Mandollel drops low and vanishes into the forest. His technique is immaculate, feet landing lightly on the soft forest floor, body weaving between the branches. He doesn’t hesitate or correct his movements even once. I wonder if he can see in the dark.

Rworg, on the other hand, just marches directly into the forest and toward the lights. He’s wearing light leather armor and holding his sword in one hand. He pushes the branches off his face with his other one, making an astounding racket. I grimace with every snap and crack.

Finna does as well. She keeps turning around. ”Still the same place?” She takes a final glance around the area and makes a rude gesture at Lictor. “You changed the deal. I’m out. I’ll take my own chances.”

I glance at Lictor, who purses his mouth. ”Can’t win every time. Sorry, Locke,” he mumbles quietly to himself. I can just make it out. He doesn’t give me another glance, but presses a finger on a cluster of runes on the shoulder of his cloak and they glow blue. He winks out, disappearing into thin air. At first I think he teleported somewhere again, but I can hear him take in a breath and a quiet thump as he jumps into the air. He must have just turned invisible. A thought that would have felt ludicrous to have just a couple of hours before. I wonder where he jumped and wait for the sound of him landing, but it doesn’t come. What was he sorry for?

I shrug and move in the direction where Mandollel went. I’m not going to keep standing in an empty clearing, alone. I try to keep as quiet as the elf, but I can hear how my steps rustle and how loud my breathing sounds in the quiet forest. Somewhere ahead of us, there’s the crash of Rworg moving his way through the forest. I hear him begin shouting something in a language I haven’t heard before.

I creep closer to the camp and nearly bump into the elf. He’s so still, I don’t even realize he’s standing next to a tree. At the last moment, he lifts a hand to stop me. The lights of the camp reach us, and I peer from behind the branches to catch a glimpse of what’s going on.

Rworg is standing at the edge of the camp, shouting in what I assume to be Kerthar at the people in the camp. There’s a large bonfire in the middle of maybe eight tents. The Kertharians are silhouetted against the light, and I have to squint. I keep my other eye closed so I’ll be able to see something in the dark even after looking away from the fire and torches. The people in the camp have weapons ready, but so far they are listening to what Rworg is shouting at them.

Mandollel leans toward me to whisper. ”He’s asking them why they are here. Telling them to go back unless they want to be killed in a foreign land by foreigners.” He frowns and shrugs. “Somehow it’s worse than being killed at home, I think.”

The people in the camp watch Rworg. Their mouths move, but I can’t hear what they are saying. A man in a robe pushes his way out of a tent. I guess he must be one of the warmages, and if so, I probably should be ready. I swallow and nock an arrow. I hope it’s not just someone coming out of a bath.

Mandollel has been staying still, listening. ”His accent is atrocious. I wonder if the Kertharians can even understand what he’s saying. Now he’s telling them to—”

His words are cut short by the screaming. The sound is a high-pitched wail that undulates up and down. The Kertharians nearest to Rworg start it, and everyone in the camp joins in immediately.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The screaming is wild, voices breaking and cracking and raw. My blood kicks in response to the sound.

Four men start rushing toward Rworg. I can make out enough of their faces to flinch. Teeth bared and eyes wild, they stumble over each other to get to him.

The man in the robe raises his hands high above his head and I see a blue glow starting to form between them. Power drags and sizzles around him. I don’t have time to think. I fire. I can’t hear the arrow connect from all the shouting, but my aim is true. The light winks out and the man drops to the ground.

”Beautiful shot,” Mandollel says.

It was a reflex. I didn’t mean to. I glance to Mandollel, trying to explain, but he’s somehow far ahead of me, already much further than seems possible. His sword whistles and leaves behind a silvery after-image, as he twirls it while running.

First two men reach Rworg. He cleaves both of them in half with a single swing of his sword. I’m not sure if I saw right what happened. That shouldn’t be possible. I’m happy that I didn’t see it more clearly. Curiously, it doesn’t affect the screaming. The high-pitched war cry continues, the remaining two men still charging at him.

I see two men running near the warmage that I shot. They don’t stop to check or help him. One of the men jumps over the body and his leg snaps the arrow sticking up into the air. The body jerks but lays otherwise still.

I feel something rise up in my throat and an acrid taste in my mouth, but I don’t have time to think about it. I glimpse a blue glow farther back, behind the camp. It contrasts against the orange and yellow light of the torches. I can make out the robed silhouette of the caster pretty well, but they are really far.

I don’t know how long I have, but I still take a moment to aim. The shot won’t be easy. The glow grows brighter and more intense, and colors the camp blue instead of orange. I let go the arrow. I watch it arc over the camp, but a rustle and a scream wrench my attention away before I can see if the aim was good.

A woman rushes toward me. She’s maybe ten steps away, raising something over her head. She screams as she runs, the same wail as the others, teeth bared and tongue lolling out. She must have seen where the arrows came from. She stumbles over a root. I nock and shoot an arrow without aiming. It hits her in the stomach. I wince as she goes down.

I was lucky it was just a single person who stumbled. She wasn’t lucky, at all. The hit wasn’t a clean one. She’s down, but it’ll take her ages to succumb to the wound. A thought flashes through my mind: Lille would scold me for that kind of shot on an animal and make me finish it at once.

I freeze at the idea. The woman wriggles on the ground. I’m shocked as I realize she’s still crawling toward me. Her war cry hasn’t stopped either. It sounds pained, but still just as angry. I realize that the weapon she was brandishing is just a large wooden ladle. As she crawls forward, I see the arrow peek out from her back, the black stain spreading on her clothes.

”Mage!” I hear Mandollel shout. ”Mage!”

I wrench my eyes off the woman and sweep my gaze around the area. Rworg is wading in a pile of bodies. He’s been painted with blood, his teeth gleaming white next to the red that looks black in the moonlight. I can’t see Mandollel at all. I notice the blue glow to my right from the corner of my eye. The mage must have been at the very end of the camp or visiting a nearby bush or something. Just as I see the glow, it’s replaced by something huge and orange.

I try to turn and run, but I trip on the ladle the woman stabs at my legs. I’m still falling when a massive force hits me from the side. I have time to register a piercing spike of pain in my right ear. The shock wave hits me and throws me into the air. The ground flies away from me. I spin and hit something back-first. It pierces through my shoulder and the impact would push the air from my lungs if they still had any left. A bloody branch sticks out from my shoulder. The mass of fire rushes toward me too fast to comprehend. It hits me before I have time to scream.