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“Wait!”
Asp was surprised to hear her own voice less tremulous than she felt it should be.
“What?!” demanded Tartarus, who had already taken a swift step toward the creatures.
“Don’t we need, like, a battle plan?” she asked. “There’s so many of them.”
“Eighteen,” said Steel-Eyes.
“Right, eighteen,” repeated Asp. “There’s six of us. We’re outnumbered. We need a plan.”
“Okay, fine,” said Tartarus. “Me and Wesley loop around the left and hit them from their flank,” he explained, gesturing broadly out to their left and then swinging back towards the monsters. “Steel-Eyes, Guy, you do the same on the right. Sash, you head straight in, and Delia, fire away from back here.” He eyed her cautiously as she gripped the crossbow for dear life. “You know how to use that thing, yeah?”
She nodded a little too quickly and for too long for him to fully believe her.
“Look,” he said, “they’re not expecting us, so we’ve got the element of surprise. They’ll never see it coming, and that means–”
“CHAAAAARGE!” cried a husky female voice.
From just to the side of the now very confused party of travelers, an orange-skinned hornkin with twisting green horns in a deep blue leather outfit, carrying a massive longbow, ran screaming toward the monsters, firing arrows with what seemed like wild abandon. Her shots rained down on the creatures, piercing some of them with deadly accuracy in their abdomens. Two fell to the ground, dead, and a third clutched furiously at its wound. From behind her came another combatant, a blue-and-green Ronan’el with hornkin features and impressive wings–Brokk, the man she’d met on the ship to Afira a few weeks before. Asp was uncertain if her shock at their appearance matched her shock at seeing him again. He threw a knife that flipped again and again through the air before lodging itself in the wounded monster, which dropped to the ground lifelessly.
“Go!” shouted Tartarus, dashing off to the left to follow his plan.
The party jumped into action. They ran into the positions that Tartarus had dictated. Asp raised her crossbow at one of the monsters, aiming as the hornkin woman had at one’s center of mass. But the thought of killing something, even these monsters, took her back to standing behind Gunther with the knife in her hand, and her vision swam. She sprinted over and cowered behind Brokk, forcing herself to breathe deeply. She peeked around the man and watched.
The fray was instantly bloody and intense. Steel-Eyes moved faster than she had ever seen the dwarf move; he had swept off to the right and back towards the monsters, and he grabbed one of the things, lifting it above his head. He pressed it inward into itself, forming a ball with the sickening sound of cracking bones. Once it was compressed enough to his liking, he hurled it into another of the beasts, sending both rolling off away from their kin.
“Y’all okay?” asked the hornkin woman, nocking another arrow. She glanced around to the group.
“We’re good,” said Tartarus as he slashed the arm off another of the creatures with his blade. “Thanks for the help.” He ran the armless creature through with his sword, and it spat out its last life in the form of a wet howl.
Asp watched as Sash held their trident over their head perpendicular to the ground, and she could hear them muttering something strangely beautiful and calming under their breath. She was unable to make out the individual words, but something about Sash’s tone was deeply relaxing even as it was horribly intimidating. Faint blue light appeared around Sash’s trident, taking the form of ocean waves that spiraled around the weapon. Sash took a massive step forward and lunged with the trident toward a group of three of the monsters, and the waves of light went spilling over the forks of the trident and into the things, sending them reeling backwards end over end.
A group of the deathly reptilian creatures began to swarm around them, closing in on the hornkin woman who had led the charge in. Their eyes glowed in the darkness, and their teeth rattled sharply as they surrounded her. She grabbed her bow by one end and spun in a circle, the bow knocking three of them away with brutal force, their bones snapping in the noisy fray. Tartarus and Wesley sprinted toward them, Tartarus cutting down one of the monsters while Wesley jabbed his spear into the chest of another three times before it fell to the ground. Another of the creatures remained, lunging with its mouth open at the three hornkin.
I’ve got to do something, thought Asp, raising her crossbow. I can’t let them get hurt. She leveled the crossbow at the lunging monster’s head, tried to imagine it as an empty bottle, and pulled the trigger. The bolt flew true and struck the thing directly in its head, and to Asp’s surprise and horror, it carried the monster’s head right off its shoulders. The creature’s headless neck slammed into the hornkin woman’s torso, bouncing off harmlessly. And then Asp watched in horror as the headless body stepped back, righted its momentum, and braced for another attack with its claws.
It’s still alive?!
Wesley threw his spear at the lunging headless thing, catching it between the ribs. It went down, this time for good, and he dashed over to yank the spear from its twitching body.
Meanwhile, Steel-Eyes flexed a gauntleted hand and punched a monster in its chest. A sickening crack resounded, and the thing fell to the ground, green ooze bubbling out of its mouth. Two more of the creatures closed in on Steel-Eyes, and Guy swiftly headbutted one straight into the ground before kicking the other so hard that it separated into two grisly halves that landed on the forest floor with a disgusting pair of thuds.
One of the creatures remained. Sash sprinted up to it and thrust their trident through the thing’s torso. As Asp and the group watched in shock, the body of the monster turned in half an instant to stone. Sash braced a foot on the stone body of the monster and yanked the trident’s handle a few times before the monster’s frame crumbled into small fragments of rock.
A silent moment passed as the group looked anxiously around, trying to be sure that there were no more of the vicious things hiding. The smell of the rotting cow carcass mixed with the acidic scent of the creatures’ corpses, and Asp breathed in long, heavy pants to try to ensure she didn’t vomit.
“Hi everybody!” cried the hornkin woman cheerfully. “It’s so cool to meet you! I’m Larkin!” She smiled as though her introduction had been offered over a few cups of tea and pastries rather than a bloody battlefield.
“Uh,” said Tartarus, “hi, Larkin. I’m Terrence Tartarrion Tartarus, but you can call me Triple T if you like!”
“Oooooh! Nicknames!” she exclaimed. “I love nicknames. Did you know that nicknames are only for friends?”
Tartarus withheld a chuckle. “That is . . . that is the idea.”
“So we’re friends?!” Larkin’s eyes were wide and bright in the low light of the moon.
Tartarus allowed himself to chuckle this time. “Yes, indeed, we are friends. Especially after you helped us with those . . . whatever they were.”
“Yay friends!” shouted Larkin, her voice echoing through the forest. “I love friends,” she added in utter seriousness.
“I’m Wesley,” added the blue hornkin, offering a handshake, which Larkin gripped firmly and shook hard. “We can be friends too.”
“Oh my gods, two friends?” cried Larkin. “It must be my lucky day.”
Tartarus scratched his head. “Larkin–by any chance, is your dad a cult leader? Because our brother had a daughter named Larkin, and–”
“You knew my dad?” gasped Larkin.
“Knew?” asked Wesley. “He’s . . .?”
“Dead,” said Larkin. “Someone killed him. For being cruel and awful and a bad parent and–I mean, because he was so awful.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Sash.
“He’s gone,” said Tartarus. He looked Larkin over. “My niece.” He seemed to relax and offered one of his classic disarming smiles. “This here is Steel-Eyes,” he said, gesturing to the dwarf.
“Hello,” said Steel-Eyes mechanically.
“And the metal one is Guy,” explained Tartarus, “who Steel-Eyes made.”
Larkin’s eyes widened even further. “You made him?”
Steel-Eyes nodded.
“I wish I could just make a friend,” Larkin muttered, though her voice was still cheerful.
Tartarus turned to the elf. “And this is Sasharaan, or Sash, if that’s okay?”
“Sash is fine,” replied Sash. “Nice to meet you.”
“Oh, you too,” said Larkin. “Your trident is very cool.”
“Thanks,” said Sash, stowing their trident on their back in its sling.
“And this is–” began Tartarus.
“I’m Delia!” cried Asp, matching Larkin’s tone. “I’m so glad you’re my friend!”
“Yay more friends!” gushed Larkin. “So many friends. Holy cow!”
“Steel-Eyes thinks the cow is dead,” intoned Steel-Eyes.
Laughter went up from the group.
“This is my friend Brokk,” said Larkin, pushing the winged Ronan’el-hornkin toward the others. “He’s the best.”
Brokk cautiously surveyed the group and offered a surreptitious wink to Asp.
Don’t admit I know him, she thought, recognizing the gesture. Got it.
“Thanks for the help, Brokk,” said Tartarus.
“Don’t mention it,” replied Brokk quietly.
“Dunno about you,” said Tartarus, “but we’re headed to the Ronan’el part of Afira.”
“No way,” gasped Larkin. “Us too!”
“Well, we have camp back that ways a bit,” said Tartarus, thumbing over his shoulder. “But I get the feeling this ain’t exactly the friendliest neck of the woods, so maybe if we’re all headed to the same place, we could head for the next town to call it a night.”
Larkin and Brokk turned to each other. Larkin offered a cartoonish smile; Brokk remained impassive; Larkin offered an even bigger smile; Brokk raised an eyebrow; Larkin frowned with equal cartoonishness; Brokk sighed; Larkin smiled even bigger than ever.
“Let’s do it!” she cried.
“How’s this, then?” asked Tartarus. “We all head back and unmake camp, then get back on the road. I believe there’s a little town–established, but not a big town by any means–about an hour down the road. We could get there before midnight, get some rest, and be on the road again before midmorning. Any objections? Suggestions? Alterations?”
A moment passed.
“Sounds like a plan, then,” said Tartarus warmly. “I’ll lead the way. And until we get back to camp, for safety’s sake, let’s stay quiet.” He flashed a broad smile. “Then we can get to know our new traveling companions.”
“Exciting! I love meeting new people,” chirped Larkin.
“I’m looking forward to finding out what exactly brought you two out to the woods in the middle of the night,” added Tartarus, and Asp knew his tone–it had the appearance of gentleness, but the implication of suspicion.
“Oh, I feel the same way about you all,” said Brokk, matching his tone.
Tartarus chuckled uneasily, and Asp averted her eyes from the battlefield as she turned to follow the red hornkin. The unlikely group trooped off into the night, and Asp did everything she could to keep her breathing steady.
They’re all acting like what we just did was normal. Oh, I’m a long way from home.
—
“There’s a little dinner left,” said Wesley, the first to speak upon arriving back at camp. “Can I interest either of you two in some food?”
“Food?!” Larkin took a seat before the still barely crackling fire. “I’d love some food.”
Wesley offered her a plate with some rabbit, tubers, and berries on it. She made a face at the rabbit but quickly devoured a few tubers and snacked on some berries.
“Thanks,” she said once she’d finished eating. “I love food.”
“So,” began Tartarus, looking more at Brokk than at Larkin, “what exactly brought you to be out in the woods at this time of night?”
Brokk smiled, but it shared features with a snarl. “Same as you, I imagine. We’re on our way to the Ronan’el lands, we were looking for a place to spend the night, we heard some strange noises, we went to investigate. Are you any different?”
Tartarus sniffed as if hurt. “Not particularly, no.” He stared into the fire, and his shoulders relaxed. “Not at all, no, I mean. Same.”
“Why are you bound for the far side of Afira?” asked Brokk.
“Why are you?” shot back Tartarus.
They sat in silence, glaring at each other.
“How about another story?” asked Asp. Triple T doesn’t know we can trust Brokk. At least, I think we can. And Larkin seems too . . . well, too childish to be a threat. But Brokk doesn’t want me to say anything, so the best I can do is ease the tension a bit.
“Story time?!” declared Larkin. “I love a good story.”
“I think we’d better get moving, actually,” said Tartarus.
Larkin frowned, and Asp hid her own frown. But dutifully, the group deconstructed camp, undoing the tents that Sash and Asp had erected and returning the supplies to the wagon. Within minutes, they were fumbling through the dark back onto the road. Tartarus lit a lantern and held it out before the oxen on a long pole that he fixed between his legs. The wagon’s wheels bit on the dirt path, and the oxen tiredly pulled them further into the night.
“Story now?” asked Larkin enthusiastically.
Asp smiled, though no one could see it. “Once, when I was living in Strey–”
“You’ve been to Strey?” cried Larkin.
“Oh, have you been?” asked Asp.
“No!” declared Larkin as if this were some remarkable news. When she said nothing further, Asp continued.
“So I was in Strey,” she said, “and I was doing this article about the local museum.”
“An article?” said Larkin. “Like for a newspaper?”
“Exactly like that,” continued Asp. “I’m a reporter!”
“Oh cool!” Larkin hurried from the back of the wagon where she’d been stationed to draw even with Asp and beamed at the slightkin.
“Thanks,” replied Asp. “Anyway, I was writing about the museum, and that meant I had to spend a lot of time in the museum, so I got to know the curators pretty well. One was this older elven lady–Lillna–and the other was this stony old dwarven guy–Steelmaker. They were really severe types, you know, very academic. They were building an exhibit on inventions. The only thing was, they couldn’t really agree on what kind of inventions to gather. Steelmaker wanted gadgets and such, the kind of thing that newtkin and dwarves make.”
“Like Guy,” added Larkin proudly.
“Guy doesn’t belong in a museum,” said Steel-Eyes defensively.
“Of course not,” said Asp quickly, trying to get her story back on track. “Lilina, on the other hand, wanted historically relevant things–inventions that actually changed the course of history. Problem was, her idea of that kind of invention was largely academic. She wanted printing presses, telescopes, things that mattered to elves.”
“So what did they do?” asked Larkin, her eyes’ dancing flames staring impatiently at Asp in the dark of night.
Asp giggled at her rapt audience of one. “I suggested a compromise. Practical inventions, things that changed people’s lives in everyday ways. They liked my suggestion. They got looms, plows, spectacles, clocks. It was the biggest success of the museum’s history. Because, you know, everyday people go to museums. They wanted to see things that mattered to them. So people came from all over the island to see the ways that these common things had changed over time.” She paused and smiled at Larkin. “I, of course, went uncredited.”
“Wow,” breathed Larkin. “You must be so proud!”
Asp looked curiously back at the orange hornkin. “I guess I am, yeah.” She smiled, surprised at this realization. “So, what do you do?”
Larkin looked embarrassed for a moment, then grinned. “I’m still figuring that out. See, I just kinda . . . ran away from home?”
“I understand that,” said Asp. “I did that a long time ago. A few times, actually.”
“A few times?” inquired Larkin. “How do you do that?”
Asp let out a low, slightly pained laugh. “You run away from home, you make a new home, and you run away from that one too. Several times.”
Larkin nodded seriously. “Oh, I get it.” She looked up to the stars overhead. “I hope I don’t have to do that.”
“Me too, kid,” replied Asp.
They glanced ahead. Small lights flickered and blinked in the distance.
“Town ahead,” said Tartarus tightly.
“Ooooh, town,” said Larkin.
“So why’d you run away from home?” asked Asp.
“Oh, the normal reasons,” said Larkin casually. “Wait.” She straightened up. “I mean, like, not a bad reason. I wanted to leave. It’s not like my dad threw me down a well or something.”
Asp inhaled sharply. “Your dad threw you down a well?”
“No!” cried Larkin. “I said, it’s not like my dad threw me down a well and tried to keep me there forever. It was because I wanted to leave.”
Asp thought of her mother and wiped away a tear, trying to keep Larkin from seeing. “I’m sorry, Larkin. That sounds really rough.”
“Nope, not me,” said Larkin quickly. “My dad didn’t throw me down a well to imprison me for being bad at being like him.” She donned a big, obviously fake smile. “I decided to leave. For adventure!”
Asp nodded. “For adventure. It’s a good reason to leave home.”
The wagon pulled into town.
“Best behavior, everyone,” Tartarus said quietly. “There should be an inn just ahead unless town’s changed.”
The oxen dragged the cart forward, people ducking around it and staring openly at the odd menagerie of travelers accompanying it. The collection of hornkin, especially Brokk, received the majority of the looks, though Steel-Eyes, Guy, and Asp were the target of plenty of suspicious glances as well. The elves in town–and they were all elves–seemed to be more curious than malicious, but Asp wasn’t fond of being the object of scrutiny. A handful of elves regarded Sash strangely, some with apparent reverence, and others with bafflement.
Tartarus guided the wagon into a space beside a large stable, immediately dismounting the wagon to tie the oxen up. “Go get rooms,” he ordered. “See you in the morning, as bright and early as you can manage.”
The group nodded their various assents and headed inside. A young elven girl, perhaps in her early teens, stood behind the counter. She eyed the group warily and greeted them with caution in her voice. “Good evening,” she said. “Staying for the night?”
“I’ll take a room,” said Sash gently.
“Steel-Eyes too,” added the dwarf.
“I need a room!” cried Larkin.
“One for me, and one for my brother outside,” said Wesley, smiling as if to suggest he was no threat–a look Asp knew well.
“And one for me,” said Asp.
“So, six, then?” asked the girl. Wait, thought Asp. Where’d Brokk go? She shrugged, and the innkeeper continued: “You lot are lucky. Those are our last rooms for the night. Three caps each.”
The group approached the counter in turn and laid down copper-dipped coins in groups of four or five, and the elven girl seemed relieved that they had decided to tip despite their odd appearances. She produced a collection of small brass keys with inscribed numbers on them.
“Down that hallway,” the girl said, pointing to a passage to the left of the group. “The numbers on the door will match your key. The tavern is still going to be open for about an hour, and it’ll open again just before sunup.”
“I’ve had enough excitement for the evening,” said Tartarus as he rejoined them and picked up a key. “Thanks for paying, Wesley.”
“No problem, brother,” replied Wesley. He faced the girl behind the counter and held up the lute he’d carried in from the wagon. “You mind if I play a bit before the tavern closes?”
“Be my guest,” she said casually, and Asp was certain she was trying to seem older than she was.
“Ooooh, music!” exclaimed Larkin. “Can I come?”
“Sure thing,” said Wesley with a smile.
Wordlessly, Sash and Steel-Eyes turned down the corridor, Guy clanking along behind them.
“You coming?” Wesley asked Asp.
She looked down the hallway after Sash and Steel-Eyes. “I–” She paused. “I think I’m gonna write a little bit and get some rest. Next time, though.”
Wesley nodded and headed into the tavern, Larkin skipping along behind him.
“What’re you writing?” asked Tartarus, his demeanor calmer.
Being in town seems to have relaxed him a bit. “Those . . . things in that clearing.” Her eyes became distant. “People should be warned about them. In case there’s more where they came from, I mean.”
Tartarus smiled. “You’re a real puzzle, you know that?”
Asp laughed. “Thanks, Triple T.”
They headed down the hallway, branching off at their respective rooms with a quiet “good night,” and Asp collapsed into a chair in her quarters. She stared vaguely at the wall for a moment and began to write.
She wrote a few drafts of a piece about the monsters they’d fought. It took longer than it strictly needed to, since every few sentences, her mind took her back to the battle. Hissing creatures, the smell of rot and decay, the toppling head of a foul beast that fought on after being decapitated, the way the things had closed in on the party in a terrifying swarm. But she managed the article eventually, read the draft, and nodded, satisfied enough to call it a night. She flopped into bed and passed out as soon as she hit the pillow.
She slept fitfully, nightmares about the creatures plaguing her well into the dawn.
—
Asp rose in the morning when the sun’s first rays poured through the window in her room. She slipped back into Delia’s clothes, scanned her article from the night before, and headed out to the tavern down the hall. Tartarus and Sash were already there, sitting silently amongst a smattering of elven travelers having breakfast, though her companions had only coffee before them.
“Waiting for everyone else to eat?” asked Asp as she joined them.
“I know a place on the other side of town,” said Tartarus after a sip of coffee. “Once we’re all up, we’ll head over.”
“Good morning,” said Sash quietly.
“Morning,” replied Asp. She turned to Tartarus. “I’m happy to wait if the food’s good.”
“Well, it’s the best in town,” said Tartarus slyly, “but I never said it was good.”
Asp chuckled. “Fair enough.”
“You look like you slept like shit,” said Tartarus. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “Good enough to travel, anyway.”
Steel-Eyes and Guy appeared from the hallway and joined the group at the table.
“Good morning,” said Sash again, this time to their dwarven companion.
Steel-Eyes grunted. “It is morning.”
Asp and Tartarus laughed at Steel-Eyes's summation of the day so far, and a moment later, Larkin swept in.
“Good morning everybody!” she chirped.
They all offered brief responses that failed to match the orange hornkin’s intensity.
“What’s the plan for breakfast?” Larkin asked brightly.
She slept a whole lot better than me, by the looks of it.
“There’s a place on the way out of town,” explained Tartarus. “As soon as Wesley gets his sorry ass out here, we’ll get going.”
Larkin nodded. “Hey, has anyone seen Brokk?” She peered exaggeratedly around the tavern.
“He disappeared before we came in last night,” Asp offered. “I don’t think he came in from the stables.”
Wesley emerged from the hallway, rubbing his eyes. He yawned deeply. “Hey.”
Tartarus slammed the rest of his coffee and stood. “Let’s go.”
Wesley moaned. “No coffee first?”
“There’s coffee at the restaurant we’re going to, late riser,” replied Tartarus.
“It’s barely fucking sunrise,” whined Wesley.
“I didn’t make you stay up last night,” retorted Tartarus.
Asp smiled at the sibling spat. “I hear it’s the best in town, Wesley.”
“Fine,” said Wesley. “But I will continue to complain about it.”
The party headed outside and hitched the oxen to the wagon before creaking back onto the main road through town. Asp kept an eye out for businesses, clutching her article. They came upon a forge, and she slowed.
“Hey, can I duck in here real quick?” she asked.
Tartarus’s shoulders slumped. “How quick is real quick, Delia?”
“Real quick,” she said. “Only a minute. Maybe two.”
“Looking for a weapon?” asked Wesley. “You don’t seem like the armor type.”
“Be right back!” called Asp, already dashing into the forge. Sash, Steel-Eyes, and Larkin followed a few steps behind.
Asp stepped inside and saw a modest smithy, the words “Smith of the River” on a rustic sign over the counter. Asp paused and scribbled the name of the shop in a blank space on the article. Simple weapons and armor hung on the walls, and a muscular middle-aged elven woman stood at the counter, her eyes on the visitors to her shop.
“What can I do for you?” asked the elf.
Asp put on her sweetest smile. “I’m actually here to do something for you,” she explained, brandishing the parchment above her head. “Last night, on the road, we encountered a group of, well, monsters.”
The smith behind the counter raised an eyebrow. “Monsters?”
Asp nodded gravely. “My companions and I slew them–all of them–but I fear that they were only part of a larger problem. I’m a reporter by trade, and I thought to myself, ‘Why not help the citizens of this town with information and a vital business at once?’ I have here a posting,” she went on, holding the parchment out to the smith. “If you would be willing to give me a modest payment, I would post copies of this around town and beyond, and people would be alerted to the threat as well as where to arm themselves all at once.”
The smith took the parchment and read quietly to herself: “Citizens of River Country! A well-traveled road was the site of an attack by undead creatures! These deathly monsters were witnessed devouring livestock–an entire cattle disappeared in minutes under their ravenous mouths. Be wary when you travel, and protect your home! You can stock up on necessary supplies at Smith of the River. Take care, and protect your families before another attack happens on your doorstep!” She looked up skeptically at Asp. “You expect this to bring in customers?”
Asp nodded seriously. “Think about it: actual monsters, not far from town, surprise attacking citizens and travelers alike? That’s a fearsome threat. You could help them.”
The smith stared warily at Asp. “And you want money for this?”
“Only a reimbursement for my time,” said Asp deferentially. “I would help spread word of the attack and your shop out of the goodness of my heart, but the parchment and ink and my time are worth something.”
The smith sighed. “How much?”
“What do you think is fair?” countered Asp.
“I think a helm is fair,” said the smith quietly.
“One helm won’t cover the parchment and ink,” replied Asp. “I was thinking more like eight helms. Think of the business this would bring in.”
The smith’s face blanched. “Eight? Not interested.”
“I’ll post them everywhere for miles around,” continued Asp. “How about seven?”
“Three,” muttered the smith.
“This is as much an advertisement for your smithy as it is a public service,” reasoned Asp. “When people learn of the danger, the first thing they’ll think of is your shop.”
“Five, then,” said the smith bitterly.
“Let’s compromise,” said Asp. “How about six helms?”
The smith sighed again. “Fine.” She pulled six silver coins from behind the counter and looked sadly at the imprinted designs of helmets on them. She slid them across the counter to Asp.
“You won’t regret this, ma’am,” said Asp, gathering the coins and placing them into her coinpurse. “Thanks for your business. And mark my words, you’ll see a whole wave of new customers soon.”
“Sure,” said the smith. “Thanks.”
“Good luck now,” said Asp. She turned to leave and saw her companions watching her curiously. “C’mon,” she said. “Triple T is surely impatiently waiting for us.”
Larkin shrugged, smiling, and Sash and Steel-Eyes turned and followed as Asp led them back out to the street.
“That was more than a minute,” rasped Tartarus.
“Sorry,” lied Asp. “She was sterner than I anticipated.”
Tartarus shrugged. “Let’s go.”
The group resumed moving through town. It was a modest little village that seemed to exist only because the road passed through it. People along the road often stopped to stare at the travelers, again with more curiosity than suspicion. At the edge of town, Tartarus stopped the wagon before a small building from which the smells of food emanated.
“Here it is,” said the red hornkin. “Best food in town.” He dismounted the wagon, tied the oxen off on the fence outside, and led the way inside.
The group assembled around a large table and ordered an array of meals, which the waiter conveyed to the cook a moment later. Customers around them leisurely ate standard elven meals of vegetables and grains.
“Why do you not put up notices?” Steel-Eyes asked, facing Asp with a bitter look.
“What?” Asp stared back inquisitively.
“The smith,” said Steel-Eyes. “You told her you would put up word of her shop.”
“Oh, that,” said Asp, smiling. “I’m not gonna do that.”
“But you said,” grunted Steel-Eyes, his voice going cold.
“That was just to get some money,” said Asp, proud of herself.
“What!” Steel-Eyes glared at her. “But you said!” His voice held emotion for the first time since she had met him.
She looked back, surprised. “It was just a way to make some quick coin.”
Steel-Eyes stood suddenly, the chair under him skittering away from the table. “Steel-Eyes will be back,” he fumed. He stormed from the restaurant.
“Damn,” said Asp. “Haven’t seen that from him yet.”
“Why did you lie to her?” asked Sash quietly.
“Yeah, you went in there just to lie?” added Larkin, her voice tight.
Fuck. Having a non-criminal audience really complicates these things. Lesson learned, I guess. “I mean . . . yeah.” Asp looked down at the table in genuine shame.
“Why not actually put up notices?” asked Sash. “It would be a good thing.”
“I just–I dunno,” mumbled Asp.
“Yeah,” said Larkin sadly, “I thought you were doing a good thing.”
“I just lie to people sometimes,” said Asp, exasperated.
“But why?” Larkin looked pitifully at Asp as though the hornkin were hurt.
“Because!” Asp said loudly enough to attract the attention of nearby patrons. She lowered her voice. “Because all my life, nobody has helped me. Because the only way to get people to give me what I need has been to lie. Because I would bet that smith would lie to me in a second to get what she wanted, too.”
The group looked at Asp as though she were a starving puppy. Wesley nodded knowingly, though he seemed surprised that she’d been honest about what she’d said. Larkin shook her head in disapproval.
“Look,” continued Asp, “I know that people don’t like being lied to. I get it. I don’t either, particularly. But at the end of the day, a lie is just a way to get people to see the bigger truth.”
Tartarus furrowed his brow. “The bigger truth?”
Asp sighed. “If I had walked up to a stranger and said, ‘I need money,’ they would have scoffed and walked away. But if I go to a successful business that could spare a few helms and talk them out of the money, I get what I need.”
“Do you need money?” asked Larkin. “I have some money.”
“The money isn’t the point,” said Asp. “The money has nothing to do with it. Lying is about getting what you want, and I promise you, there is no one in this town who would help us if we needed it. So why not take it?”
Steel-Eyes stormed back into the room and slammed himself down at the table. “Steel-Eyes gave the smith a crown.”
Asp lowered her head to the table.
“You okay, there?” asked Tartarus.
She raised her head again and exhaled deeply. “I’m fine. I just– Look, I see that you all don’t like what I did, and I’m sorry for that. But I didn’t ask you to follow me in there.”
“What is wrong is wrong alone or with others,” said Steel-Eyes, his voice still tense.
Asp bit her lip, then spoke again. “You know what? You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that. Old habit.”
The waiter came and placed their meals on the table before them. He eyed the anxious expressions of the group and quietly excused himself.
“Ah, shepherd’s pie,” said Tartarus, breaking the silence and lifting a fork. He dug in, and his companions did as well, save for Asp. She stared emptily at her order, a half-loaf of bread and a pile of nuts. Mechanically, she reached into her bag and withdrew a stack of parchment and her inkpen. Between scribbled words, she took small bites of her meal. Her tablemates made pleasant small talk, none of which she heard, as her attention was entirely on her writing. She could sense that those around her occasionally glanced at her in curiosity, and she ignored them–her task felt too pressing to pay them any mind. She finished her writing and her meal at the same time and dropped the cost of her meal and a generous tip on the table, leaving the restaurant without speaking to her companions. She wandered town, tacking parchment up on signposts and fences. She returned to the door of the restaurant and stood outside, waiting for her group.
They emerged moments later. No one spoke, and Asp knew in that moment that they would pity her for some time. Tartarus unhitched the oxen and guided the wagon back onto the road. As they rolled up to the signpost that pointed the ways to leave town, Larkin ran up to one of the notices that Asp had pinned there. She read it quickly, muttering phrases from the notice occasionally. “the site of an attack by undead creatures . . . witnessed devouring livestock . . . be wary when you travel . . . supplies at Smith of the River . . . protect your families . . .” She finished reading the notice and turned to Asp, a huge smile on her face. “Oh, Delia!”
“I did what I said I’d do,” said Asp, staring at the ground before her. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
Asp looked up and saw Larkin beaming at her. Behind Larkin on the wagon, Tartarus and Wesley grinned. Sash was placidly studying the notice as though something else was hidden in its words, and Steel-Eyes simply grunted.
“Let’s get going,” said Tartarus, his voice cheerful for the first time that day. “Hopefully Brokk rejoins us soon.”
They marched out of town, Larkin skipping, and Asp feeling as though her pack weighed much less than it had that morning.
—
A few minutes outside of town, the wagon approached a thick grouping of trees on the side of the road a few hundred feet before a fork. Just before they came to the trees, a figure stepped out from behind them. It was a tall winged figure, blue and green glittering scales around burning eyes.
“Brokk!” cried Larkin, running forward and wrapping the man in a tight hug.
“Glad you could join us,” said Tartarus.
“Change of plans,” said Brokk, shrugging off Tartarus’s remark. “I scouted ahead while you lot were in town. The main road ahead isn’t safe. For us, anyway. It’ll be better to divert through the swamp to the right. It’s about the same traveling time, and much less a threat.”
“The wagon isn’t made for swamps,” protested Tartarus.
“The main road isn’t made for hornkin,” countered Brokk.
“He’s got a point,” said Wesley nervously.
Tartarus eyed Brokk closely. “I’ll trust you.”
“Yay swamp!” called Larkin, doing a little dance to celebrate.
Tartarus snapped the reins, Brokk falling into step with the others, and at the fork, they bore right. Within minutes, the landscape changed from occasional forest and rolling hills to a murky marsh. The road swerved this way and that to avoid the patches of bog which grew larger and larger. Aside from Larkin’s occasional exclamations about the geographical features of the bog, all of which seemed to elicit excitement, the party was quiet. There was something anxious about the swamp. It may have been its quietness that suggested very little life resided there; it may have been the way the smell of the swamp wasn’t entirely distinct from the monsters they’d fought the night before. The sun rose in the sky, and its intensifying heat made the scent of the bog thicker and thicker until the atmosphere of the eerie place felt oppressive.
The wagon made another banking turn, and as they came around the bend, an elven woman in a dirty dress stood off the side of the road where Asp and Larkin marched along. The woman called out to them. “Please, help! I need help!”
Asp looked at the woman. She appeared to be wearing fine clothes which were muddied and torn. Her face was unsettling–her features were too sharp, even for an elf. The air before the woman wavered. Asp blinked a few times. When she opened them, the woman was gone, and in her place was a ghastly creature. It appeared to be a green-skinned horse with seaweed and tree branches stuck to it. Larkin gasped, and Asp knew that the orange hornkin saw the same thing she did.
But the others seemed not to see this awful horse. “Miss, are you okay?” called Tartarus.
“No,” said Asp weakly, staring at the pallid equine beast.
“Come here,” said Wesley. “We can help.”
“No,” Asp said again.
The creature took several menacing steps toward the wagon.
“She seems to be in need,” said Sash.
“No!” cried Asp. She climbed up into the wagon and retrieved her crossbow. She aimed at the horse’s head and fired.
The bolt sailed through the air and struck the beast in the neck just below its chin. A burst of thick green fog sprang from the thing, and her companions’ disgusted gasps told her that they too saw the dreadful horse as she saw it. Asp reloaded her crossbow and fired again. The bolt flew true and buried itself in the space between the monster’s eyes. It reared back, shrieking, but continued to advance toward them.
What the fuck is going on?!
Larkin nocked an arrow and muttered something in a dark and forbidding tongue; fiery orange light encircled the arrow, and she loosed it. The arrow sank into the creature’s chest, and it once again reared back in a scream before charging forward through the swamp. It came up on the road, a horrifying odor like rot and seawater coming off it as it heavily bled from its wounds. Steel-Eyes stepped swiftly forward and pummeled the beast for several seconds, raining heavy blows from heavier gauntlets onto its head. There was another shriek, and the beast flopped to the ground, apparently dead.
Brokk swept in and examined the corpse. “Fuck,” he said. “Kelpie.”
“Kelpie?” repeated Wesley.
“Yeah,” said Brokk bitterly. “Evil and Fae magic rolled up into one. It’s like if ocean life got turned into pure chaos and darkness.”
“Well, what in the gods’ names is it doing here?” demanded Tartarus.
Sash knelt beside the dead beast, lifting a strand of seaweed from it. “This isn’t a swamp plant,” they said, their voice small.
“You’re right,” said a voice. The group wheeled and saw an elven man on the road before them. He was short and broad, extremely muscular, as if an elf had taken a dwarf’s shape. He wore a deep blue robe with silver lining and embroidery, and his handsome face was adorned with ashen blonde hair. He had a wry smile on his face that seemed to persist even when he spoke. “It doesn’t belong here.”
The party held their weapons up at the man, ready for a fight. His smile grew wryer.
“And neither do you,” he said gently, though his face suggested otherwise. “You’re on your way to something fearful.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Tartarus, his voice all false bravado. “Elves hate Ronan’el.”
“No,” said the man. “I am trying to help.”
“Who are you?” asked Larkin, her voice full of wonder.
“You may call me Dumas,” he replied. “And I am here to warn you.”
“Warn us of what?” inquired Sash.
“The Pale Garden,” Dumas said almost reverently.
“The Pale Garden,” repeated Asp. “What’s that?”
“It lies ahead,” Dumas explained. “It will be a great trial, if not your undoing.”
“So you’re Dumas,” growled Steel-Eyes. “But what are you?”
“I am the one who warns you of the Gardener,” Dumas replied.
“So what about this keeper of the Garden?” asked Wesley.
“The tender of the Garden is not its keeper,” said Dumas, his smile more wry than ever.
“How’d you get out here?” demanded Brokk. “I scouted these roads. How’d you get in front of us?”
Dumas stared back silently for a moment before speaking. “Beware the Pale Garden.”
“Yes, the Pale Garden,” said Tartarus, his voice verging on panic. “Can you just say something that makes any godsdamn sense?”
Dumas tightened his grin. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He turned and walked to the top of the hill over which he’d presumably come.
“Hey, come back!” shouted Asp. “Your warning won’t mean anything if we can’t understand it!”
He disappeared over the ridge.
“Let’s catch up to him,” said Tartarus. He snapped the reins hard, again and again. The oxen pulled quickly. They mounted the hill. Before them was the road through the swamp. It stretched for miles. They were atop the highest point in the swamp, and Dumas was nowhere in sight.
“Where the fuck did he go?” Brokk seemed to be speaking to himself, and it was not as though anyone had an answer for him.
“I guess we just carry on, then,” said Tartarus, scanning the area one last time. “And keep an eye out for any gardens we find.”
“Especially if they’re pale!” added Larkin solemnly. She seemed surprised when she got a few laughs.
The wagon bumped along down the road, and no one spoke about what they were all thinking about–the second type magical creature they’d fought in as many days, and Dumas’s cryptic warning.
“You need to be less greedy and more loyal,” said a familiar voice. It was Dumas’s. Asp spun, frantically searching for the man.
But he was nowhere to be seen, and Larkin looked oddly at Asp. “You okay, Delia?” she asked.
Asp forced an easy laugh. “I’m fine.”
The voice came again. “Less greedy, more loyal.”
Asp laughed bitterly to herself. Yeah, right.
She was struck with a sudden pain. It felt as though a hot spear had pierced her skull. The stabbing sensation left, and a sharp throbbing took its place. She felt her mouth filling with something warm and wet. She spat on the ground and stared uneasily at the thick glob of blood that landed there.
Larkin’s eyes widened. “You sure you’re okay? That doesn’t seem okay.”
Fuck. Who was that guy? “Yeah,” she said. “I’m okay. I’m sure.”
Larkin studied Asp as they trudged on. She seemed skeptical, but shrugged and cheerfully said, “Okay!”
The wagon rolled on, and the silence resumed. The sun was nearly halfway across the sky, and over the next several miles, the swamp became lesser and lesser until it was replaced by trees. Everyone’s spirits had seemed to return to an uneasy acceptance that things were just strange sometimes, and Asp chewed some guarri bark to try to ease her headache.
It didn’t work.
The wagon passed through the swamp and into the forested lands once more. They came around a bend and saw an elven woman collecting branches from under a tree. As they drew nearer, the forest seemed thicker, denser, somehow livelier. Asp rubbed her temples. Let’s hope she’s less weird than Dumas, and less inclined to give splitting headaches.
The woman turned as the wagon reached her. Her face was stretched and ghastly, the curves of her skull visible underneath the taut skin there. She wore green and black tatters and large black gloves over her bony hands. A beaten black apron hung around her waist, ribbons of cloth dangling where the apron had frayed. “Hello, travelers,” she said warmly. “How do you fare in the forest today?”
“Just fine, ma’am,” said Tartarus, and though his voice was polite, Asp caught more than a touch of uneasiness in his tone. He’s freaked out too. “How are you?”
“I’m lovely,” she said, and when she smiled, her cheekbones seemed to protrude sharply.
Suddenly, Asp thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. The random placement of the various trees around them changed–in a moment, they appeared to have all shifted into perfect rows, an endlessly stretching grid of identical trees surrounding them. The woman’s eyes seemed brighter.
“But you may not be,” the woman continued. “Before you lies disorder, destruction, death. Where you go will be bloodshed, and it will be bloodshed you will not and cannot comprehend. Beware, travelers, for you are pawns and unwitting participants in something much larger than yourselves.”
The group stared back at her in rapt horror.
“Wha– uh, what?” stammered Tartarus.
“Be careful, now,” said the woman. “And heed my warning.” She shouldered the branches in her arms and wandered off into the woods, which appeared to return to their chaotic natural placement as she disappeared.
The oxen snorted and pawed the ground. They all stood motionless for several minutes after the woman had left before it dawned on them that they could resume moving. Wordlessly, Tartarus reined the oxen on, and those on foot began to mechanically follow it down the road.
A mile later, Larkin smacked her forehead. “Hey!” she cried. “You think that was the Pale Gardener?”
“I don’t fucking care,” muttered Tartarus. “Let’s keep moving.”
Asp retrieved another strip of guarri bark and chewed it numbly. I really hope the Ronan’el lands are worth all this.
—
“The border’s only a couple miles from here,” said Tartarus as they passed the place where the main road met the road through the swamp. “Look alive–there may be some tricky questions from the guards there.”
“What might they ask?” inquired Sash.
“Oh, typical stuff with a few wild cards,” replied Tartarus. “Where are you going, what’s in the wagon, what do you come from, any outstanding warrants, that kind of thing for starters.”
Outstanding warrants? Shit. Maybe a fake name? Or has word from the other places I’ve been even made it here? Oh, this could be bad.
“But also some odd stuff, in my experience,” said Tartarus. “To which elven province do you claim fealty, for instance. You want to say whatever province their badge displays. Or what makes you a good candidate to enter the foreign lands–something about representing elven values is usually a safe bet.”
“If they accept that a group of mostly non-elves would represent elven values,” added Wesley with a worried look.
Brokk sighed. “Yeah, I might be a wrench in the gears here.”
“Just act natural,” said Tartarus reassuringly. “They’re not looking for trouble, and neither are we. Just don’t give them a reason to think you’re up to no good.”
“I’m up to good!” declared Larkin proudly.
“Exactly!” said Tartarus. “Just like that, Larkin.”
The wagon rounded a bend. To their left was a long line of forested land, and to their right, a valley that wound along and curved directly ahead of them. Ahead of them was a series of hills that terminated in the valley. The road curved to the right in the distance, passing through the valley as it turned to the region ahead of them. They could not quite see the border from where they were, and it seemed they wouldn’t be able to until they crested the last of the hills.
“What made you decide to post those notices after all, Delia?” asked Wesley from atop the wagon.
Asp focused through her headache. “I said I would, didn’t I?”
“But you also said you wouldn’t,” said Steel-Eyes bitterly.
Asp sighed. “I realized you all were right,” she said, rubbing her temples. “I shouldn’t have lied to her, and the right thing to do was spread the word.” She thought of Dumas’s words spoken inside her head. “Lying was a bad idea. It’s just a bad idea I’m used to.”
“Yeah, what kinda reporter tells lies?” asked Larkin, her voice naïvely curious.
“I don’t know,” said Asp. “A bad one.” She focused her gaze on the hills ahead. “Look, I want to be better. It’s just, you know, a process.”
“A process?” asked Sash.
“Yeah,” said Asp. “Like, when you’re tanning a hide, you treat it with chemicals and stretch it and soak it and dry it and treat it with more chemicals until it’s cured. It’s a process. It takes time. The skin isn’t leather when you get it from the animal. You have to make it go through all kinds of changes, and changes take time.”
“What do you know of tanning,” said Steel-Eyes.
“I apprenticed with a tanner for a while back in Thistlewade,” she replied.
“Did you really,” Steel-Eyes half-asked.
“I really did.” Asp turned and made eye contact with the dwarf, walking backwards to keep up. “I worked at a little tannery for almost two years. I got pretty good, or at least, I got reliable results. It wasn’t bad work.”
“Why’d you decide to become a reporter then?” asked Larkin.
“Better pay, better hours, get to be your own boss, get to help people, stuff like that,” explained Asp. “Lotsa reasons.”
“That’s a lotta reasons,” agreed Larkin.
“Here we go, folks,” said Tartarus as they climbed the last hill, a pair of fingers crossed on both hands. “Cross your fingers we get nice guards.”
The wagon crested the hill. Ahead of them, the road bent left, then curved to the right, and it went off into the distance well beyond their line of sight. The treeline to the left grew sparser and sparser, signs of logging apparent where whole groups of trees had been timbered. The lumber had apparently been used to build fortifications; thousands of elven troops were hunkered down in trenches, makeshift forts, and lookout towers. Across the border, facing these elven troops, were almost as many Ronan’el troops, their many colored scales glinting in the noonday sun. The Ronan’el army had some fortifications of their own, though not on the scale of the opposing elves. Every soldier’s face seemed to be trained across the border at the enemy troops, and many of them cast threatening looks at their foes, while some glanced about anxiously. The armies were stationed about a quarter of a mile away from the road, and Tartarus slowed the wagon a bit as they began down the hill toward the border.
“Well, shit,” he said. “What in the name of good fuck is this?”
“Keep moving,” said Brokk stonily. “They’ll stop us before the border if they mean to.”
The wagon continued along, and Asp noticed that her party had collectively almost stopped breathing. It was hard to judge what might happen, but she knew that changing course now would be more suspicious than plunging onward. She marched forward, trying to concentrate through her headache.
A tense and strangely silent minute later, they arrived at the border. The elven troops had made no movement to stop their progress. There was no turning back now. They kept moving towards the Ronan’el forces on the other side of the border.
The wagon crossed the border. For a moment, Asp and the others breathed a sigh of relief. But then, suddenly, she heard a Ronan’el cry out to his compatriots.
“Elf crossing the border!” He pointed frantically at Sash.
“Charge!” shouted the Ronan’el from their fortifications. They poured toward the border.
There was no time to divert paths. Over a hundred Ronan’el in armor and carrying axes and warhammers blitzed toward the wagon. From behind the wagon, Asp heard another cry.
“Ronan’el attack!” screamed an elf. “Charge!”
Scores of elven soldiers sprinted toward the wagon from behind. Asp could faintly hear Wesley uttering a prayer of safety. Tartarus began to yell about their innocence, that there was no need to attack, that this was a misunderstanding, but to no avail. Larkin looked rapidly back and forth between the oncoming forces, unsure of what to do. Steel-Eyes leapt into Guy’s arms, and the metal man expanded to a massive size, where Steel-Eyes was out of reach to the soldiers. Sash placed their back to the elves, facing the Ronan’el, and Brokk did the same with the Ronan’el to his back. Asp simply dropped to the ground and held her hands above her head.
Around them, elves and Ronan’el clashed. Weapons clattered against armor, blades tore into flesh, and battle cries were screamed at the top of lungs. In a few moments, a dozen soldiers on either side were dead. The Ronan’el nearest the group encircled their wagon and forced them further from the border. Asp frantically tried to keep up and not be crushed underfoot by the bulky soldiers, but the Ronan’el guarding them seemed surprisingly intent on taking the travelers alive. It was probably minutes in reality, but in the haze of the battle around them, it seemed to Asp that only a few second passed between their crossing the border and arriving at the Ronan’el encampment. She and her companions were hefted into a large holding cell.
“You’re prisoners of war,” spat a heavily scarred Ronan’el with brown scales. “Don’t make any trouble.”
“Prisoners of war?” Asp repeated numbly.
“I’d say not enough of us crossed our fingers for good guards at the border,” said Tartarus glumly.
You can read the next chapter here!
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