The tracks led up into the tree, moving ever up the trunk. The four looked at each other. None of them felt comfortable climbing and moving in such an environment. Strapping their weapons to their backs and securing scabbards by strapping them down so they wouldn’t swing and pull them off balance, they started to climb. The roughness of the trunk and the frequent branches made it much easier than they expected.
They followed the marks gauged into the tree by whatever creature they followed. They saw it had moved across a branch from another tree, the two branches almost touching but not quite. The branches were thick and sound, easily able to hold their weight, but they swayed in the wind which pushed at them and all looked nervously across the gap, at the jump they needed to make.
Martin turned to see Gwynneth unstrapping her wings as she removed her protective cloak.
“I’ll go across with a rope and secure it. You then jump with the rope attached. If you fall, I’ll bring you up.” She looked at Kilia, “Mind if I loan one of your daggers? I need to cut away branches as I go forward to save my wings.”
“Here you go,” she looked at Martin, “If it gets lost you have to make me a new one!”
He nodded, they were fighting together as well as friends. To help a friend and colleague was not an issue to him. If need be, he would take the time necessary to replace it. He would have smiled, but after what he had seen he found himself unable to. The mutilated body of the child made him grim, driving him to find who, and what had done this. He had to save the other child.
“We are saving a child. If a knife is all that is lost, I will rejoice.” His face was grim, his resolution obvious. Hurnith nodded, his snarling mouth visible even under the gel covering his face.
“We will find them.” He looked at the gap. “However long it takes, we will follow whoever did this and save the child.”
It did not take long. With the rune-sharp dagger, Gwynneth easily removed the branches she feared would damage her wings. A quick flit across and she tied the rope securely to the branch while flying a bit higher to rest on a branch above so she would not be dislodged by the branch moving when the others came across.
One by one they jumped across, none falling though it was close with Martin, the least sure-footed of them. Silently, he made a promise to himself “Next time I can, I raise dexterity! It will help the rune inscription and it will let me catch up to the others so I do not hinder them like this!” They continued onwards, following the trail, the scour marks no longer blood-filled, but they remained concerned by the blood they found. There was only one source for it, the kidnapped child. They pushed on, determined, grim and praying they would find a live child and not a corpse.
***
Dorne looked up at the forest overhead through the shroud of pain and tear-filled eyes. The creature had grabbed him as he tried to cross the bridge, shouting for help. It had easily caught him, pulling his feet out from under him before pulling him up and looking at him. He stared at the cruel face, the mandibles that clacked at him, the small black eyes hidden behind ridges. He saw no pity, nothing but his death as fear seized him and blocked his throat. The creature seemed to make some decision, and instead of treating him as he had poor Jine, Dorne found himself wrapped in rope, trussed up like a wrangled calf. He was slung onto the creature's back, who then took off, heading into the treetops.
K’t’o felt the young Fae on his back moving around. He was tempted to bring him forward and hit him into oblivion, but he refrained. He was uncertain of the resilience of these young Fae and he had a mission. He remembered the words of the master. Go to the Fae. Create fear. Kill a few and leave evidence so they will know it is us, the Dark, that threatens. Take a child, that will make them follow. And when they do, make sure to kill their hunters. Weaken them. Show them there is nowhere we cannot reach
He remembered and moved at a leisurely pace. His clawed legs meant he skittered along branches and between trees almost as fast as on the ground. He made sure to leave a path, and when he felt it was becoming less distinct, he thought of how to make it clearer, to taunt those who followed. Just a small slash, and the child bled. He did not doubt that following the fresh blood of one of their own would goad them further. He smiled to himself, savouring the idea of killing those who followed, and the feast of Fae flesh and blood to follow.
He looked back down his path, seeing four creatures, one with wings following him. He smiled, looking for a good place to lay an ambush. He decided to go down to the forest floor and quickly descended. At the bottom he looked around, then jumped up, snagging himself on an overhanging branch. He made sure that the Fae child’s blood dripped no more, going so far as to bind the wound. He then hung him up by his feet, swaying from the branch like a hanging fruit, ripe to be picked. The image amused him, considering the fate he intended for the child once he had dealt with those following him.
The four followed the markings and droplets of blood, as they moved between trees, sometimes having to cross branches, but happy with the solution they had found. Then the markings stopped. They cast around, looking for more to follow and Kilia found the indications of whatever they were following heading down towards the forest floor. Carefully they descended, not wanting to rush and end up injuring themselves in a fall brought upon them by rushing.
They got to the bottom, happy to be on firm ground. Weapons were loosened as Kilia searched for tracks, heading into the forest. She stopped, looking around.
“The tracks end here,” she turned around looking at the ground. The others watched her as she bent down to examine the ground, and saw as something large fell from the trees above. She tried to dive out of the way but failed, and screamed as she felt something pierce her back, driving through her to the ground. At the same time, she saw two scaled and heavily muscled limbs with blades coming down on either side of her head. A hiss resounded through the clearing, followed by the clacking of mandibles.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Martin looked on horror in horror as a nightmare dropped from the branches above, skewering Kilia. One of its four legs drove through her body. The creature looked at them, a hiss filling the clearing as its mandibles opened and closed. Hurnith reacted far faster than he, and dove forwards into a roll. He rose from below the creature of the dark and his sword pushed towards its belly, but his blade was parried by a leg while at the same time, he was forced to dodge as claws were slashed down towards his face.
Martin drew his hammer and screamed as he ran forward, his blood high as his hatred of this creature, the murderer of the family, the murderer that had now brought his friend down, stood before him. He paid no attention to Gwynneth.
“Damn, you idiots! By all the Poers you are too close! I cannot use Tornado while you are there!” She looked around, coming up with another idea now that her main attack spell could not be used. Looking at branches lying on the ground she started chanting.
K’t’o looked at those he was facing. None were Fae. Had he gotten lucky? Would he be able to dine on the mana-enriched meat of the awakened? His mandibles moved in anticipation, as he kicked out at the one in front of him, watching him step backwards to avoid the blade at the end of his leg. He jumped forward, his leg ripping through the one he had impaled further damaging her. He could hear her rasping breathing, her blood soaking into the ground below. He easily dodged the hammer the other swung at him, then felt a flare of pain as smashed the leg he tried to block it with, rune-infused strength breaking his scales.
He swung around, the claws on his hands trying to cut into the hammer wielder, the rune-enhanced weapon being his biggest worry. As he did so, he realised that he had overcompensated and quickly brought his legs up to block the sword, only to feel a rune-enhanced edge cutting into his scales. He screeched, loudly, jumping back, both his front legs oozing black fluid through broken scales. He raised his arms, preparing to jump when he realised another threat, a chanting mage! He jumped, as a branch came flying through the air towards him, cutting along his ribs, breaking some and sending his black blood out in an arc. Where it landed it sizzled, burning the grass. He looked with hatred at the three attacking him and jumped upwards, into the branches above, moving away as fast as he could. He would not be getting his meal, and he swore vengeance on the awakened as he fled towards where he knew he could rest and heal.
Gwynneth watched as the creature jumped away, rushing into the forest and scuttling up a trunk. She did not follow but rushed towards Kilia where Martin already knelt. Hauling bandages and healing salves out of his pack. Hurnith stood behind him, looking around, making sure their foe did not suddenly return.
Gwyneth came forward in a panic, her mind whirling, rehearsing every healing spell she had heard of. But healing was not her strength. She was an air mage, healing associated more with water or those oriented towards nature. Still, she would try, but magic outside of one’s affinity…hurt!
She knelt, chanting, holding her hands above the wound, looking at what, without immediate healing, would be a fatal wound. Martin stood, standing back-to-back with Hurnith, the two watching all approaches. He looked up, to make sure the creature was not sneaking up on them. He saw what looked like a cocoon hanging in the branches above, and watched it as it swung in the wind, occasionally wriggling on its own. He frowned but decided to keep watch, leaving Gwynneth to her healing.
Gwynneth tuned out the world, concentrating on the mana floor, on channelling it into the wound to heal Kilia. She gritted her teeth, feeling the start of a pain in her chest as her body tried to force air mana into a nature mana configuration. She concentrated on her chanting, gasping for breath between words, forcing the foreign mana through and into her hands, to push it into Kilia below her. Dots began to appear before her eyes, her head ringing in pain, the world turning dark as she chanted, as she continued to push healing energy through. Eventually, her concentration slipped, and the pain flared as she collapsed across Kilia, her hands blackened from the effort but Kilia was breathing, the hole through her body healed from the inside, though the top layers of skin, both on her back and belly, continued to ooze blood where the healing had not finished before Gwynneth passed out.
Martin started a fire to warm water to clean the wounds on Kilia, smearing the healing gel onto the mana-burned hands of Gwynneth while he waited. Once the water had boiled and cooled down, he used it to wash out Gwynneth’s wounds before wrapping them in bandages. He turned to Hurnith to suggest they keep watch but he placed a finger on his lips, looking upwards to the cocoon above. So, Martin sat below, watching the two unconscious members of their class while Hurnith climbed up moving across to the cocoon. As he came closer, he saw it was no cocoon, but rope completely smothering a young Fae child. Carefully, he swung the child towards him, grabbing hold of him before cutting him off the branch. He tied his rope to the child, lowering him down to Martin who used a knife to cut him free.
Through the gaps in the ropes around him, Dorne watched the strangers battling the creature of the dark. He had been wriggling, trying to catch their attention since they had first appeared, but with his mouth blocked by the ropes, he was unable to make any sound. In despair he watched as one of them went down from the ambush of the dark creature, her body pierced through just as he had seen done to his mother. But he rejoiced when the others managed to fight back and send the creature away wounded. They rushed to help their friends, not seeing him from below. In despair he tried to shout, thrashing about as much as he could, not caring if he crashed to the ground below. Anything would be better than remaining hanging here, to starve or be eaten by wild animals.
He rejoiced when a Gwathur climber up, a wolf one, and cut him loose. He waited to be freed, but instead, the Gwathur tied a rope to those around him and lowered him to the forest floor below, to his waiting friend. As he was cut loose, Dorne fell sobbing into the arms of the human, not caring that he was not Fae. He felt safe in those strong arms, and he sat there sobbing, remembering how his mother had fallen and how he had run with his father bellowing behind him. He sobbed, knowing that he should be silent since they were in the forest and not the village, but he could not stop.
Martin continued to hug the child who clung to him. He continued to watch the forest around them as Hurnith climbed down, stroking the child’s head as he did so. Then he and Hurnith sat down back-to-back, keeping watch as they waited for the others to awaken. The child continued to cry into his lap until exhaustion overcame him, and he fell asleep. Martin and Hurnith looked at each other and stood watch, they would be vigilant, no more would die this day.