Dragging a corpse through the Bloodsucking Forest was a messy business.
The needlegrass shredded skin and could pierce even toughened hide at the right angle, or worry at exposed wounds, leading to a gruesome trail of blood from even a relatively small catch.
One could carry the body off the ground, certainly, but that meant dirtying one’s armor, and any adventurer worth their rank knew the importance of caring for their armor in the forest. Blood would rust the metal and foul the lames, and the smell lingered on, attracting razorflies and other beasts when marching later.
It was different with a party to rely on – between three people it was much easier to bring a catch back to camp – but Lyanna no longer had a party. Instead she had to haul the slain beast alone through the golden boughs of the forested valley.
High overhead a second forest rose up, one of towering stone forms shining in the dying rays of the sun. Trees carpeted their lower reaches like moss on titanic boulders, yielding to scrub, and then at last bare rock which shone like brass in the evening light, crowned in plumes of glittering steam.
Dolm had told her once of another great mountain range far to the North, beyond even Bosquerime and the Everwood. The Eburnean Peaks lay at the greatest extremity of the world; a frozen land of stone spires capped with snow miles deep, forbidding any to trespass into the Endless Ice beyond the edge of the world.
That was unimaginable in the sweltering heat of the Cyclopean Bones.
Soon though the mountains above would steal the last of the sun’s rays and plunge the valley into a cool twilight, a chance to breathe and rest before tackling the impassable megaliths once more in the morning. They were impenetrable to anything without wings, but far ahead along the valley there was a narrow break for which they had been making, a gateway up into the heart of the greatest mountain range on Arcadia.
The mere thought made the thangael Lyanna dragged seem heavier than ever. Near four times her size, it had likely expected an easy meal when it ambushed her. Instead it would sustain their small group for another day. It might even blunt the piercing glares of her involuntary companions… at least for the evening.
In the three days since… the storm… they had journeyed far and fast, fleeing the Naga army and the devastation of the battle as they pursued the faint traces of the mimic.
It was that signal, which Lyanna could detect deep into the mountains to the South, which was her lifeline.
Coming into sight of the camp clearing, her first thought was the painful contrast it made with the Baron’s expedition.
This was no military operation… just a gathering of a few dozen adventurers and mercenaries lucky enough to escape with their lives. They lacked even the basics of wilderness expeditions, such as tents or cooking gear, most having escaped with no more than their armor and weapons.
It was a blessing that they even had those.
As a result their camp was a simple one, a space cleared of needlegrass before the entrance to a cave deemed suitable to keep off the elements for the night. Sleep would be on a bed of gathered branches and food would be whatever unseasoned, eclectic fare they hunted that day.
“Wow, nice catch, Lyanna,” Marn remarked as she dragged the thangael up towards the clearing. “And you still remembered the water too!”
“Thanks,” she said quietly. “Your arm still hurting?”
He shook his head happily. “All better today, thanks to you, I’d be down to one – or more likely dead – if not for your magic.”
At least she had one ally in camp, Lyanna thought as she passed the young adventurer by.
The others waiting there were quick to disabuse her of any notion of popularity with their disdainful glances and dark murmurs.
“Should be in chains, for what she did to Bomond,” one of the adventurers whispered.
His friend nodded grimly. “Not right, having a traitor walk free… ready to stab us in the back next, soon as it suits her….”
They probably didn’t realize her hearing was sharp enough to pick up the words… or else didn’t much care if she knew what they thought of her. Either way it was hard to blame them for such sentiments. She might be bringing them a feast for dinner, but it wasn’t long ago that they’d watched her strike down one of their own. The Guildmaster, the lynchpin of their defense against the Naga.
Even now, Lyanna’s hands trembled to think of what she’d done, and of how many lives it had cost.
“A fine catch,” Jalera spoke, from her seat atop a rock by the cave mouth. “I have never sampled thangael.”
The diamond-ranker had abandoned the battle when Bomond fell, one of the first to flee the fighting, but it seemed she hadn’t abandoned the mission, or the promise of glory and riches for whoever brought the mimic back to Faron. She had emerged from the forest the day after the battle, and taken charge of the rag-tag band of survivors as they were arguing about what to do next, and indeed what to do with Lyanna herself.
“Where is the mimic now?” Jalera asked.
Although the true meaning went unspoken, it was a familiar reminder. Lyanna was spared retribution by the grace of her spells, not the mercy of her companions, and each morning and evening she would search anew for their quarry.
Each party was hostage to the other. They needed Lyanna to catch the mimic, and as Jalera had reminded them all, they needed the mimic to save their own skins. Else they were no more than deserters.
“I’ll check after dinner,” Lyanna said simply.
Jalera just nodded.
The older woman had proven a mystery to Lyanna. She showed her no malice for the death of Bomond and the collapse of the expedition, yet nor did she show her any sympathy.
Perhaps that ruthless pragmatism was what was required to ascend to diamond rank.
Or maybe Bomond had been as despicable to her as to Lyanna.
Inside the cave she found Marcus and Dolm, the rest of her… former party. Dolm was painstakingly whittling new arrows, while her brother sharpened his axe with a stone from the cave floor.
“That’s the wrong sort you know, Marcus,” she said quietly, as she approached, “you won’t make it any sharper with that.”
Her little brother glared up at her as she spoke… but he did toss aside the rock with a disgusted grunt. That was progress.
“I’ll help you find a better one tomorrow. Rivers are the best place to look. For now, I caught us a thangael, they’re cooking it now…. Want to come outside and have some?”
“Oh? Ambush was it?” Marcus asked.
“Yeah, down at the river, it attacked when I went to draw water.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So it attacked you then?”
“Of course, what else?”
“Well I figured you probably stabbed it in the back, like you did Bomond.”
She did at least keep the hurt from her face, but Lyanna was still reeling as Marcus strode past her and left the cave.
Dolm just watched her as the boy went. The older adventurer’s ebon face was impassive in the ruddy gloom, but that too was painful to see in the features of her oldest and dearest friend. It was though she were a stranger to him, her personal woes and struggle merely the evening’s curiosity for those unrelated to the drama.
Lyanna looked up at him, a plea she couldn’t speak in her eyes, but the man went back to his carving in silence.
Outside, the sun had truly set by the time the Thangael was cooked, the rubbery outer hide taking time to absorb the heat of the simple fire, but the rich aroma of the meat had filled the air, luring everyone in to gather around the flames to receive their share. Even unseasoned and inexpertly roasted, the creature was delicious, and with no way to preserve it, they had to eat the whole thing in just a day or two before it went bad.
As a result their evening meal had become an impromptu feast, but it was of a somber sort for the expedition survivors, recriminating glares and mutinous mutterings passed around in lieu of ale.
Lyanna was getting used to being a target for such enmity, but she was far from alone. Marcus too was suspected of a hand in the disastrous failure of the expedition, as were Reynard and even Adrick.
“You can’t fight besides the likes of a betrayer. Can’t trust your back to one as might put a knife in it,” one of the mercenaries was saying loudly, amid the small clearing of the camp.
Lyanna ignored the pointed glance in her direction.
Given her lack of ornate armor or family crests and coats of arms, the woman certainly wasn’t part of the Lastborn, so she presumed she was a wandering sellsword, or a survivor from one of the assorted mercenary bands who had followed the knights from the capital.
“Now not all betrayers make it obvious,” the woman went on, square features turning to eye the other former members of Thunderbolt in turn.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Her high, arrogant tone was starting to grate on Lyanna’s ears.
“We all gotta work together if we’re baggin’ the mimic, so how ‘bout you just eat your meat, Elmina,” Pice suggested from the far side of the fire.
“I’m just saying, Pice, lot happened before the battle – and didn’t happen.”
Under her penetrating eye the man fell silent.
“There’s the ambush,” she continued, “but more’n that too. Never did figure out that mess with the beastfolk before the fire, did we? Hey, Raymond, it true the Thunderbolt brat bribed you to drop a beastie on that Lastborn?”
“That’s nonsense and you know it,” Lyanna cut in. “That story was nothing but a lie Ondora and Jowe came up with to find someone to blame.”
As the sole escapee from the Lastborn, Calen looked ready to object to that, but another voice spoke over him.
“Hey!” barked Marcus, “I don’t need anyone’s help defending myself! And I didn’t do a thing, but as for this fox, who knows what he got up to….”
“Name’s Reynard,” the beastfolk boy growled back, his tail fluffed up and his ears back, “not ‘fox’ or Raymond or any o’ that nonsense, and course I didn’t do nothing! Not then, an’ not before, when they way sayin’ I stole from the tent!”
“So he claims,” Elmina sneered, “But everyone knows your kind. Stealing before you can walk upright, and lying easy as breathing. We all know a betrayer when we see one!”
“I never! H-honest!”
The words sounded more a plea than an assertion to Lyanna’s ear, the anxious young adventurer twitching nervously as if fighting the urge to flee.
“Enough,” she said, raising her voice. “Reynard saved us all during the battle – and Marcus risked his life fighting the Naga!”
“Elmina, relieve Adrick on watch,” Jalera ordered.
The seasoned adventurer’s tone brooked no objection, and after a brief hesitation the younger woman gave a grunt and got to her feet.
The rest of the meal proceeded in an uncomfortable quiet, much like those of the previous evenings.
Reynard kept glancing over at Lyanna, casting her sad looks as she sat alone in silence, but whatever the beastfolk boy might have wanted to say, it seemed he didn’t dare bring it up in public.
It was as they were returning to the shelter of the cave that she noticed him exchanging words with Dolm, apparently asking him for something, but the human seemed to shake him off with a grumpy shrug, before stomping off into the forest to the latrine hole they’d dug.
Sounds of breaking twigs and the soft plinks of needlegrass on metal boots had faded when the young beastfolk adventurer accosted Lyanna in turn, timidly catching her wrist as she moved past him.
“Sorry, er… think we could, sorta… talk for a bit?”
“Of course,” she said, putting her hand on his.
Even now he was a pitiable figure to her eye, far too young to be alone in the mountains of the Bloodsucking Forest, innocent and harmless and hopelessly ill-equipped. His helmet and other possessions were long gone, his remaining armor battered and dented, a missing piece at his calf replaced with a sheet of bark, clumsily tied in place. He lacked even a weapon, beyond the crude wooden spear Dolm had sharpened for his use.
She waited for him to speak, but he was quiet for long enough that she started to wonder what the boy was waiting for. Eventually she removed her hand and looked him in the eye.
“Reynard?”
“Oh! S-sorry… I just wanna say… thanks,” the boy said, his pointed ears twitching endearingly as he looked back towards her from the spot he’d been staring at on the treeline.
“Elmina’s been making enough snide remarks and accusations that I think everyone’s sick of it,” Lyanna replied.
“I don’t get it though… why you keep helpin’ me out? You jus’ made people madder at you… like your brother.”
She scanned about, and saw no-one close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“I guess just… because what she said was wrong. Like before… you didn’t deserve it.”
They had spoken before about the help she’d given the boy on the fateful night of his escape from the expedition, and certain death at the hands of the Baron and the Lastborn, but somehow as before Reynard looked all the more miserable when the topic came up, his shoulders slumping, his head hung and eyes drooping as he avoided her eye.
“Look, don’t worry about me, Reynard, I can look after myself.”
She patted his head as she spoke, as she might have a human child. His ears twitched cutely, and for a moment she had the urge to touch them.
“What about your party? They’re all mad still, right?”
“We’re… not a party anymore,” she said quietly.
He shook his head quickly, dislodging her hand.
“No! You can’t just… split cause of me! I’ll look after myself too, like what you do, so you gotta talk to them, patch it up! Even if you hafta stop talkin’ with me to do it!”
“It’s not that easy,” Lyanna said, shaking her head slowly. “It’s not about you, not really. I… lied to them. Then I… tried to push them away to protect them, after everything went wrong.”
The boy tilted his head, looking up at her with a skeptical eye.
“They got mad at you for tryn’a protect ‘em?”
“It’s not that simple… I didn’t trust them to help me… to help you. I should have told them what I wanted to do. Asked them to help save you. Together we might even have done it without getting caught or destroying half the camp….”
“Then why din’t you?”
“I don’t know…. I was just… I’m so used to protecting Marcus, and… mom… and to trying to be a good leader, trying not to put them in danger. I thought that I had to do it alone, that I had to be the one to suffer if it went wrong. It was too much to ask them to risk everything to help me. I couldn’t chance them being caught too. I had to make sure they’d be alright.”
“Why not? Don’t you all risk your lives together every job?”
“That’s different, we never take on anything we can’t handle…. But this… even if I was going to get caught, I couldn’t bear to think of anything happening to Marcus or Dolm too. They’re my family.… Without mom they’re all I’ve got….”
“You… er… tried tellin’ ‘em that?” he asked awkwardly, peering past her into the darkness with an awkward unease.
“I can’t make them forgive me,” Lyanna said, with a long, heavy sigh. “At first I thought I could make some grand gesture. Bring them some gift – I know Dolm would open up over a good bottle of ale – or save their lives a few times…. But even if I saved them a dozen times over it wouldn’t change anything. I got myself into this mess trying to tackle everything alone instead of listening to them, instead of respecting what they wanted, and trusting them. Risking my life for them won’t do anything to fix that. Especially Marcus. He’s never going to forgive me just because I take a few arrows for him or something stupid like that. Not after everything he’s been through because of me… for all these years….”
“He’ll come round, Lyanna.”
The deeper voice came from behind her, and as she spun around Dolm gripped her shoulder with a large, calloused hand.
How could he have snuck up without her hearing?!
“I thought-”
“Thought I was taking a dump? Our friend’s smarter than he looks.”
“Reynard?” she asked, turning back to the sheepish fox.
“S-sorry,” he said, wincing as if expecting outrage. “I jus’ hated seein’ you all sad an’ lonely for what you done for me… you don’t deserve it. Specially not for my sake….”
Lyanna looked back over at Dolm. He was smiling softly.
“You really think Marcus will forgive me?”
“Course. You’re his sister. Practically raised him. Better job than my parents ever did too.”
Lyanna gulped, feeling her eyes watering.
“What about you?” she asked.
Her voice was straining as she maintained her composure with pure determination.
“Are you really alright travelling with the traitor who killed the guildmaster and betrayed the expedition behind your back?”
Dolm sighed slowly.
“Can’t say I’m happy about it. Should have talked to us before you did something like that. Kicking us out the party’s no solution either.”
She hung her head, nodding slowly. It had been a foolish thought to hope things might go back to the way they used to be.
“Thought you knew by now that we’re in things together. What you did was bad, as screwups go, but you were protecting us. Tryin’a do the right thing too. Just tried to do it the wrong way. Sounds to me you learnt your lesson too.”
Lyanna’s mouth hung ajar as Dolm spoke, and he gave her an almost fatherly smile as he reached over to shut it for her.
“You and me, we’re a team, Lyanna.”
“I thought… you said that you were leaving….”
“I was hasty. We were mad, finding out what you did. But the naga were a dose of perspective. In the battle you were ready to kill Bomond to protect Marcus. That kinda loyalty’s rare. Worth more than any reward.”
Lyanna stared at him in amazement.
“You’re not… angry? About Bomond… about the mess I made?”
Dolm shook his head dismissively.
“Nah, way I see it Bomond had it coming. Everyone there saw what he was gonna do. The kid gets it too, he’s just angry and stupid. Hopefully gets over both.”
“I don’t know, I think the latter might be terminal,” Lyanna replied, a choked laugh escaping her lips amid the rush of relief.
“We’ll just have to keep him outta trouble, as a party.”
They shared a smile, but Lyanna’s faded as she recalled the faces of the fleeing figures heading down the hill that night.
“What if there are survivors from the battle? Katia and Eustas both knew everything, and there were hundreds of others who saw what happened… if anyone makes it back to Faron alive they’re sure to report it. Anyone who’s a member of Thunderbolt will be a wanted criminal in Bellwood.”
“Nice, that’s three countries for me then,” Dolm said, his grin deepening. “Maybe once we bag our mimic we don’t head north again at all? No reason we gotta deliver it to Bellwood in particular. Hear the Thabian desert’s a burning hell-hole… gotta be all sorts of treasure to find and beasties to hunt.”
Lyanna pulled the man into her arms, squeezing him hard enough that Dolm gave a grunt and squirmed at her strength.
“Lyanna, too tight!”
She loosened her grip, but kept her face against his shoulder while she stemmed the flow of tears, before anyone came outside to see where she, Reynard and Dolm had gotten to.
It wouldn’t do for the party leader to be seen crying like a baby.
~~~
“When you think they gonna be back?” asked Wren, her eyes scanning the distant trees.
Away to the South, the Bloodsucking Forest sat impassive and sullen, giving up no hint of the thousand-strong throngs it had so recently swallowed – her father among them.
Lom shrugged. “Dunno, baron said it might be a few weeks. Brought enough supplies for it too – me ma were cleaned out an’ the granary’s empty too. Bakery’s closed until she gets more flour in.”
Wren frowned, although the expression was barely visible under the young girl’s helm. With half the baron’s men gone on the expedition Commander Allard had needed new recruits, and with the smithies as barren as the bakeries and granaries he hadn’t been too fussy about finding them all suitable equipment. Nor had he been fussy about who he was recruiting – even retired adventurers who were missing a leg – watching the gate was important work, but it involved very little walking. It was also unusually easy work when your post was Southgate, given how many of Faron’s adventurers were away on the expedition for the mimic.
The girl gave a long, wistful sigh.
“Wish I coulda gone with dad…. If only I’d made silver rank before I ran into that geopod, mighta been able to borrow the coin to get healed. Coulda been with him, get a share of the glory – and the reward.”
“Better off here, checkin’ other adventurers in an’ out. Let them lot handle the monsters. Not like one silver-ranker’ll get much of the rewards anyhow.”
Wren gave a noncommittal grunt.
Lom thought at times that the girl could have been a little more grateful to him for putting in that good word with the captain for her, especially seeing as how she was half beastfolk.
“How come you’re still outta grain though? Shouldn’t there be a cart from Terrelton by now?” she asked. “Meant to be every week, right?”
“Meant to, but I heard from one the mercs with the expedition; Terrelton’s cartin’ all their grain west to Arelat.”
“They’re selling off our food to the enemy?!”
“Nah, I hear the merchants’re cartin’ it on to Tiron. That’s to the northwest,” Lom added, in a show of his geographical expertise. “‘Parrently there’s some sort of war on. Prolly the beastfolk causing a fuss, or maybe the demons. Either way they sellin’ grain for double out that way.”
“What about us?!”
“Just gotta make do. Good eels in the river, lotta hunting in the forest. ‘Sides, your kind can live off anything, even rats from the streets, right?”
“We don’t eat vermin!” she snapped, punching his arm through the padded cloth.
Lom gave no reply however.
There was something moving in the trees to the south.
“See that?” he asked, pointing.
Emerging through the woods came a group too large to be adventurers, several dozen armored figures walking along a dirt trail that slowly became a well-worn road as it merged with others and neared the gates of Faron.
“Who are they?” Wren asked, tilting her head, her helmet knocking her cheek as it rocked.
The figures were ragged and dirty, many covered in what looked suspiciously like blood, some missing pieces of their armor, some with limbs in slings or splints – or missing. As the group approached a few broke into a weak jog, while others seemed barely able to drag themselves along on tottering legs. There was no sign of any baggage, and many didn’t even appear to be armed.
“Look like beggars to me,” Lom muttered suspiciously. “Better get the Captain, case this gets ugly.”
In the life of a watchman, guarding the town gates, there was little use for imagination. His job was to let in the welcome – nobles, merchants, adventurers and anyone with coin enough to pay the toll – and turn aside the rest. The people approaching now were clearly none of the former type, so in his mind that put them squarely in ‘the rest’, earmarking them for immediate rejection.
“Beggars come to northgate, not south. You think beggars trudged all the way though the Bloodsucking Forest?” Wren scoffed, throwing his thoughts into disarray with the irritating salience of her point. “Anyway, no beggar’s walkin’ about in armor. Only adventurers and knights and that lot can afford it, even to rent.”
“Alright then, who are they?” he retorted irritably.
“Dunno. Just know they’re not beggars,” Wren said, with an air of triumph.
The mystery was quick to resolve itself as the figures drew closer, and they saw familiar faces – adventurers Lom had checked in and out each day for months, but with cheeks gaunt and expressions gastly, bodies covered in wounds and filth. At the head of the group he even recognized Katia from the Guild, half-carrying a figure that might well have been Eustas over her shoulder.
“Oh gods,” Wren murmured, as they took in the defeated, broken force, no more than thirty strong.
“Don’t just stand there!” Katia called to the frozen guards. “Are you two just decorations?! Go fetch help from the Guild and the keep! We have wounded, so send to the temple too!”
“Wh-what about dad?” Wren asked, eyes wide under her helm as she scanned the approaching faces for some sign of the man. “This can’t be all that’s left! What happened to everyone?! Baron Faron went in person, with all his men, and there were the Lastborn too! And the mercenaries and priests! And what about the mimic?!”
“We were betrayed,” Katia muttered darkly, “that traitor Lyanna must have planned the whole thing. The mimic was probably something she invented to lure us out there - she led us right into a Naga trap and killed the Guildmaster….”
Her look was angry yet distant, as if trying to escape speaking of it.
“There were thousands of them, it was hopeless…. No idea what happened to Baron Faron. He’s probably long dead. Don’t know about the other survivors either, they probably got hunted down fleeing through the forest. Now go get the healers, girl, or you’ll be the one getting hunted down!”
Wren scurried off at the threat, first to find the captain, and then likely to go to the temple herself, lest a high-ranking Guild staffer start making complaints against her.
“W-wait, thousands of Naga? That can’t be right! What if they come here?!” Lom protested.
“Then we’ll share Guildmaster Bomond’s fate!” Katia snarled. “Where is the damn captain?! Edwin! Get out here, we have wounded!”
Roused by Wren and by the commotion the other guards were emerging from the gatehouse, and soon the collapsing survivors were being carried into the town, brought water and helped out of their dented and battered armor.
Lom had remained at his post – someone had to keep an eye on things there after all, his was a vital role to the town – but one of the figures from the back of the group accosted him as the others were moving inside.
So nondescript was the visage that Lom had somehow failed to even register their presence as anything more than a shape in the background, and seeing them up close did little to shake the sense of mundanity about the person. Their height and build, even their face were all remarkably average, androgynous enough to pass for any gender, with neutral features that were neither handsome nor ugly in the traditional sense.
“Guard,” they said, in a voice reduced to a desiccated rasp, “where is the nearest stablemaster?”
“You what?” Lom asked dully.
At a guess Lom thought the speaker a man, but dulled as it was by thirst his accent was unplaceable.
“You going all the way back to the capital already? Don’t you want a drink or something?”
“Gather me water and food for the road,” the man said simply, pressing a coin into Lom’s hand, “word of this tragedy must be brought to the capital.”
The glint of gold from between his fingers was dazzling despite the dull and overcast afternoon.
It was only as Lom was walking back from the stable, after seeing the strange mercenary off on a horse bought outright, that it occurred to him that he’s entirely forgotten about watching the gate, and keeping out undesirables such as thieves, beggars and killers.