came.
Despite the presumed delay before they would go to battle, the force was already on alert, watching for signs of enemy adventurers scouting, or even a surprise counterattack from the expedition.
Reynard doubted they had much to fear; they were ready for anything that the forest and mountains might throw at them.
Almost anything.
The forest shook.
Trees swayed, leaves rustling and dancing on their branches.
Distant tremors vibrated the earth, yet the quivering energy of the jungle floor rose up even into the air, vibrating energy visible in the spaces beneath shadows.
The Sultan called a halt at once, but he seemed confused for once, even alarmed.
The quaking grew in power. With it came a strange sensation of something immense and alien, far away beneath them.
Building to a climactic, bursting release, it sent a shockwave washing over land and sky alike.
Reynard could make no sense of it all, save that it was a dire omen. The Gods were angered. His muttered prayer was all he could offer in placation; a prayer that they might forgive him his many failings – that they might overlook him.
Some among the Naga responded similarly, even clutching each other, dropping packs and luggage, others falling to the ground in dismay as though they feared they might be thrown from its embrace, never to return.
Reynard was not above sharing that fear. He clung to a nearby rock for dear life.
Despite the alarm, it wasn’t long before the Sultan and his advisors called for order once more. The panic subsided as it became clear that the event was over, with no ill effects for any present, save a few bloodied lips and nostrils where a naga had fallen against the needlegrass.
With his guards distracted and his own racing heart calming, beat by beat, Reynard returned his mind to the matter at hand.
Several packs dropped nearby had split open on the lethal carpet of needlegrass.
Moving as naturally as he could, he snatched up a small parcel of thread, wound around two bone needles.
Concealing it in his hand, he got back to his feet.
When the clamor was wholly settled the Sultan of Scales announced that they had witnessed a sign from the Gods, not an omen of disaster but an auspice of fortune. They would pause in their march, to celebrate with food and drink, and to pray and give thanks to the gods for the mighty portent they had sent, heralding the fall of a great tyrant.
Amid the cheers of the reinvigorated army, Reynard wondered exactly which one.
~~~
The day coming to a close was blank to Lyanna, a vague series of thoughts against a background blur of people coming and going from the Guild mess, all ignoring the brooding adventurer.
After the disaster of the night before, she had passed the remaining hours before sunrise in a fitful sleep, not even removing her armor.
It had taken her most of the morning to work the stiffness from her back and shoulders and find the words to speak to Marcus, but her brother had proved more stubborn than the pain in her neck; he refused to even look at her.
Dolm hadn’t left his tent that morning, but he emerged, as did any other stragglers, in the wake of the terrible shockwave that tore past the camp.
Even miserable and lost as she felt, Lyanna couldn’t ignore the vast power that agitated the air and shook the land.
Probing it with her magic proved hopeless. It was beyond her ability to comprehend – a power so huge that it overloaded her senses and made her head spin.
By the time her awareness returned the phenomenon had passed, but the shock remained. No-one knew what it was, and the guesses were deeply alarming. Some of the priests were proclaiming the advent of the Goddess herself upon Aludor. Others feared some great magical catastrophe or even a dire monster of ancient myth, awakened by their intrusion into the depths of the forest and mountains.
For her part Lyanna doubted the theories she’d heard.
There was something almost… familiar to the power she’d felt, a tiny undercurrent to the flow that was strikingly reminiscent of the signal she had been tracking into the mountains. But that was ridiculous. They were hunting a mimic, not a god.
The chaos and confusion had been put down when Jalera took charge, the people put back to work.
Whatever conclusions had been reached in the subsequent meeting seemed to have satisfied the expedition leaders, as nothing more came of it until the evening. Before their nightly meal the Baron gave a speech to the fearful masses, reassuring everyone that the ‘event’ was no threat to them, and that the expedition was in no danger there in the Bloodsucking Forest.
It sounded like bluster and wishful thinking, designed to keep order in the face of the unknown, but Lyanna could only guess. She hadn’t been invited to the meeting and no-one was talking to her. Whatever the truth might be, she would be finding out the hard way, if at all. It wouldn’t be the first unexplained event to puzzle adventurers and scholars alike.
Seeing Dolm and Marcus again had the greater impact on her.
The two appeared again at dinner, armed and armored as she’d hoped, but they sat well away from their party leader.
Former party leader, she reminded herself.
Lyanna sighed as she looked out over the camp and the hillside beyond, a long, heavy exhalation that only left her more tired. Their troubles were far from over. Even if the expedition met no more disasters, they still had to find and capture the mimic in the caves under the Cyclopean Bones. Lyanna wondered if they would be the first humans ever to set foot there.
They were already further from home than Lyanna had ever ventured.
West, the sun moved amid a sky black with storm clouds, closing around the light even as it sank, racing the sunset to be the first to plunge the hills into night. Thunder rumbled periodically and the air felt heavy, the heat still intense.
“Lyanna.”
The voice was the last one she wanted to hear, but she gritted her teeth and turned to face the speaker all the same.
“Yes guildmaster?”
Stood at the entrance to his tent, Bomond waved her inside. She had little choice but to follow him, passing one of his assistants, lighting the torches around the cluster of Guild tents.
Inside he sat, reclining and rubbing his bald head as he looked her up and down, a sour expression on his aging features.
“What happened last night? Party didn’t like finding out about their new employment?”
“Something like that, yes.” She answered with dull resignation.
“That’s not acceptable. I expect you to keep things under control from now on, Lyanna. No more shouting matches. Thunderbolt works for me now, and I won’t have you spoiling my reputation as well as your own. Understood?”
“Yes guildmaster.”
“From now on I want the three of you in the mess tent all day every day until we decamp. From there on you march with me.”
“I don’t think they’ll agree to that, given that Marcus and Dolm aren’t part of Thunderbolt anymore.”
She couldn’t help but smile ever so slightly as she spoke the words.
Bomond rose to his feet in an instant, chair flung backwards.
“What?! You signed a contract, girl! I own you!”
Lyanna broke into a fatalistic grin. She might as well enjoy what was coming. It was some small measure of revenge.
“You own Thunderbolt, guildmaster, but Dolm and Marcus never signed to anything. I think you’ll find that in the eyes of the Guild the appointed party leader has the authority to make all decisions regarding their party. I decided that from now on Thunderbolt is a party of one.”
“You think you’re smart?!” Bomond spat, advancing on her suddenly, crushing the table with an armored knee.
Lyanna’s hand went for her sword, but she regretted it in an instant as she saw the rage flash in the man’s eyes. He was too close.
A gauntleted hand gripped her arm before she could draw her weapon, twisting it painfully until she dropped the grip.
The other whipped out its reverse side to hammer into her face. She felt her lip split with a burst of blinding pain under the metal.
“Let me remind you, Lyanna, it’s not just me who’s in on your little secret. Useless as he is, Eustas knows everything. Katia too. They both have copies of our contract. If anything should happen to me then everyone will know exactly who to blame. You. Now you get those party members of yours back! Both of them, right now! Or else it’ll be you facing execution in the morning this time – the Baron and the Lastborn will see to that!”
Reeling from the backhanded blow and clutching her bleeding mouth, Lyanna looked up at him and laughed through the blood.
“Have you lost your mind, girl?! Your life is at stake here!”
“You think you’re so smart, Bomond. You’ve got everything figured out. Well how are you going to explain to the Baron why you didn’t report this two nights ago, and why you signed a contract with Thunderbolt only me yesterday?! You can torment me all you want with your parchments, but you so much as touch Marcus or Dolm and I’ll go to the Baron myself and tell him exactly how you conspired with me to cover everything up, then tried to blackmail me! And your own staff will confirm that Dolm and Marcus had absolutely nothing to do with it!”
“You conniving traitor! You think you can make a fool of me? Me?!”
Lyanna spat a mouthful of blood onto the polished copper surface of his armor.
“You made a fool of yourself, Bomond.”
~~~
Concealed in their canopy hide, Pice took a deep gulp of rich, tantalizingly spiced spirit, then passed the wineskin back to the mercenary assigned to keep watch with him.
From their vantage point they had a clear view of the trail through the Bloodsucking Forest below. To one side they could just make out the edge of the cliff in the distance, while to the other they could see only the dense tangle of bushes and creepers that formed impenetrable undergrowth.
The treetop in which they perched formed a natural bowl where several large branches split off, so little work had been needed to make it suitable for a watch post. With a few extra branches cut and lashed in place they were all but invisible to anything – or anyone – on the forest floor below.
Pice sat beside a swordsman from the capital, one of the scouts to survey that part of the forest. He’d resented the imposition of the outsider’s ‘expertise’, but Arn had brought with him a well-filled skin of alcohol even better than the bottles the Lastborn had stolen on the first night of the expedition. A friend with mead was a friend indeed, as Pice always said.
Behind them his party scout was snoring, the young feline girl leaning against their human frontliner in the crook between branches. They were both missing out on the booze, but Kalla wouldn’t have approved of drinking on watch anyway. Pice respectfully disagreed with her on that – there were still two waking eyes scanning the deserted forest floor far below, and no sign of the supposed saboteur or active monsters that night.
The rest of The Hunting Hawks party were in the next watch post over, south of the cliff top and out of sight through the trees, but close enough to hear if he should have to raise the alarm.
As for alerting the camp, that was what the short wooden baton on his belt was for. Given out to each of the watch teams, the engraved material contained some sort of spell, put on it by the Lastborn’s warmages; magic to alert them the moment the wooden stick was snapped, a way to signal danger. Pice had never heard of such magic before, but the Lastborn were little lordlings playing at war, so it only made sense they’d have the finest of everything – even magic.
His fist clenched the wood tighter, a drunken flight of fantasy crossing his mind; he could snap the baton and claim to have dropped it, then enjoy the sight of the Lastborn all coming running, dragged from their beds by the alarm. The Lastborn deserved a good fright and worse after what they’d done to the poor beastfolk adventurer.
Pice didn’t believe a word of the official story. He’d talked to Reynard multiple times during the trip, and he couldn’t believe the young vulpine had been stupid enough to try to steal from the Baron, let alone to attack the Baron and the Lastborn with stolen monsters. The whole thing stank of lies and conspiracy.
“I think you’re right,” Arn nodded, taking a gulp of his own from the wineskin. “There’s no way this Reynard burned the camp or tried to kill anyone. In fact… I’d be more wary of the good Baron than of him. I knew some people, back in the capital-”
Pice raise a hand, silencing the mercenary. Arn followed his eyes down to the forest floor below, and froze at what Pice had spotted.
A quartet of naga were slithering silently through the forest, following the cliff-top path and heading directly towards the camp.
Four naga were likely to be more than a match for the four of them… especially with how much alcohol Pice had put away… but with the help of the rest of his party they ought to be able to manage. The weight of numbers was a powerful equalizer, even against more intelligent monsters like the Naga.
It was a moment later that he noticed how the leaves at the farthest edge of his vision were shimmering, undulating in the still night air.
Overhead stormclouds rumbled, then a moment later a blinding flash carved through the black ceiling, casting stark light over the forest floor.
Over hundreds of figures, slithering towards the camp.
Pice’s hand went to the baton at his hip, but Arm caught it desperately.
“What’cha doing?” he hissed in panic, dangerously loudly.
“Naga know magic,” Arn replied, leaning close, speaking under his breath. “We set that off and they’ll know we’re here.”
Pice had no idea if that was right, but Arn sounded certain.
“We still gotta warn the camp,” he responded.
“Do we? Most of the adventurers aren’t even there. The Lastborn are the ones defending the camp tonight. Are you gonna die here to warn a bunch of spoilt nobles who’d happily have your throat slit just to defend their so-called honor? After what they did to Reynard?”
Pice felt his heart pounding, so loud that he thought the Naga must surely hear it, even if they’d missed the anxious, hurried whispers above their heads.
Arn had a point, didn’t he? It certainly seemed so to Pice, after half a wineskin of strong liquor.
The Lastborn, and the Baron too, they all had blood on their hands.
His fingers slipped away from the baton.
The terrified watchers clung silently to the tree. Below an endless column of naga passed through the night, towards the unsuspecting expedition camp.