The snow persisted through the days that followed, greeting them upon the morning and making the first few hours of their long ride cold and miserable. Only when the day neared noon and the sun had fully risen did the air grow warm enough to see the snowfall cease. But cast as they were beneath the shadows of trees, the company was yet constantly beset by damp and chill. Only a break in the canopy offered any reprieve, where beams of light would slip through the boughs and warm their cloak-covered shoulders.
The girl proved a boon to have along in ways Myria did not expect. Having initially suspected that the girl’s title of jester was employed merely for use as a disguise, Myria no longer considered this to be the case. While her men bade horses solemnly forward, slumped under the weight of cold and gloom, it was the jester who broke the disheartened atmosphere with the melody of her flute. The joy that rekindled in the woman’s companions whenever the girl played was undeniable, and Myria even caught herself humming along to the jester’s music more than once. No one wanted to be out in this weather, chasing after an assassin that could be behind them just as easily as he was ahead. But duty demanded that they hunt him down. Having the acrobat around just made their journey more bearable.
And yet, though Myria could not deny the aid the girl offered to her troop, she still could not bring herself to trust or like the child.
The ale had affected Myria more than she had anticipated, and perhaps she had indeed been a fair bit drunk on that first night. She had said too much to the acrobat, but in some manner, the girl had done the same. Myria had no tolerance for criminals or those who suffered them, and the jester had admitted to being the latter if nothing else. Had she not been of use for the assassin’s capture, then Myria would have never taken the girl into her protection. Alas, it was of utmost importance that they find the man quickly and procure whatever knowledge he possessed. Myria had long suspected her target to be a guild assassin, and with what the girl had described, she was now certain of it. A tool like him was no small pawn to employ, and the Valor had great need to know of the purpose for his presence.
Fangris assassins never came cheaply, nor implied anything less than the most cunning and grand of schemes. Simple murder or theft could be left to those beneath them, for a cur from the alleys brought up by the streets would work for far less coin and be no less effective. Fangris, however, always involved themselves with larger machinations, working only for the highest bidders. Myria was not the only one among the Valor who had been expecting signs of the assassin’s guild’s involvement, if only because the winds in Cambria were shifting constantly. Influence, political sway, secret plots, it all reeked of a darker hand. Someone, somewhere, was planning to make a move, and they meant it to accomplish something great.
But was it Honorbound Fairwater who meant to accomplish it? There was no way to be certain until the assassin was caught. For though ‘twas true that this assassin worked in Fairwater’s employ, it did not necessarily mean that the woman’s motives were foul. The Valor had spent time aplenty gathering information concerning those sinister methods by which the Honorbound could launch attacks, and Fangris had been only one such point of interest. During their investigations of it, the Valor had discovered that the guild was, at its core, chaotic in its nature, with no loyalties to anything except its own existence. The interests of their assassins were thus purely self serving, and as long as the guild itself prospered through their work, each member was free to act however they chose. Squabbles between rankings broke out often, or so it seemed, and their hierarchy was ever changing. Therefore, as long as it was beneficial or was in accordance to their contract, one assassin would kill another without hesitation. This lack of kinship between its members cast Fangris’s utilization into shadow, as while one assassin could be used by the Honorbound to kill off competition or threats, another could just as easily be employed for protection against this very thing. If this was the case, and such defense was necessary, who else had enlisted the assassin’s guild? Such was a conundrum impossible to decipher without speaking to the assassin directly. There were far too many questions and not near enough answers, and all attempts to puzzle out such secrets had led Myria only to headache.
Fortunately, Neurial was not too far away now; close enough that they would reach it before noon tomorrow. Myria had pressed her troop hard for the sake of speed and though it had run the group a bit haggard, it had allowed them to keep up a good pace while gathering information. At each town they passed they had sniffed around for sightings of the assassin, and more than once had even garnered something of potential use. However, no lead they found could wholly be confirmed, even with the acrobat’s help, and so Myria had dismissed them as nothing more than baseless speculation. After all, she was not one to put her hope in rumors, and being this close to Neurial, she did not doubt that there were countless tradesmen of Giraffin descent who were traveling to the capital to haggle. Neurial was the largest, most prosperous trading hub in all of Cambria, a city where business never ceased, and knowing that the assassin may beat them there only made Myria wish to move faster.
But the last league of their journey would wait until morning, and tonight the group would make camp again betwixt the towering evergreens. Having spent roughly two days upon the north-winding road, it was expected for them to house beneath the stars and pines as the scenery hadn’t much changed during their trip. The Scar was so named because of the thick forest that engulfed it; a scar of dense, rugged terrain through Cambria’s otherwise gentle woodlands. All around there was nothing but trees and mists comprised of their looming shadows, filled with the sounds of various creatures bounding through them both. Though they’d passed the occasional wayhouse and hunter’s lodge, the only real change in landscape had come from the sparse number of villages they’d ridden through and the rare skylight between the trees where a stretch of them had been logged.
But tonight there was naught but darkness and forest, both made deeper by the contrasting glow of their campfire. Myria had already circled around the encampment once, scouting for any potential signs of danger. She most of all was aware of the creatures that lurked in this area of deep wood, and too knew best how to deal with them. With the change in weather came the behavioral changes in beasts, and more than once she had seen troubling signs of their increasing movements. Being this close to Neurial, Myria was unwilling to take chances and so had taken time to set up a small defense for precaution.
Surrounding the campsite with ammonia rags was an old Slayer trick, and the simplest measure one could take to ward away feral beasts. The smell worked to keep most creatures at bay, and too helped mask the presence of the campers. It was an effective method, even if meager, though would not protect the camp from those beasts that truly meant them harm. It was the best Myria could do under these circumstances however, for her current duty was that of Valor captain and thus her mantle of Slayer had been sidelined. Without most of the tools she would take out on a hunt, she felt mildly underprepared for danger. But no Slayer worth their armor was ever truly underprepared, for as long as they had their weapon, they were ready, and Myria was always ready.
On her way back to the others Myria stopped at her horse to retrieve her Slayer’s Arm: a thick greatsword a little longer than Myria was tall. The menacing black blade had been carved from the hide of an obsadus, a terrifying creature made of jagged midnight glass and flames. The obsadus was not truly made of glass of course, or else its hide would have made for a pitiful weapon indeed. No, obsadus plating was stronger than steel, blackened and tempered for years by the flame of its core. It had taken a band of Slayers to put down the rampaging beast before it could set the countryside aflame, and Myria had earned her trophies by delivering the killing blow. The onyx sheen of her armor and her blade, both filled with fire, were proof that she had fought the beast and lived to end it. Her greatsword was by far one of her most prized possessions, for even after all these years it still glowed with the flame that ran through its blackened edge, burning as hot as any blaze whenever it was swung.
Argosia, the great white war horse who had been her close companion for ages, seemed to realize Myria’s intention and stood a bit stronger for it. But the captain pet down the giant mare to ease her, whispering calming words that there would be no fighting tonight if it could be helped. The experienced battle steed almost seemed disappointed, and began chewing upon the nearby grass to sulk. The mare’s reaction was enough that it caused Myria to grin, though that smile was gone by the time she loosed the greatsword from the saddle and returned to camp.
When coming into the firelight, Myria was surprised to find dinner on to roast; a few rabbits turning upon a small spit over the embers. The sight of the kill was most unwelcome, if only because the smell of them was so strong. The scent of fresh meat was a tantalizing one, and a far cry from the usual airs of pine and wet wood they’d come to know. Having had nothing but dried bread, cheese, and jerky since leaving Meridia, even Myria’s mouth unwillingly watered when hit by the aroma. Such smells, she knew, would affect hungry beasts the same way it did her own senses, and so she now questioned if ammonia alone would keep the scent of meat from traveling too far.
All the more reason for caution, Myria thought to herself as she took up a place by the fire. Laying her blade down in the grass, she felt much more at ease now that she had her Arm with her, though noticed that the others were eyeing the menacing greatsword with suspicion.
“Did you see something out there?” One of her men asked, knowing what the blade’s presence meant. It was Baine who had spoken, the one Myria had known longest among all those here. The man was strong, trustworthy and loyal almost to a fault, and Myria depended on him first above all the others. If ever things grew dire, she could rely on his Tuh’luan strength to step in where she failed to be, and never once had he ever failed to deliver.
“Your feast may yet entice nearby beasts,” Myria stated flatly. “Who was it that fetched meat?”
“It was me,” the acrobat admitted, twirling a blade around on her finger. “I can pin a hare with a throwing knife from 40 yards if I choose. Catching these was no trouble at all.”
“And what do you know of trouble?” Myria spat at the girl, a little more forcefully than she had intended. Regardless, her sharp words caused the girl to glower, and she put her knife away with a disheartened huff. Though the captain could tell that the girl wanted to say more, she proved wise enough to hold her tongue. “The scent,” Myria continued, “may invite in things beyond our ability to fight. It is foolishness to be so careless in these woods.”
“She meant no harm,” Baine defended as he continued to turn the spit, “and Cavi and I know the woods around here well enough to know they’re safe. The girl just offered to get what we all wanted.”
If there was one thing about Baine that Myria wished she could change, it was how agreeable the man was toward everything. Even if his agreeableness was why he so dutifully followed her every order, he didn’t need to make excuses for the acrobat. And that, of course, was the second thing Myria would change: his willingness to speak out against her. Though he meant no ill will, his remarks still questioned her command, and Myria rarely tolerated being questioned.
The glare she thus cast to Baine was a hard one indeed, but the man weathered it in his usual manner: by focusing his eyes fully on his current task. The others, however, were not nearly so relaxed. They were not like Baine, and were unused to working alongside the strict Valor captain. They didn’t know how she would respond, but fortunately, Myria knew that she had been pressing the troop harder than she ought, especially since they still lacked news of the assassin’s whereabouts. She knew her men would sleep better with bellies full of warm food, and no doubt it too would reinvigorate them for the hunt to come.
With a heavy sigh Myria relented and gave Baine a curt, “Very well”, this releasing him and the others to carry on as they had been. Slowly the tension around the fire eased as the group went back to their casual speaking, and in these moments Myria was reminded just how much her companions were so unlike her. As a Slayer, she was used to weathering the wild and its dangers, but this was not the case with the rest. It was difficult to remember that these people were not real soldiers, but carpenters, trappers and bakers alike; professions so unlike her own that they could not be compared. She and her men were only intertwined because of the call to action they all shared, and it had become Myria’s job to lead her sect, seeing also to their basic well being and care. She still sometimes wondered how best to see it done. She’d been called to serve because of her actions in duress and her ability to plan, not because of any leadership skill she possessed.
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Thinking about these things bothered her, and unable to, in good conscience, partake in the meal she had rebuked, Myria dismissed herself from the gathering to escape her pondering. Perhaps she would speak to Nathaniel concerning such matters when next they met, but for now, she needed to focus on sleep. She would be taking second watch tonight.
A scream tore Myria out of slumber hours later, long after her watch had ended, and she shot up out of bed bleary eyed. At first, all she could see was blackness, so deep that there seemed to be nothing in every direction. Only as she jumped to her feet did she see the firelight beyond the stretch of her own shadow, and though her eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, she ran. Sprinting away from the crackling campfire, her Arm already in hand, Myria instinctively raced toward the location of the shriek. The prickling of her instincts told her what had happened, and now she prayed only that she wasn’t too late.
At the very edge of the firelight, where the glow began to fade, Myria spied a glistening trail of red that lay smeared across the disturbed winter grass. She followed it, finding a crumpled body at its end, twisted in a painful position from where it had been dragged. It was Milla, a young woman freshly assigned to Myria’s unit who was watchman of the current hour. One of the horses lay several feet beyond her in even deeper shadow, wheezing in a painful struggle to rise. Ignoring the animal, Myria swung her great blade around once, letting its inner fire gleam as she rushed to the woman’s side. Using the sword’s soft light to better illuminate the scene, Myria saw that Milla’s injury was grave and seeping blood. A large gash had been cut all the way through her flesh to the bone, tearing her leg open from the knee halfway to the ankle. Even if seen to immediately, the wound was so deep that the woman risked losing her leg, and that was only if she somehow survived the blood loss.
But what creature did this?
The woods provided Myria that answer as a large black thing shot out from the shroud of nearest trees, so fast that she hardly had the time to see it. With a great gush of wind and an ear-piercing snap, a set of gaping jaws clamped over the ribs of the helpless horse. The beast screamed in terror as it was dragged off into the wooded abyss, its body crashing painfully through the trees. Its once powerful neck smashed against a pine there, and flopping back, broken, it fell silent and was gone.
“Lao!” Myria bellowed out in fierce warning, shouting as loud as she could over the panicking horses. Even her own gallant steed knew the danger they were in, and was pulling hard against its tether so to flee. Myria rushed to Argosia and jerked the horse steady, pulling the mare down so to search through her saddlebags. “Accursed beasts of the night!” Myria hissed as she pulled free a large cloth and salve; the only form of immediate medical aid she had handy.
Myria knew well of lao, as her profession demanded, and knew them to be a terrifying nocturnal species. The creatures were keen hunters who adeptly hid their black bodies among the shadows of trees, using long and flexible necks to snatch prey. Like a snake attached to a pair of shoulders, the lao’s head slithered across stretches of ground until it was near enough to lash out for a kill. After biting, the lao would drag its victim back to its waiting claws and long, barbed tail, making the lao one of Elequa’s most effective hunters. How dangerous the beast was to get this close undetected! Even more so because it had been willing to break through the ammonia barrier. One horse would not satisfy the creature’s craving for flesh, but they could not stand and fight it if Milla was to live. If they wanted any sort of chance to save her, they had no choice but to run.
“Baine!” Myria hollered as she began wrapping Milla’s leg, hurriedly trying to stem the flow of blood with a poultice. “Take up Milla with you! The rest of you, ride as your lives depend on it!”
“To me!” Cavi shouted, knowing the chain of command, and following his voice the others mounted to ride. Like leading a charge into enemy lines, Cavi pressed the horses and those with him into a furious gallop, led only by a saddle lantern quickly lit.
Myria had already taken up a place between her fallen comrade and the woods, acting as a shield for the injured. Her eyes darted along the edges of the dimming firelight, watching for the slightest sound or movement. It was up to her to buy time for Baine to help Milla, and fueled more by anger than by any form of courage, Myria’s temper made her feel as hot as her fiery blade. She’d faced lao before, had lost friends to them too, and was unwilling to lose another one now. Her honor alone would not allow her to leave a member of the Valor behind. She would be unable to face Nathaniel if she did, and the very thought of that man’s scorn only further steeled her resolve.
When the next strike came, she was ready, for the loosing of jaws in so still a night resounded like a shout in Myria’s ears. When she heard it, she whipped her blade around and plunged its point into the ground, causing the monster to glance off the flat of her blade with an impacting ring. The creature recoiled its head with a cry as blasts of pain shot into Myria’s arms up through the obsadus steel. Her arms tingling, she willed her hands to keep a firm hold of her Arm, and pulled her heels free from the soil where they had been embedded by the strike.
A Slayers offense was known to be slow and deliberate; it had to be, since the weapons they were forced to use were often cumbersome. A Slayer had to plan their strikes, wait and watch for an opening, but in the pitch black of night Myria could do neither. The best she could hope for was to deflect and defend, knowing the lao would be drawn innately to the scent of blood.
For the briefest of moments she had hope that this would be enough, that she would be able to sense the lao where it prowled and move effectively. But enraged caterwauling soon erupted beyond the trees as two beasts, not one, fought over the dead horse. Myria’s heart sank as soon as she heard it, and she gripped her Arm ever tighter, calculating. When Milla was recovered, the horses would run, and the lao would give chase shortly after. The noise of their retreat alone would attract one, if not both, and the scent of fresh blood would ensure pursuit. She knew the horses could not outpace the large creatures for long, for the lao’s speed was far greater than their own. She needed some way to distract them, and she had to think of it quickly, but they had so very little on hand.
That Baine was tuh’lu meant he needed no help in drawing Milla up into his care, and in mere moments the woman was secured in front of him on his saddle. Cushioned by a layer of bedrolls and blankets hastily gathered, the woman would jostle less with them than without. But despite Myria’s attempts, the woman was still bleeding badly, so much so that the hastily-applied bandage was as red as it was white.
Inspiration struck Myria at the sight of so much blood, and keeping one eye on the woods, she rushed to Baine’s horse while drawing her hunting knife. Carefully, she cut loose the shredded cloth of the woman’s blood-soaked breeches, and then proceeded to slice the torn pieces into smaller shreds. She mounted Argosia quickly, inadvertently smearing the white mare with the blood upon her gloves, and then gave Baine the command to run. Together they kicked their steeds into full sprints, Baine leading the way into the dark with his lantern light.
Just as Myria had predicted, a lithe and shadowy figure exploded from the trees soon after, chasing down the sounds of their flight. Attracted to the smell of blood of a freshly injured prey, the lao barreled after them with alarming speed. “Aggressive” did not begin to describe the ferocity with which the lao gave chase, and the sounds of its claws scraping against solid ground rung as warning to Myria of how quickly the lao was gaining. It was closing the gap between them with each and every step, and yet Myria dared not look back, not yet. She had to bide her time, had to make each move count, and so she focused on the flickering light in the distance. That light through the trees was the other half of their party, riding fast, but not so fast as to abandon them. Myria and Baine would catch them, but so too would the lao. The time for Myria to act was fast approaching.
Over the pounding of hooves, over her own steady breathing, Myria could hear the monster narrowing in on their backs, could even sense what the creature was doing. Though the wind roared in her own ears, whipping by with their speed, the large bat-like ears of the lao were swiveling about in all directions, feeding the lao their current position as it chased. But more frightening than the knowledge of this was the harrowing sound of the lao’s heavy breathing; panting breaths inhaled deeply through the creature’s four flared nostrils. That hideous, flowery nose, Myria knew, was painting a perfect scent picture of the monster’s surroundings, with Milla’s blood attracting the lao like a fly to honey.
Lao were the embodiment of swiftness; fleet of foot and graceful in spite of being blind. They had no eyes to speak of, and yet the lao rarely missed its prey. The maw of a lao carried a failsafe for such blindness, for while the inside of its mouth housed dagger-like teeth, its outer muzzle bore bone extrusions used to snag those things the lao may miss. It was these false teeth that had torn Milla’s leg, and what had likely caught the unfortunate horse even more so. These had ripped open the flesh, drawing blood for the lao, that by this smell it would not miss again. It had been a fortunate accident that Milla had been spared the steed’s fate, but now her scent was leading the lao straight to them.
Yet, with some luck, it was by this same scent that Myria hoped to buy them time, just as long as her plan worked as intended.
Taking what she knew of lao, she considered its size and the stretch of its neck, and judged, the best she could, the lao’s distance. Its breathing now was so close, its steps louder and brisk, and soon it would surely overtake them. Now was the time to act, and taking one of the bloodied cloths, Myria tossed it wide into the trees. In silence she waited, prayed, and listened, before hearing the snapping of jaws farther behind them.
Myria breathed a short sigh of relief; the lao had taken the bait. Guided by smell and not sight, the lao had been fooled by the new blood trail, but it would be back again for the stronger scent in no time. Before then, Myria risked a glance at Baine and his horse, seeing that Milla had grown deathly pale during their flight. The side of Baine’s piebald had been stained a deep crimson as well; too much blood was being lost and the roughness of the ride was making it worse. They did not have much time to spend in a continuous run if Milla was to live. They needed to catch the others and end this now.
With the dancing lights of the distant lanterns growing steadily nearer, so too did the lao stay its course. Each time the lao drew near, Myria would toss another decoy, but it was becoming less effective with each subsequent throw. Regardless, it bought them enough time to reach the rest of the troop, and with two blood rags still in hand, Myria retook command.
“Spear!” She commanded of the nearest rider, demanding them to relinquish the weapon from their saddle. The spear switched hands deftly, and Myria affixed the last bloodied cloths to its tip. The lao would be fooled by this, Myria was sure, and she would impale the foul creature upon the sharpened end. It would regret having ever hunted her party.
Turning as far about as she could within her saddle, she prepared to face it, to see the starving beast slain by her hand. But what Myria saw startled her; the creature was unnaturally large for a lao, nearly four horses long rather than two. Even so, the massive beast still moved as naught but a flickering shadow, sleek, slick, and bleeding into the light like an extension of the surrounding night. The lao ran now with its head close to the ground, smelling out its path as it bounded steadily on. This was not the same lao Myria had deflected before. This one would do far more damage when it struck. When it took her spear, there was a high chance it would break her arm as well, as the common weapon would not soak up near enough of the lao’s impact.
Myria chased these thoughts from her head. This was a risk she must take to see the beast dead and her company saved. Thus, she focused her mind fully on the tip of the spear. Her aim would be true, and she would pierce the monster’s skull. One good stab was all she needed.
Stretching into the bouncing light of their lanterns, the lao lifted its head, curled its neck, and prepared to strike. Myria drew in a breath and braced herself for the inevitable, but just before her spear could hit its mark, a great cloud of white dust exploded around the lao’s outstretched head and the startled beast toppled as though it had tripped. The beast tumbled, fell away, and rolled over itself in the shadows, leaving nothing behind but the lingering memory of its existence.
The whole event left Myria staring incredulously into the darkness. Gone. The beast was simply gone, and she didn’t know why.
As Myria lowered her spear a shrill cry wracked the sky, causing her to nearly flinch at the intensity of the howl. In all her years, Myria had never heard a lao scream in such a way, and hoped to never do so again for the impression that it left. The haunting bay was one that clawed down the spine, and when Myria turned she saw that it had turned the others timid. Only one among them seemed unbothered by the event and the wailing: the acrobat currently riding sidesaddle upon her stallion.
This was more than enough to baffle Myria silent, though she regained her voice when their company unexpectedly broke free from the trees. With both forest and danger behind them now, Myria immediately called for their halt in order to better tend to Milla’s wound. Quickly thereafter they were racing onward again, over the plains and toward the distance where Neurial stood. Lit up by firelight at every possible angle, the city stood as the only beacon of hope for the ragged party. Only in Neurial could they get proper treatment for Milla, and once there, Myria would force from the acrobat an explanation.