by Aldrea Alien
“It is.” She fumbled with her compass, holding it before her. “Depending on how much your company veered from straight west, we should be able to hear your people even if our direction is a little off. Come on.” Beckoning him to follow, she resumed her eastward trudge. “I’d prefer to reach your camp before nightfall.”
He tramped through the forest, trying to keep up with the hedgewitch. They travelled in silence, vocally at least. The lack of other sounds made it that much easier for him to hear the twigs snapping beneath his boots. His feet managed to find every raised tree root in the path. How Katarina was able to walk the same trail without a single misstep was beyond him.
The brief patches in the undergrowth where he was able to set foot without a sound were more bothersome. When he first walked through here, his every move had been dogged by birds—their ever-cheerful chirps and the whistling songs—and the barely audible scurry of small animals. Without those sounds, the forest seemed empty. That couldn’t be a good sign.
He lost track of the time of day. The canopy screened out much of the sunlight, throwing odd shadows, but his aching legs suggested they’d been walking for hours. His stomach grumbled in seemingly endless complaint and he caught the dwarf pressing her hand to her belly once or twice.
How long ago had there been food? This morning? No. If what the hedgewitch had said was correct, he hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. Small wonder he felt so wretched. Dylan rubbed his stomach, trying in vain to shut it up. There’d be food once they were back at camp. Nothing else he could do about it before then except walk.
All at once, Katarina came to a halt and, gasping, threw herself to the ground.
Dylan swiftly followed suit, landing next to her. “What is it?” he whispered. He doubted she would act this way for wildlife. That meant people. Scouts. Us or them?
Pressing a finger to her lips, she indicated the bush before them with the twitch of her brows.
His stomach knotted. He crawled through the undergrowth, flinching at every rustle, creak and snap of the foliage beneath him. When he at last reached the bush, he slowly peered between the leaves. There were indeed people. They’d also the small quantity of weapons and light armour of scouts. However…
The hedgewitch settled at his side. “Udyneans,” she breathed.
Dylan nodded, although there’d been no question. He may not have seen those who’d ambushed his company, but no one in the camps wore such armour.
The fabric was in similar mottled shades of green and grey to the Demarn soldiers, yet the similarity ended there. The main body of their attire looked like a tailored, knee-length, button-up tunic with very little metal to protect them and no sign of leather beyond a few belts. Puzzling when they had short swords at their hips and quivers on their backs.
“Where are they going?” he whispered.
She shrugged. “Scouting ahead?”
Dylan shook his head. “They’re travelling in the wrong direction.” Although their movements didn’t exactly take them in a straight line, they were certainly heading westward.
“Maybe they’re returning with information.”
He frowned. If that was the case, then it was all the more reason to stop them.
The longer he watched them, the more his gaze was drawn to one of the shorter elves as the woman flit from one side of the group to the other. There was something about her that was familiar. He tried to ignore the feeling. There had to be hundreds of elven women with her combination of height and black hair. But the more he stared, the more recognisable she became.
Jasilla. She’d worn the uniform of a Demarner scout the last time he’d seen her, but he was certain. Katarina was right about the Udyneans using the dwarven ruin as bait, which meant someone had led them to it. If not Jasilla, then one of the other two scouts.
He slowly rose from behind the foliage. Power and anger sung in his veins, begging to be used, to bring them down like her people had done to the scouting party.
A hand gripped his shoulder, bearing him back to the ground. “Stay down!” Katarina hissed. She slowly pulled aside a wispy branch blocking their line of sight. The scouting party didn’t appear to have noticed.
“Those are Udynean troops, you said it yourself.” And so close to the front line. Why hadn’t their own scouts spotted them? His gaze returned to Jasilla. The woman seemed jitterier than before. “She was there, the dark-haired elf. She was part of my company. She has to be some sort of spellster spy.”
The dwarf pursed her lips. “No. Udynea leashes any elf who shows the slightest sign of magic. They wouldn’t unleash one, not even to become a spy.”
Magic or not, she was here amongst the enemy now, had been part of the assault. Even if she’d never loosed a single arrow, she still bore part of the blame. “I have to avenge my—”
The grip Katarina still held on his shoulder tightened. “Not now.”
“Not now?” he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. “Have you already forgotten what was left of my people?”
Those every-colour eyes turned on him. “I remember.”
“But you only saw the aftermath. I watched them die.” Bile burned his throat at the memory of the flame-shrouded figure battling to stay alive. And there was the woman who’d given her life to save his, the man who’d died before being able to give the order that would’ve led to him being able to fight back. All those bodies. “They left me to watch my people burn. I need to make them pay.”
The hedgewitch shook her head. “You need to return to camp, to warn the rest of your people or more are going to meet the same fate.”
“I can’t just let them go.” If anyone found out he let the enemy walk away, they’d brand him a traitor.
Sighing, Katarina released the spindly branch and faced him. “Let me tell you a little something about their scouting parties. They never venture far from camp without magic to back them up.” She jerked her head at the bush. “The two marching at the rear are most likely spellsters.”
He peered through the brush, taking in the arrogant stride of the aforementioned man and woman. Unlike the others, the pair wore only a short sword at their hips.
“Could you take them on and win?” the hedgewitch whispered into his ear, her warm breath on his skin stirring the small hairs lying at the nape of his neck. “As well as the other scouts? Alone?”
His pride wanted to say he could. He’d taken down more than two spellsters at once without breaking a sweat. This would be no different than the brawl.
“And could you guarantee my safety whilst doing so?”
He turned his head, unable to look her in the eye. Dwarves, whilst once the sole proprietors of the continent, were no longer as numerous as even elves. And to put a hedgewitch’s life in danger… “I can’t, no.” He’d be better off throwing himself before the mercy of the Udynean Emperor than report her injury—or worse, her death—to the Dvärghem Coven.
“Then you know what action you must take.” Katarina took up his hand, squeezing it tight. Pity welled in her eyes. “I’m sorry it has to be this way.” She slowly tucked herself beneath the bush where the undergrowth was the thickest, motioning for him to do the same.
Dylan burrowed his way into the surrounding ferns, gritting his teeth as twigs and branches caught on his clothes and hair. Hopefully, the dark green of his dirt and soot-stained robe would aid him in remaining unseen should a scout come too close. He prayed the same could be said of the hedgewitch’s attire.
They lay still, waiting for the scouting party to move out of sight and hearing distance. The bitter bite of betrayal gnawed at his gut as he listened to their footsteps crunching through the undergrowth. He should be sending these murdering bastards to the foot of whatever gods they believed in, not cowering under leaves.
“I still don’t understand why they told us to pull back,” one of the men grumbled.
Dylan froze, scarcely daring to breathe. That voice was loud enough for the speaker to be almost on top of
them. Slowly twisting his head, he spied the dirty leather of a boot naught but a few feet away. He calmly readied his magic, prepared to unleash everything he had if they were spotted.
“You weren’t brought here to understand, elf,” a woman replied. The way she all but spat the final word, as if speaking it caused her some great distress, was all Dylan needed to be sure it was one of the spellsters. So many of them came from nobility, used to having slaves serve their every need. “You were given an order, you obey it.”
“Yes, mistress,” the elven man replied. “You are right, of course.”
The boot lifted, crunching down on some unseen part of the forest floor.
Dylan released the breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. To his right, he heard the hedgewitch do the same. They remained in place, waiting for the fading sounds of the scouts’ footsteps to vanish completely, then lingering in the dead silence that little bit more before, finally, he caught Katarina’s signal to move.
He untangled himself from the foliage, brushing bits of dead leaves from his clothes, his mind still churning over what he’d heard. “They’re pulling back?” He winced upon trying to free a bit of twig from his hair. All these years, decades of fighting to keep the empire at bay, and they just gave up advancing? That couldn’t be true, could it?
The dwarf glanced up from her compass. “It would seem that way.” She smiled, a wide and warm expression that he hadn’t seen since leaving the tower. “I believe congratulations are in order. I guess your people won’t need quite so many spellsters in the army if the Udyneans are pulling back.”
Dylan frowned, trailing after her as she resumed their eastward course. “Maybe.” It would take more than his word to have anyone believe the Udynean threat was gone. Even then, it’d be foolish to leave the border undefended. “Maybe not.” A far more likely scenario was the army’s vigilance remaining unchanged for several years to come.
Katarina halted. Her hand flattened against his chest, urging him to do likewise. “Do you smell smoke?”
He cautiously sniffed the air. There was indeed a certain burnt aroma. Faint and not the warm scent of a wood fire, but a cloying, oily and all-too-familiar stench. His stomach churned. He clapped his hand over his mouth, willing himself to swallow the burning liquid pooling in the back of his throat.
No. Just because the smell was sickeningly similar to what had happened in the clearing didn’t mean anything. The camp was still a good hour’s walk from here. The smoke could be coming from anywhere. The Udynean spellsters could’ve mistaken a deer or boar for a person and fried the poor creature before realising their folly…
Or I could be too late. With his scouting party gone, the Udyneans had a clear path to the front line. There’d be no warning beyond the first assault and, with most of the leashed spellsters on similar missions as he’d been, the soldiers would have limited means to counter a magical attack.
“East.” He grabbed Katarina’s shoulders. “Which way is east?”
With her hazel eyes wide, the hedgewitch scrabbled anew at her compass. The little metal arrow wobbled north. “That way.” She pointed in the direction where the smoky smell seemed to emanate from.
No. It couldn’t be… Could it?
Snatching the compass from her hands, he raced through the brush, constantly checking his heading. The cloying stench grew with every step, thickening. All too soon, he could make out low clouds of smoke clinging to the canopy. Too much to be the campfires.
Panting, he pressed on, stumbling and tripping on the uneven ground. Over his lumbering movements, he caught the far nimbler steps of the dwarf on his tail. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow to explain, he had to reach the front line.
The hint of a clearing beckoned ahead of him. Dylan exploded out of the undergrowth into the clearing, stopping dead on the tree line.
No…
Katarina came to a halt at his side, glaring up at him as her chest heaved. “I’ll take that back, thank you.” She claimed the compass from his unresisting fingers. “Of all the foolish—” Frowning, the woman glanced up from her examination of the device. “Oh.”
Where there had once been neat lines of canvas and wood was now a smouldering plain. Oddly, the smell wasn’t as bad here. Charred lumps dotted the scorched mass. Unidentifiable as bits of wood or bodies.
Dylan stumbled a few steps towards the smoking remains, his legs threatening to give. I’m too late. Everything, everyone, was dead. That’s why the scouts were turning back, there was no one left to oppose them.
Thinking of the scouting party he’d let walk away fanned the banked embers of anger burning in his soul. Where were the monsters who’d done this? It would’ve taken more than a pair of spellsters and a few archers to take out the front line. They should’ve come across dozens of men.
Unless…
His gaze settled on the path he’d first walked to get here. It was thin, not like the dusty road leading carts to the main camp, but difficult to lose track of. All the enemy had to do was walk it and they’d come across the last defence along the western border.
“I have to go.” If whoever had attacked this camp were the same people that’d taken out his scouting party, then they had no more than a day’s head start. If he pushed himself, he might reach them before they’d the chance to attack the main camp. “I need to warn them that the enemy’s on its way.”
Katarina trotted after him.
Dylan frowned at the woman. “It’d be best if you didn’t follow. There’s going to be a battle.” And, being unleashed, he could assist in both the fighting and the healing. He’d see to it that no one else under his protection died. “You were right before. I can’t protect you and fight. This isn’t your war. Coming with me just puts you in danger. You’d be safer if you headed north now.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “Where my only option is to wander the forest without food or an escort? Never mind the wild animals I might stumble upon, what if the nature of creature I meet is Udynean?”
“You’re a hedgewitch.” Dvärghem had the same treaty with the empire as it did with Demarn. Once it was made known she wasn’t the enemy, no harm would come to her.
“And I’m sure they’ll be very remorseful when they pluck the arrows from my corpse, but a neutral stance works best when you aren’t in the middle of a battlefield. Until then, I’m better off sticking to a healer’s side.”
They walked through the night with Katarina at the lead and Dylan entrusting their direction to the dwarf’s far more superior night vision as the leaves obscured the scant moonlight. Dawn had them skulking amongst the undergrowth whilst keeping the track in their sights.
No matter how fast they went, however much his body screamed for rest and food, their destination wasn’t arriving fast enough. It’d taken a day or so to travel from the main camp to the front line. The way back seemed to stretch on for weeks.
That they didn’t come across so much as a hint of Demarner or Udynean troops did nothing to soothe the dreadful twinge in his gut. Was there something he could’ve done? Some way he could’ve warned them that he hadn’t been aware of? Would it have made a difference? What if he’d fled into the forest instead of the ruin? He could’ve reached the camp then, alerted everyone, been able to fight back.
Everyone was dead because of him, because he’d fled for safety like a coward. His guardian had been right. He should’ve thrown the brawl.
“It’s not your fault.”
He jerked his head towards Katarina, staring at her incredulously. The hedgewitch had been quiet for much of the night, speaking only to warn him of an obstacle his human vision couldn’t make out in the utter blackness of the forest. She’d chosen to adopt full silence with the encroaching light of dawn.
“I know that look,” she continued. “You’re blaming yourself for what happened, but you’re not responsible.”
Dylan grunted. How could he still be standing here, breathing, and not be part of the problem? “So the fac
t I’m alive and they’re all dead is just a happy coincidence? I ran when they attacked.”
He stumbled as the memory flashed before his eyes. Fire and confusion everywhere. The screams of the dying. Heat and death choking him.
Dylan shook his head, but the vision remained, dancing in the back of his mind. “I ran in the wrong direction and doomed the entire front line.” Only the gods knew what’d happened at the main camp. Clearly they weren’t aware of the attack at the front or there’d be soldiers on the track seeking answers.
Her gaze dropped to the tattered, singed ends of his robe. “If there were archers, you would’ve been struck down well before you could reach your people. That you’re alive now is likely more due to your healing abilities than their negligence.”
He grunted, his thoughts swiftly turning to a far greater immediate concern. “We should’ve come across someone by now. A scout. Some hint of soldiers heading for the front line…” Anyone.
Katarina delicately sniffed the air. “I don’t smell any smoke.”
She was right. The breeze blew from the east and yet carried no hint of smoke. His thoughts wandered to the fires he recalled dotting the lines of tents and there’d been a lingering smoky scent over both camps. “Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
“Strategy isn’t my strongest point, but perhaps someone managed to escape from the front line before…” She trailed off, shook herself and continued. “They could’ve gotten word about the attack and those at the main camp might’ve fallen back without realising the Udyneans have withdrawn.”
“Maybe.” He might have believed her if she’d sounded a little more convinced by her own words. It seemed far more likely that everyone was dead, which gave Udynea a higher ground to bargain. Anyone who’d spent enough time learning the land’s history would know that the Udynean Empire hadn’t technically fought anyone for centuries. The armies his country fought against were not imperial.
Their emperor—Mhanek as they called him—probably didn’t even see Demarn as being worthy of invasion. They were a pathetic creature huddled at the foot of a giant. What they struggled to hold back was just some noble’s personal army against their attempts to expand their estate. A nudge of the giant’s foot. But they had to bite back or suffer being trodden on.