Lohmen set up camp as he’d done the night before and noted so in his log. This was to be the second night he’d spend outdoors since he and the ranger parted ways. The proximity of Banner-towns and the small fortune had allowed him to stay at inns since he left Kidkam. He was a few hours outside of Lasiksi in the realm of Snaspakisnum. Dubbed the Strong Arm of Reflection, Snaspakisnum’s most notable feature was a long natural jetty extending from the otherwise even shore.

He felt like he’d been making good time, though he had no history to use as a comparison. Travelling directly from one place to another was much more efficient than when he had been testing his boundary.

Almost a week had passed since he broke through his tether, but that was still as much a mystery as Thesdon’s disappearance. As were his Masterpieces.

He tried to work out how all the pieces fit and frame what NaaShar from the fire had told him.

He thought of Thesdon running, but the only clue had been his shoe. For five years, he’d solved nothing except mapping his prison, a near-perfect circle around his house and masterpiece. Until the letters from his commissioners.

Staring into the fire, Lohmen ruminated about who put the Banner book into motion. Along with everything else he owned, he now carried the letters with him. He had evidence in his hands and was soon to meet with someone in the commerce of paper. The unusual material and strange symbol would undoubtedly strike a bookbinder as odd. Tolo’s bill of sale, the only other document he carried, was folded and put in the back of his cartography book.

From his larger pack, he pulled out the soft, leather bag and tucked his gloves inside. He set the bag aside and gave his fingers a flex and a stretch, then laid down using his pack as a pillow. It was a far cry from a feather bed, but he welcomed the rest. His hood, folded and layered on top, provided some much-needed softness.

His hand silhouetted against the dancing flames of his campfire, he thumbed at his ring. It hadn’t come off, despite Kahriah having left five years ago.

If it weren’t for Tolo, I wouldn’t be wearing this ring.

The sound of a branch breaking in the forest jolted him from nostalgia. He sat up in his makeshift bed, squinting over the fire, trying to locate the sound. Lohmen stood and tried to peer into the darkness. It was hard to pinpoint sounds in the forest over his pounding heart. Lohmen’s fears materialised when the figure of a large, barrel-chested man emerged from the forest and walked towards the fire.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Lohmen asked meekly, facing the intruder but slowly backing away. He had never met anyone in the five years he slept out in Umlom.

The man snorted at the weak demand and moved closer. Lohmen took another step back and bumped into someone else. A daggered hand reached over his shoulder, and Lohmen felt the cold sting of steel at his throat.

“To rob you, of course.” The big man said.

“I…I have lords. Take them and be on your way.” Lohmen said, strained. The offer didn’t get a response. But the man holding the blade at his neck reached and pulled Lohmen’s healthy purse from his belt and threw it to the other man.

“You’re quite a stupid bastard, m’lord?” He mocked. “We saw you leave Lasiksi and knew you’d need to make camp before long.” He spoke with cocksure certainty. “It’s our life made easy when a toe-head like yourself carries a big bag of lords and sleeps out.”

“You have my coin. Please, leave me.” Lohmen pleaded, fearing for his life.

“Every mark tells a story,” The barrel-chested man exclaimed as if in a play. “Let’s see who you are, wealthy traveller. Don’t do anything stupid, and you might survive the night.” He bent and let the fire illuminate his face for Lohmen. He was a thick man and built for power. A deep scar ran from his forehead to the corner of his lips, which made his mouth sit lopsided on his face.

He bent to pick up one of the saddle bags, and Lohmen saw the man’s woodcutter’s axe, its blade caked from use. Lohmen stood motionless, the dagger pressed to his neck by the second assailant. The big man stuck his arm inside and pulled out vials of paint. He studied them briefly, and then hurled them to the ground– breaking as they hit roots and rocks. Lohmen winced as they smashed. The axeman ripped out a few paintbrushes and a palette and let them fall to his feet.

The man with the dagger kicked Lohmen’s bag, the one with the masterpiece, to his partner. The big man grabbed it and pulled out Lohmen’s mapbook first. After a brief inspection, it fell to the forest floor.

“Ah…this is better.” His eyes lit up.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Out came a pair of heavy gloves with a pendant tangled in their fingers. The pendant he put around his neck and the gloves got tucked in his thick belt. He turned the bag upside down, and a rolled canvas hit the ground beside the two commission letters.

“What’ve we here?” He picked up the three pieces and opened the letters first, then flung them dismissively to the fire. The third item caught his attention; the canvas.

Lohmen swallowed hard and clenched his teeth. “Leave it!” An uneven smile crept across the big man’s face.

He roughly worked the twine off the scroll and opened it.

“What the troll-scat is this?” he said with a furrowed brow. “You’re a dreadful painter, lad. I’d be doing the realms a favour killin’ you.”

He looked at Lohmen as he tossed the painting into the fire. Lohmen’s nostrils flared. His eyes twitched, and his canines bit into his lower lip. He started toward the fire but was quickly reminded of the blade pressed at his throat. A warm trickle slid down Lohmen’s neck.

The disfigured axeman chuckled with delight as the flames engulfed the canvas. Lohmen’s chest started to heave.

A surge of adrenaline erupted through Lohmen’s blood, like dragon fire ripping through an army. The gangly painter hadn’t been in a fight since he was a child, but in that moment, a fury soaked him to the core. He took a deep breath, grabbed the daggerman’s arm, and pushed the blade away from his neck. The captor’s strength was too much, so Lohmen pulled the man’s arm and ducked. The blade sliced through the painter’s cheek before lodging in the captor’s throat. Lohmen broke free of the man and bolted toward the fire.

The painting.

The daggerman pulled the blade from the soft tissue in his neck, and blood began to seep. The tall, bald man fell to his knees.

Lohmen dove to his knees at the firepit and tried to pull the painting from the flames. Only small scraps of his masterpiece with glowing edges floated in the air. Lohmen let out a deep rolling groan. It sounded like agony at first, then turned to anger. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the raised axe. Lohmen’s hand plunged into the fire and shovelled a heap of hot coals in the axemans’ face. A high-pitched howl bellowed out of the big man, and the axe fell to one arm at his side.

Lohmen glanced to the left. The bald man had regained a knee and made to stand, still holding his neck with one hand and the dagger with the other. Lohmen turned his attention to the barrel-chested man, and his legs exploded underneath him. He charged the axeman, burying his shoulder into the midsection and driving him back. Unable to raise his weapon, the axeman beat down on the painter’s back with his free hand. Lohmen kept pushing until he overtook the axeman, and they both hit the ground in a tumble. A giant empty gasp left the axeman’s mouth, and the axe clanked to the side, free of his hand.

Lohmen rolled off the man and picked up the axe. From his side, Lohmen swung hard for his head, but the big man had managed to roll partly out of the way. The blade buried deep in his shoulder instead.

Lohmen retrieved the axe and turned his attention to the bleeding daggerman staggering slowly toward him. Lohmen cast wide swings with his weapon. The daggerman stepped backward, dodging the attacks. He retreated to the fire’s edge and tripped, his backside landing on the hot coals and the dagger falling to the ground. Lohmen advanced, and the bald man rolled from the fire and attempted to scurry away. Lohmen delivered the axe directly into the man’s lower spine as he crawled.

A groan exploded from Lohmen as the axeman charged into his side, sending them to the ground. They wrestled for a moment, but the wiry painter was atop the big man in seconds. Lohmen pinned his good arm down, the other lifeless and barely attached. The painter grabbed a rock and brought it to the man’s jaw. The man moaned through shattered teeth, but Lohmen raised the stone again. Another blow to the side of the axeman’s face. Another crunch. Lohmen watched the rock meet face until no sounds came from the man.

Lohmen stood up, breathing heavily, blood covering his head, chest, and hands. He stumbled backward, his heart pounding. He looked around frantically at the carnage. A hand clasped his ankle and sent another wave of adrenaline through his blood. Lohmen looked down to see the daggerman before shaking free of his weak grip.

Lohmen pulled the axe from the man’s still body.

“Who are you?” Lohmen demanded.

The bald man tried to mutter something but blood pooled in his throat. Lohmen retreated to a rock at the edge of his campsite and sat down. He rested the axe on the rock, and the weight of events washed over him.

How?

Laboured breaths burned his lungs. He touched his cheek and felt the deep gash. The flesh hadn’t separated, and he was spared feeling his teeth from the outside. Barely. A wave of nausea.

His breathing slowed a little, and the adrenaline receded.

I’m a killer.

The realisation hammered Lohmen, the man who’d never hurt anything in his life. Any sentencing for his verdict would have to wait; His hand screamed out in pain. What skin remained was blistered and glistening, and the digit had begun to bulge around Kahriah’s ring. Perhaps from the fire or perhaps from the puss, the ring had a dull glow between lumps of Lohmen’s finger.

He found his waterskin, pulled the cork with his teeth, and poured the cool water over his hand. Any relief he got was short-lived.

Lohmen took stock of his situation, and he forced reason on himself.

They were going to kill me.

Breath.

How?

“Think.” His thoughts became audible as he spoke himself into clarity. “Get your things and get out of here.”

His eyes wide open, the daggerman lay ten feet in front of Lohmen. Lohmen thought the man was dead until he blinked, causing Lohmen to stumble. When he had regained his footing, Lohmen cautiously grabbed the dagger from beside the body, avoiding eye contact, and walked toward the axeman’s body.