One more step. One more step. Just one more.

The mantra had sustained Krosa as she used a combination of magic and as much brute force as she could muster to slowly drag the inert mass of Yashik back towards the castle. The baroness had been oddly still in her mind and senses, and she got the vague impression that the powerful green mage was occupied in some great working, and unable to assist her.

So there she was, putting one foot in front of the other, over and over, telling herself with each step that maybe this one would be last. Her charge lay lashed to a contraption of branches and vines, his shining axe still clutched in his hand. He had been gripping it when she found him, the blade buried deep in the flank of the bear. Unable to loosen his grip on the thing, she’d been forced to dig it out of the corpse before she could roll the baron onto her makeshift travois.

Makeshift it was indeed. She had tried to make wheels, but without the Baroness feeding her extra power, the task proved beyond her abilities. Instead, she was forced to weave a sort of basket on poles, which she was now dragging behind her. She was able to get some assistance by directing branches to grow out from the carrying poles and push somewhat, and that was the only reason she had made any progress at all.

The prone form in the basket weighed more than she thought possible, and every step had been a struggle. Every muscle that hadn’t gone numb now burned or ached, and blood dripped at a steady pace from her nose at the mental strain. Crimson mixed with clear as the blood from her nose mixed with sweat that poured down her face, despite the rapidly cooling temperature. She had forced herself through the first hours of dragging her burden with clever thoughts of honor and sacrifice, but now all she had left was her mantra. One more. One more.

The woven grass ropes she’d used to strap the travois to her waist and shoulders drew fresh blood with every step, and she’d stopped even wondering if her passenger was alive or if she was hauling a massive corpse. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore but the next step, and the one after that. One more

Before the single-minded determination had caused everything else to fade into the background, she had worried about the creatures that stalked the woods. Surely they would leap on any opportunity to finish off the giant man who had been brutally slaughtering their ilk for so long? But she did not see or hear any sign of them, although early on she had felt stirrings in the magical energy of the forest and guessed that the baroness was somehow responsible for their safety. Which also explained why she had received no aid on the journey home, when she needed it most.

One more. She almost stumbled as her foot fell onto what seemed like the flattest surface she had ever experienced. Some distant part of her mind recognized the hard-packed surface of the road that led to the castle, and her next step turned in the right direction without any conscious thought. An eternity passed one step at a time, entire galaxies were born, shone brightly, then imploded to dust as Krosa’s foot traveled forward a few inches. An unexpected obstacle met her toes with the force of a supernova, throwing her to the ground and out of existence.

Her return to reality came gradually, her brain pulled gently into wakefulness by a warm red glow and sense of familiarity. She opened her eyes, momentarily confused about where she was and how she’d gotten there. First focusing on the object that had tripped her, she saw a carved stone that outlined one of the decorative gardens that had been thoughtfully placed long ago in the courtyard of the castle. She had made it. More pieces of the world began to click into place as her still exhausted body screamed for her attention and she forced herself to ignore it. The still form of Yashik lay where she had dropped him when she fell into unconsciousness. In the dim red light she thought she could see him breathing and she almost wept in relief.

No tears came, her body rebelling at the thought of doing anything beyond existing. Crawling to his side, she checked him over to see if there was anything she could do with her limited knowledge of wounds and medicine. His wounds seemed to not be actively bleeding, which she knew was good. Or very bad. But since his chest still rose and fell slightly, and she could detect a heartbeat when she held her finger to the grotesquely thick neck, she assumed it wasn’t the bad kind of Now that she had gone through what medical training Gost and Dyrik had beaten into her to the point that she didn’t need to think about it, she found herself incapable of further diagnosis or treatment, and slumped against the shredded meat of the baron’s side.

Her befuddled thoughts grasped muddily at how she was able to see her patient as well as she could. Surely it was not yet dawn? The light that filtered through the night made her think of the red sun that rose when the air was thick with dust or the potential for rain. But something told her that no matter how long it had felt, she had not been in the forest all night. So where was the light coming from? Turning her head, Krosa could see the glow filtering around from behind the castle, a bright point in the distance that she could not see through the masonry and wood that formed the manor.

Staggering to her feet, she made her way to the stairs that led up to the parapet atop the outer walls, concern for Yashik momentarily set aside as she felt an urgent need to solve the mystery of the light. Not only did she need to find out what it was, she needed to know why it felt so…familiar. Using the merlons for support, she made her way around to the side of the manor, where she could get a clear view.

She kept her eyes down as she moved, watching carefully where she place each foot lest she step in a bucket or suffer some equally ridiculous pratfall off the battlements. So it was not until she had made her way to a place where she knew she’d have a clear view that she raised her head and looked towards the light.

The tears she had been unable to shed before now sprang to her eyes, as she saw the world burning.

**********

Gost watched in silence as his friend tried to burn away the blight of the curse. It was a futile gesture, and they both knew it. If Dyrik had the power to eliminate the dark magic with fire, he would have done it already. But he needed this. If nothing else, it would let Krosa know that they still lived, and perhaps give her hope that they were doing their utmost to free her. Of course, it was just as likely that she would be caught in the conflagration and burned to death.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

If it were him, he’d toss a coin on which fate was preferable. They didn’t know what happened to humans in the curse, all they had seen come out of it were the twisted monsters and the strange giant warrior who had wreaked so much havoc on the horde a few days before. Perhaps they were being held in reserve, or perhaps their vital energies were taken to feed the conversion of the beasts. Or maybe they just wandered lost until the fiends of the forest tore them apart. His preferred thought was that she still lived, she was unharmed and uncorrupted, and that the fire would inspire hope.

Since all the other options involved Krosa being dead or lost to the curse, Gost decided that he was going to choose to believe the most optimistic scenario and act based on that. Embers floated past him, thrown back from the force of the conflagration before being carried upwards and fading into the night, cooling to dull sparks as the drifted across the mountain side. If it were a normal fire, Gost would be concerned about it spreading behind them, carried by the mountain breeze. But this fire was not wild. It was controlled, locked in the iron will of the pyromancer who stood before it, willing it to burn as he directed.

Gost patted the horses calmingly, making sure their hoods were securely fastened. The poor animals were not happy about their situation, but he’d always had an affinity with animals, and they sensed from him that they were safe. Or maybe they’re too stupid to know what danger they’re in. The thought came unbidden as his hand idly ran across the faint scars that spread across his jaw. Burn scars.

A memory followed, of a vast field of blood and death, of a small group of warriors beset on all sides, of fire. So much fire, saving and searing, flesh melting from the bones of friend and foe alike. A young mage, lost in desperation and the unplumbed depths of his own power. The man who was supposed to guard his back, succumbing to the heat and flame. Pain. So much pain.

Idly, he took out a knife and a small whetstone, settled down on the ground, and began to sharpen the blade. The smooth, familiar motion comforted him, even though he could barely hear the friendly rasping sound over the roar of the fire. Dyrik stood amidst flames, the air warping around him in a display of power that few in the kingdoms could match. Even so, Gost could tell that his friend was holding back. Flames leapt from tree to tree, burning paths through the underbrush, probing like fingers until they encountered resistance, then dying back. The mage was attacking the curse, probing for weaknesses, clearing having decided that overwhelming force was not an effective strategy.

An hour passed, then another. Whips of flame lashed at the boundaries cursed forest, slashing and rebounding. Gost had sharpened every weapon he had, removing as much dried blood as he could from the rest of his gear. What a mess. He observed, picking an unidentifiable piece of creature from the side of his boot. The pile of bodies he had accumulated had long since been reduced to ash, and Gost resisted the urge to sneeze at the thought.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him of what was most important in life. The saddlebags Dyrik had brought up the mountain yielded a disappointing selection of dried meat and the common field rations of the Order. Sometimes he wondered, how with all the magic in the world, all the clever people like his wizard friend and the monster who had created the curse that tormented the little village in the mountains, why nobody could magic up better food for soldiers.

Maybe they were bad on purpose? Some form of combat training, meant to give troops and edge over their enemies by turning their hearts to stone and their bowels to iron? Or maybe everyone was just secretly jealous of those who lived on the battlefield, and in their envy decided to inflict bad food on them. Or maybe all these mages are too caught up smelling their own asses that they don’t know what’s important in life, he mused.

That line of thinking was cut short by the night going suddenly dark. Spots danced across his eyes as the fire extinguished itself so suddenly that tiny tornadoes sprung up in the ashes as hot air lost its source and mixed with cool mountain air that the flames had been pulling in. Doing his best to blink his eyes into working in the sudden dark, he rose to his feet.

“You know, you could have left a little bit to see by”

“Sorry, it was take it all or let it go, and I think I've caused enough damage for one night. Hold on”

A light sprang up as a small pine tree that had escaped the inferno burst into flames, illuminating what remained of the clearing. The only sound for a moment was the crackling of the sap on the tree as it burned. Dyrik was the first to break the silence.

“Blood and ash, as usual. Why is it we can never go anywhere without it ending up covered in vital fluids and char?”

“Speak for yourself, I’m more known for leaving a trail of empty plates and broken hearts. That’s me, just a peaceful enjoyer of the finer things in life.” Gost’s tone turned accusing. “YOU’RE the one that’s always flitting about, reading books. I've tried to tell you, those things are nothing but trouble, but nobody ever wants to listen to me when they can let some centuries-old ‘wise man’ tell them how to live their lives. Tell me, if they’re so smart, what are they doing writing books? Shouldn’t they be off ruling planets instead? Can’t be that smart if they’re grubbing around in ink all day.”

Dyrik just sighed wearily, and folded into the ground. Gost tossed him a canteen and small bag of rations, then took another helping for himself. Sitting down next to his friend, he sighed wearily.

“Hopefully she saw that, and knows what it means.”

“She did, can’t really explain but when I was hitting the curse, I got some feedback. Learned a lot, actually. If I’d done that 6 months ago…” The wizard trailed off as he gazed into the distance, brow furrowed.

Gost shrugged. “Sure, you could have learned something, or you could have fried that gooey wizard brain of yours and killed half the village. We balanced risk and reward based on what we knew at the time. If you want to spend your life in the past, trying to remake decisions that have already been made, that’s up to you. But that’s not my kind of ride. Me, I say we deal with what’s in front of us, and if we mess it up, we deal with the consequences. Every second you waste fretting on what could have been prevents you from taking care of what is. And that’s where I need you Dy. Here and now, doing that wizard stuff.”

The mage spoke around a half-chewed mouthful of dried meat. “Have I ever mentioned how hard it is to indulge in a moment of useless self-recrimination around you? It’s infuriating sometimes. And let me remind you, I wasn’t the one bemoaning my inability to single-handedly protect and keep track of a girl during a hopeless battle against the forces of darkness, was I? No my friend, I believe that was you.”

“Yes, but I didn’t WALLOW in it. You’re a wallower, always have been. If I let you get too far down you’d get stuck in like a pig in mud.”

“Pigs are happy in mud”

“Not when they’re stuck”

“Well, if somebody brings them food while they’re there…”

The two men shared a brief smile at the mental image that conjured, then finished their meal. Returning to the horses, Gost decided to ask the question.

“So, what’s next?”

The mage grinned impishly. Not the impish smile of a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar, but that of an actual fiend of the underworld, greeting a new victim.

“Next? We’ve got some reading to do.”

Gost’s groan as he mounted the saddle was only partially from his wounds.