Firgen sat in his tent at the map table. He pushed a whet stone from side to side across the surface with one finger.

Ebýr stood with his arms folded, glistening with sweat and splotches of oil. Audovera paced around the table, biting her nails.

Firgen pulled his chair in closer so she wouldn’t trip on it, “I cannot believe we lost to that damn weasel.”

“I’m just glad we managed to scare off those things,” said Audovera.

“They wandered off as if they couldn’t be bothered to kill any more of my soldiers. I’ve never been simultaneously relieved and insulted. It's infuriating.”

“Be grateful Firgen. We were lucky to survive,” said Audovera.

Firgen reached for his spiced wine, dipped his finger into the goblet, and traced out Dolwillen’s face on the table surface, “I lost a quarter of my troops and half of the injured will not be fighting again anytime soon.”

“Dolwillen’s casualties were much worse, Sire.” said Ebýr. “I think we killed half of his soldiers. They won’t fight again without reinforcements. I’d call it a victory.”

Firgen spun the tip of his dagger on the tip of Dolwillen’s wine traced nose and shook his head, “When both sides retreat, it’s a loss.”

He repeatedly slammed his dagger into the table, “Gods dammit!”

“I lost my first born son,” said Audovera. “I am as furious as you are, if not more so, but it was a battle. Someone must lose, others have to die.” Audovera collapsed into a chair, “I care little that we lost.”

Firgen sagged and scratched the back of his head, “I’m sorry Audovera. Reymnd was a fine young man.”

Audovera reached across the table and placed her hand over his for a short moment, “You did everything you could to keep us together. Nobody expects a miracle when they face a monster.”

“They only hope for one and the King is supposed to provide it,” said Firgen. “I may wish to perform dashing feats, but it’s not going to happen.” Firgen scored his dagger across Dolwillen’s crude, wine drawn eyes, “Any word from my bridge saboteurs?”

“They were last seen riding south, pursued by soldiers under Mánfeld’s personal banner,” said Ebýr. “I don’t know if the Duke or his Drýmann were with them, but it is likely.”

“What should we do?” said Audovera.

Firgen leant back and stared into the canopy of the royal campaign tent. It had several more patches than yesterday.

“Find out where Dolwillen is. If he’s run off, we’ll send a messenger to the other side. If they refuse to surrender, execute the nobles we captured, then ask again,” said Firgen.

*

Elewýs and the troop had been on the run for a week, travelling cross country, thirty, sometimes forty miles a day. It was mostly flat, but the late autumn heat and chilly nights were taking their toll.

I feel sorry for the horses.

Food was low and tempers were high. Elewýs was eating three times as much as everyone else and she’d still lost weight.

No one has complained about my appetite. They’re so nice I am beginning to wonder if something is wrong.

“Gods this itches,” said Clæfre.

“That’s what happens when you catch the Scales,” said Milde.

“What’s that?”

“No idea,” said Milde. “But it sounds dirty, right? You should get Péton to have a look at it.”

“Have you ever tried riding twenty miles with a pike between your breasts?”

Milde sniggered.

“You really have to fish your brain from the dyke.”

“That’s what-”

“No, don’t go there. I’m really not in the mood,” said Clæfre. “My arse hurts, my thighs are sore, and I’m still finding scales everywhere. They’ve left little scratches all over me and every time this bloody horse jostles me, they all open up.”

“Sounds like a good night out to me.” Milde yawned, “Nice fish though. Last bit of fresh food we’ve had in days.”

Clæfre grinned, “So worth it.”

“Anyone know why Hrolf is back?” said Milde.

“He hasn’t told anyone,” said Clæfre. “I think he’s sulking.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Elewýs stumbled, then sprinted to catch up.

“You alright?” said Clæfre.

“I’ll live,” said Elewýs.

“You’re amazing,” said Milde. “I don’t know how you do it. You’ve been jogging beside the horses for days and you still look good.”

“Thank you, but it’s not like I have a choice. The Gréatian is still following us, Mánfeld too. I don’t want to find out what happens if either of them catch us.”

“I think if the creature wanted to catch us, it would have,” said Clæfre. “And Mánfeld is too slow.”

“I hope so,” said Elewýs. “He’s creepy.”

“We can’t keep going south though,” said Clæfre. “We’re already in the Cassuc Westeland. None of us have been here before and we’re completely lost. I guess we’ll hit the coast or the Werodflód eventually, but that’s hundreds of miles away. What do we do after that? The Duke is mad enough to chase us forever.”

Milde tried to shrug, a rather useless gesture when riding at a trot, “Ask Leth.”

“He looks as lost as the rest of us,” said Clæfre.

“He’s nice,” said Elewýs, “I like how he makes water appear from nowhere. I’d be pretty thirsty by now if he wasn’t about.”

“I thought he couldn’t make sweet, sweet magic without blowing up,” said Milde.

“Well he’s seventeen, what did you expect,” said Clæfre. She picked a fish scale from her leg and flicked it into the grass, “He’s been getting better ever since he found the yellow rock though.”

“The Feorhhord Gimcynn he unwraps every night?” said Milde. “There’s a real heart inside. Beating. I want to know what we’re going to do with that.”

“It makes me queasy every time he brings it out,” said Clæfre. “Weard won’t go near the thing.”

“Don’t blame him,” said Elewýs. “It’s nothing like the obelisks in the Wúduwésten. It has all these braided black streaks coming out of it. I catch a glimpse of them every time my mind wanders off.”

“Black streaks?” said Milde.

Elewýs nodded, “Like a rope, or chain. Nothing I can do about is though. I am going to ask where we’re going.”

“We’ll go together,” said Clæfre.

Elewýs nodded and they moved up the line.

“Hi, Leth!” said Clæfre, waving.

“Hmmm?” said Leth.

He seems distracted.

“Where are we going?” said Clæfre.

“South.”

“I mean after that.”

“Erm…”

“You don’t have to answer now,” said Elewýs.

Milde dropped her reins and crossed her arms, “We’re lost, aren’t we.”

“No, no, not lost. Just a long way from where we need to be,” said Leth.

“Which is?” said Elewýs.

“I don’t…” He tossed his head from side to side, biting his lip. He glanced at the sky, then grinned, “ The Wúduwésten! We need to go to the Wúduwésten.”

“Why? Why there?” said Elewýs.

“Sorry,” said Leth.

Cempa rode up, “Let’s stop for a few minutes, lad. Neither us, or the horses, can risk an injury.”

“Alright,” said Leth.

The troop pulled up and dismounted. Hrolf and Péton lifted the saddles off the horses to help them cool off. Tadhgán dug around in one of the packs and found a handful of wrinkled carrots.

Elewýs removed her pack and rubbed her shoulders, “Do I get one too?”

Tadhgán laughed and tossed her one.

“I could do with a snack as well,” said Cempa.

Weard reached into his jacket and produced a dry, battered sausage, “I was saving this for a rainy day, but I guess a big decision will do.” He parcelled out thick slices of spiced salty meat.

“A truly unique flavour,” said Péton.

The first slice left Elewýs’s mouth both dry and greasy.

“It’s been marinating for awhile,” said Weard.

Elewýs ate the second with a little more caution.

“I think I can block the Cwylla,” said Leth.

“Not all of us can hear if you whisper,” said Weard.

“The Gréatian’s heartstone has given me an idea,” said Leth.

“And,” said Milde.

“If we stop the Cwylla, the Gréatian will have to move back to the Wúduwésten or die. Duke Mánfeld won’t have his monsters, and the King can beat him back.”

“I wouldn’t call that an epiphany,” said Cempa. “It’s exactly what we’d be doing if we could do it.”

“Both the creature and the Duke are following us,” said Tadhgán. “The only way we can wiggle out of this one is to ride to the end of the world.”

“That was before we found this.” Leth pointed at his left saddlebag.

“Sounds a bit convenient to me,” said Péton.

“I don’t particularly care,” said Milde. “As long as it means I can go back to shooting small furry animals and drinking cider. Can you do it?”

“Yes,” said Leth.

“Then I’m all for it,” said Milde.

“Me too,” said Clæfre.

“It’s not supposed to be a discussion you know,” said Leth.

“Never hurts to know people are on your side,” said Cempa. “If you say you can, we’ll follow you, but if it doesn’t work, you’d better be ready to run. I don’t want to have to explain to Sir Wulfslæd how I let his son get mangled under my watch.”

“We’ll be fine. I can do it,” said Leth. “I’m not a sulking incompetent.”

“Never said you were,” said Cempa.

“How do we find the Wúduwésten,” said Péton.

Leth looked at her.

“Is it the only way?” said Elewýs.

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll lead you,” said Elewýs.

Cempa raised an eyebrow, “How?”

She stared at the magic streaming through the sky and smiled, “I always know where my home is.”