The source of the flickering light was a campfire sending shadows dancing through the trees.

The smell of smoke was an open promise of warmth and she silently berated herself for having traveled so close to the impending darkness. She stepped lightly into the sullen ring of light, deciding to take advantage of the already prepared camp.

It looked like a good place to spend the night. The looming trees easily sheltered the small clearing from the wind and she could hear a bubbling stream in the distance.

Only one thing was missing, really.

The men who'd set the camp.

A dusty old wagon sat at the back of the narrow clearing, the fire's light dragging over the canvas sheets drawn across the top for shelter. Its back wheel jutted out at a sharp angle that spoke of damage.

How the wagoners had managed to maneuver it through the narrow paths surprised the elf, but she thought no more on their skills as the canvas flap twitched sharply.

“That's far enough!” a brittle voice called from within, and the elf noticed a small slitted hole in the side. A glint of steel suggested an arrow tip.

“No, it ain't,” she called back. “Fire's all the way over there.”

“Make your own. You're in a forest. Plenty of dead wood in this shithole.”

The spellslinger hovered behind her. “Nysta? How about we just go around? There's still a little light left.”

“Ain't looking for trouble,” the elf called, ignoring the nervous mage. “Just a bit of warmth. And like to know if you've seen a bunch of fellers on horseback riding this track?”

“What you want with them?”

“It matter?”

“Not really. But we ain't in the habit of getting involved in other people’s’ business. It's a good way to get dead. Know what I mean?”

“Nysta?” Chukshene tugged at her sleeve. “I really don't think-”

“Just want to use the fire,” the elf insisted. “I'll pay.”

A pause. “Pay? With what? You're too scrawny for much and the spellslinger ain't our type despite the dress.”

Someone else in the wagon tittered.

“What did he just say?” the mage looked outraged. “Did he say I was wearing a dress? These are clearly robes!”

“Pay with coin,” she dug into one of her many pouches and pulled out a small handful of silver.

“That real silver?”

The elf tossed one toward the wagon, letting it fall short. “Check for yourself.”

She waited, listening to them argue among themselves before a second voice called; “You’ve got a lot of blades on you for an honest traveler, Long-ear. How about you leave them right there?”

“You got a bow. Let's both keep our weapons. And our fucking distance.”

The discussion within the wagon grew more intense, but the elf could hear the word silver repeated and she moved resolutely toward the campfire, reasonably certain the two men inside would accept the deal.

“Hey!” the second voice cried. “What the fuck you doing?”

“Sitting by the fire while you fellers decide what you wanna do,” she growled. “Let me know when you're ready to earn your pay.”

Chukshene followed cautiously, eyes wide as he stared hard at the hole in the canvas.

“Keep back! I'm warning you!” The arrowhead poked further out through the hole and the mage gave a yelp, skidding backward. “I'll put one through your fucking eye!”

“What the fuck, Oliver?” the first voice sounded disgusted. “Put it away. She ain't impressed and you can't hit a barn door with that thing. Long-ear? We're coming out now. Reckon we can take it easy from here in?”

The elf shrugged, slumping down on a log which had been dragged into position beside the fire. Rubbed her hands together and held them out, feeling the warmth breathe through her fingers.

Chukshene crouched beside her, still hugging his book like a child with a stuffed toy.

The first to emerge had a long hawkish nose and piercing blue eyes. His ragged rust-coloured hair was wild and a little too long. He had a short hatchet slung awkwardly at his hip. “Name's Carter,” he said. “Carter Holl. This is my driver, Oliver Kween. Call him Ollie if you like. I do. Coming up from Firelash. We're traders, Ollie and I. Part of a merchant group. Got left behind when we busted a wheel. Soon have it fixed, though.”

“Don't gotta tell our life story,” Ollie grunted, leaping down behind the shorter man. His face was sharper. Eyes a little too narrow. Fnordic like his companion, his short-cropped beard wiped drily over his chin and cheeks. Heavier in build, he may have been good looking, she thought. If it weren't for the veiled look of disgust he directed at her. A look she'd seen a few times before in men who figured they had reason to hate elfs.

His gaze flashed with malice before sliding sourly away. “You said you had silver.”

“Never mind him,” Carter sighed. “He's just pissed we're falling behind the others. And this is the Deadlands. So, he's seeing draugs in every shadow.”

“It's kept us alive so far!”

“Certainly keeps my bladder empty,” countered the smaller man. Let an apologetic smile twitch across his face. “You're both welcome to spend the night. Share the fire. Pay what you think is fair. At this stage, it's a bonus, I reckon.”

“Carter-”

“Enough, Ollie! I've decided.”

Oliver looked ready to argue. He held the other man's eyes for a moment before letting his breath whoosh out of his lungs. “For fuck sakes,” he growled. “We're never gonna make up for lost days if you keep giving shit away.”

“I prefer to do business my way. You know that.”

The elf kept her gaze on the fire, apparently disinterested. After glancing at her, Chukshene chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully before speaking. “Hey,” he called amiably to the wagoner. “Don't suppose you have any food you can spare, do you? Doesn't have to be cooked. I'd eat it still kicking if I had to.”

“It'll cost you,” Oliver snapped. “I'll bend the rules on the fire. Maybe on letting you sleep close to the wagon. But not on the food. Anything happens out here and we get stranded longer than we think, then we’d be fucked. There's fuck all to eat but dirt and old bones out here. You know that.”

Carter nodded reluctantly. “We can spare a little,” he told the mage. “But Ollie's right. We've wasted a day trying to fix the wheel. The silver will ease his mind, I think.”

“Sure,” Chukshene grinned as Oliver shouldered his bow. Rubbing his hands together happily, he cast a hopeful glance at the elf. “We'll pay. Well. She will. Lend me a few coins, Long-ear? I'm fucking starved.”

Ignoring the mage, the elf leaned toward the wagoner. “You've seen the fellers I was asking about?”

The two Fnords looked at each other and something passed unspoken between them before Carter nodded. The elf felt a grin tug at the corner of her mouth as she guessed their decision right enough.

Oliver threw up his hands in resignation. “Yeah, just give everything away for free. Let's become monks while we're fucking at it. And why bother trading in Lostlight? Let's just give it all away to beggars along the way. Ah, fuck this. I'll see to the horses. Do what you like.”

Grumbling darkly to himself, Oliver stomped off behind the wagon and could be heard muttering to the horses as he led them further from the camp. Carter spread his hands apologetically and sat on the second log to the elf's right.

She thought he looked birdlike in the flickering light as he lifted a small pack from where it had been resting beside the fire. Dug around inside before tossing a small package to the spellslinger. “Here,” he said. “It ain't much, but we don't have a lot left. Hoping to make Highwall in a few days, though. Resupply there.”

Chukshene tore at the wrapping and gave a small satisfied gasp as he pulled out a chunk of cheese and dried strips of meat. Offered some to the elf who gave a quick shake of her head and kept her violet eyes firmly on the hawk-nosed man. “When did you see them?” she asked.

“Yesterday. Late evening just before the snow hit hard. Were nine of them.”

“Nine?” She had expected around that number, but hearing it made her feel slightly overwhelmed. Though she wouldn't stop chasing them until they were all dead, the thought of going against nine possibly well-trained soldiers was a daunting one. She felt a thin trickle of doubt slide down the back of her neck and wondered if she was doing the right thing.

Talek always said she was stubborn.

Told her it would kill her, too. One day.

“Yeah. They rode by easy enough. Ollie kept an arrow on them all the way and to tell the truth, Long-ear, I wouldn't have stopped him shooting them. They looked mean. Meaner than you.”

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“You don't know me all that well,” the elf said, her lip twisting crookedly up toward the scar.

“Still,” the wagoner shrugged. “I'd leave them be if I were you. Don't poke a snake's nest. You'll only get bit.”

“Good advice,” Chukshene allowed.

“If you're set on it, then maybe you should know they didn't give a shit about Ollie's bow,” Carter said. “In fact, the biggest one kind of smiled as though it was nothing. Big bastard with an axe. Looked like he wanted to kill us both just for the fuck of it. I think that's why Ollie was so sore when you came along. He's still feeling rubbed up the wrong way. He wanted to be a soldier, you know. Long time ago. His old dad was one. When he sees men like that, he gets pissed off he didn't get what they got. Still. They moved on. Maybe figured he wasn't so green they could take a chance on losing a few of their number.”

“Maybe figured his arrows were green, too,” the elf drawled. “Which way were they headed?”

“South. Heard one say something about Grimwood Creek. They looked like they were in a hurry. And you really shouldn't joke about Ollie like that. He's not as green as you think. He's worked this trail with me for five years. The Deadlands isn't a place for those who can't defend themselves. We've been through a lot together.”

“Grimwood Creek?” Chukshene frowned. “That's right on the border. So they're Caspiellans? You didn't tell me you were hunting Caspiellans.”

Carter barked a laugh. “Caspiellans? I doubt it. Not unless she's one. Or Rule's decided that elf blood ain't Tainted anymore,” he grinned at the mage's confused expression. “And there's fat chance of that, right? No, mage. They were Long-ears. Like her. You ain't together I take it?”

“No. Just headed in the same direction.”

“Wanna be careful, then,” Carter said ominously. “Ought to know who you're travelling with. That lets you know what kinds of trouble you might find, if you get me?”

Nysta ignored him and stared hard into the fire, her hands twisted together in a knot.

She'd figured they'd been elfs by their boots. Didn't feel too much surprise at the revelation. All the same, it disappointed her that Talek would fall to his own kind. She'd always thought if he had to die violently in the Deadlands, it’d be to a renegade band of humans. An ork, maybe, or a pack of goblins. Or some kind of magic-twisted monstrosity created during the Godwars. Anything.

But not elfs.

She felt the stab of disappointment in her heart and sighed. “What they look like?”

“They were elfs,” Carter shrugged dismissively. “No offence, but you all look the same to me. I guess one was bigger than the others, like I said. Two looked identical. Could've been brothers? Another had a cut along his throat like someone'd tried opening him up and didn't do a good job. Not for lack of trying, I'd say. Awful looking thing. Worse scar than yours. Their leader, though. Come to think of it. He had red hair. That looked pretty strange. Don't see many elfs with red hair. Others looked just like I said. Normal bunch of Long-ears.”

The elf frowned. There were plenty of elfs in the Deadlands. Lostlight was decaying under the constant threat of attack from the southern kingdoms. The city slowly eating itself with fanged mouths of fear and mistrust as the guilds struggled to retain their sliding grip on power. With Grim no longer holding the combined peoples of the north together, old feuds had reignited.

Even King Jutta seemed unable to distance himself from the growing rifts.

Some of the smaller guilds had even quit the city. Headed north to beyond the Great Wall. Fewer still had been reluctant to leave the city and so came to the Deadlands to hide from their more powerful new enemies. Hoping to rebuild their flagging strength and return triumphant one day.

Something else, though, tugged at her thoughts and she looked up at the wagoner as suspicion gnawed behind her eyes. “Red hair? You sure? How red? Red like rust, or red like blood?”

The wagoner ran his hand over his stubbled cheek. “Blood, I guess. He stood out like an ork in a Ruleist church. I didn't like him. His eyes were too pale, you know? Like they were dead. They wore grey tabards, too, if that helps any.”

Her eyes thinned to slits. “Grey? Any insignia on them?”

“None I could see. But seemed to me they were covering something up. I don't know. Just the impression I got.”

“But there were nine of them? You're sure about that?”

“I'm sure. I counted twice because I didn't think Ollie'd have enough arrows.” He glanced over his shoulder before whispering. “Or that he'd shoot fast enough to cut them down before they got to us.”

“Got anything to drink?” Chukshene cut in. He tossed his wrapping onto the fire where it flared intensely for a moment before curling into a tight wadded ball of black.

“Stream over there,” Carter jerked his thumb over his shoulder to where Ollie had taken the horses.

“Oh?” The spellslinger peered into the gloom at the trees. Their twisted trunks creaked at him and the sun, groping blindly at the edge of the world, shone its pale light through their scattered branches. The effect made him think a thousand eyes were watching him.

Waiting for him.

The spellslinger sucked on his teeth. Scratched his chin nervously and wrapped both arms around his book. “Well. I guess I'll be fine. It can wait 'til morning.”

“The others say his name?” Nysta asked quietly.

“Huh?”

“The red-haired elf. They give him a name?”

The wagoner shook his head. “Not that I recall, no. He didn't speak much. Just told the others to keep moving. They did like he said. Seemed to be in charge. Sorry, Long-ear. I can't help you much. They were just a bunch of mean bastards who rode past. Were there for less than a few minutes and didn't come back.”

Her mind raced over this information and an image of a face rose out of the murkiness of her memory. “Raste,” she muttered.

“Sorry?”

“Raste. If it's him, and of course it fucking would be, then the nine are the Bloody Nine.” She scowled. “Fuck.”

“Bloody Nine?” Carter frowned.

“That don't sound friendly,” Chukshene said drily.

“It ain't.”

A shivering wind sucked at her cheeks and she suddenly felt so tired. The tension pulling at her face and shoulders as she struggled to push her ballooning sorrow and rage down into the dark pit of her heart was getting too much to bear.

She wanted to get up and run screaming through the trees.

Wanted to shout at the sky.

Spit curses to all the gods.

To close her eyes and weep herself to sleep.

Raste.

It was him. Raste had killed Talek. She had no doubt of it.

“Nysta?” the spellslinger was looking at her oddly. “You okay?”

“Fine, Chukshene,” she growled. “Just life has a funny way of reaching round and biting you on the ass sometimes.”

Struggling to hold everything inside, the elf turned her face away and tore the image in her mind apart. Raste's face shattered. There was nothing she could do right now, she told herself.

But when she had him in her fists...

She felt her lips tug into a cruel smirk.

He was gonna bleed.

And bleed.

A second wave of exhaustion nudged her shoulders, carried on the sullen warmth from the fire. She'd walked a great distance today, even burdened by the mage. Her gaze flicked over to him as she suddenly realised he'd kept her pace all day despite his moaning.

He looked like shit. His eyes were drooping now that food filled his belly, and already he was swaying gently as though about ready to topple over.

Pursing her lips, she dug into one of the many pouches lining her jacket and pulled out a few more coins. Tossed them at the wagoner. “For the fire. And food.”

“You didn't have any,” Carter observed.

“Ain't hungry,” she said. And even though it was a lie, the rising bitterness tugging at her mind made everything feel tense. So tense she didn't think she could face eating right now.

He scooped the coins and dropped them into a purse at his waist. He hesitated for a moment. “Generous of you to pay for the spellslinger. Especially as you're both strangers. Don't see that kind of generosity in the Deadlands much.”

The elf grunted in reply.

“Well,” the wagoner stood and looked around, dusting himself off. “I better find Ollie. Then I reckon we'll get some sleep. Like an early start. The rest of our team is up ahead and they won't wait for us. Our leader, Kalel, is always trying to prove something. He's a competitive prick. We'd like to prove him wrong and catch him before he makes the Stonefist.”

“Bit harsh though, isn't it?” Chukshene asked over a yawn. “Leaving you out here in the Deadlands all alone? This place isn't known for being friendly.”

“No,” the wagoner nodded. “It isn't. But we made a deal with Kalel. And I'll honour it even if he doesn't. Matter of pride. I'd like to think we're better than him. Besides, we've travelled this way before. Nothing here we can't handle. And Ollie ain't as bad with his bow as you think.”

“Seemed a bit of a straight-shooter,” the elf allowed gently.

Carter threw her a puzzled look before touching his forelock in salute. “Right, then. I'll leave you both to it. There isn't much room in the wagon and Ollie'd never allow you to share it with us anyway. But the fire will keep you warm. Sleep well, Long-ear. Mage.”

Chukshene nodded politely and watched the wagoner as he headed off into the dark, calling for Oliver. Turning back to the elf, he tapped the edge of his grimoire thoughtfully. Rested his head on it and eyed her steadily for a moment before speaking. “I'm sorry.”

“What for?”

“Your loss.”

The elf waited, thinking he was about to say something more, but he left it at that and allowed the silence to stretch.

A log popped in the flame and she rubbed the scar on her cheek absently. “Thanks.”

“Can I ask you something?” He kept tapping the grimoire.

“If you have to.”

“Why'd you let me come with you? You could've left me. Could've stuck one of your toys into my eye. Or worse places. I don't understand. I mean, I don't know you. But I can see you're not the type to do things out of the goodness of your heart. So why'd you do it? Why let me live? Not because you like me. I can see that. Don't understand, of course. I mean, what's not to like?”

“It important, Chukshene?”

“To me. Like the little guy said. It makes sense to know who you travel with.”

She rolled her shoulders, feeling the knots loosen as she listened to the sound of his breathing mingle with the crackle of the fire.

Deep in the dark, a horse gave a low whinny.

The voices of Oliver and Carter crept through the night and the elf closed her eyes, but couldn't make out any words. The tone, however, was clear.

She sighed, scratching at the palm of her hand.

Opening her violet eyes, the elf looked hard at the spellslinger. “My husband was murdered yesterday,” she said. “Shouldn't have happened, but it did. Two years ago, I'd have come home to find a bunch of corpses in the sun and Talek whistling while he dug their graves. But not this year. Yesterday, I buried him instead. Took the knife that killed him from his chest. Keep it right here at my hip. I mean to give it back to the feller who left it behind. Only right to return a man's belongings. What's worse right now is I think I know the man who owns it. And if it's him, I should've killed him a long time ago. A moment's weakness. That's all. A moment's weakness and this is my reward for letting him live. Why'd I let you come with me, spellslinger? Because you piss me off. And while you're pissing me off, I can stop thinking how this is all my fault.”

“Your fault?” he leaned forward. “How is it your fau-”

“Freeze!” Oliver screamed, leaping into the clearing. His bow quivered in his hand, the arrow's tip glinting wickedly in the firelight.

His face was sharp and demonic as he struggled with the urge to let the arrow fly into her body and the last fragment of humanity which baulked at the thought of cold-blooded murder. The elf noticed the struggle and wondered if there had ever been a time when she herself had fought that struggle.

Behind him, Carter had his hatchet in one hand and a small dagger in the other. Though he looked reluctant to fight, there was a resignation in the way he carried himself beside the archer.

She didn't doubt the wagoners' determination and ability to kill.

Her eyes slid over them, slowly. “Cold word to use by a fire as warm as this one. You sure you want to do this?” The elf’s eyes glinted. “Just the two of you? Without your team?”

The archer bared his teeth. The bow creaked dangerously in his fist. “I can kill you just fine on my own, Long-ear.”

“Don't reckon you can,” she said, ignoring Chukshene's hiss of shock as she rose to her feet like a leviathan from the sea.

“Sit the fuck down!” Oliver shrieked, jerking his aim between the elf and the mage. “I'm warning you, you fucking Tainted bitch! I'll fucking kill you! I will!”

“Please,” the hawk-nosed Carter whined. “Do what he says. We don't want to kill you. Just want the rest of your silver. We need it to get to Lostlight. Our wagon's ruined. When I said we'd repaired the wheel, I lied. Look at it. It can't be repaired. We've been trying for the past two days and there's no hope. We're going to leave it. And our stock. We'll be ruined if we go as we are. But with your silver, we might make out. Please. Don't make this harder than it needs to be.”

The elf let her hand drop to the hilt of A Flaw in the Glass. The other drifted above Entrance Exam. She let her mouth curl into a twisted smile that left the archer in no doubt as to where to keep his arrow aimed. Ignoring the threat, the elf took a half-step closer. “You fellers should know two things, first.”

The archer's tongue flicked over his upper lip. “What's that?”

Two blades leapt into her fists like flashes of silver. A Flaw in the Glass flared venomously as her voice cut smoothly through the night. “I'm super pissed. And you're out of your league.”