Krete simply shook his head, his face still pale and blotched with red around his cheeks. Being so high up seemed to have made him lose the ability to speak. Tedric’s expression turned stony and he returned Finriel’s glare with one of his own.
“I was quite preoccupied trying to get a rather stiff and heavy gnome all the way up the tree. It must have fallen.” Krete shot Tedric a look of resentment that Tedric ignored, and Lorian handed the bag to him silently. “And it’s not a bag, it’s a satchel,” Tedric muttered.
Finriel scoffed and shook her head, but Aeden interrupted the backhanded comment she was about to throw at the commander. “Calm down, we are all lucky that the elf didn’t signal the alarm when he saw you two gawking down at him.” She then looked at Lorian, who stared blankly down at his hands.
“Did you know that elven scout somehow?” Tedric asked, his brow raised.
Lorian met Tedric’s stare and shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, but Finriel knew it was all a bluff. He was on edge; she could see it in his shoulders and in the way his jaw worked.
“I might have crossed paths with the man once or twice,” he answered. At that, she knew he was not willing to say more about the matter.
Lorian looked at Finriel, and she dropped her gaze at the anguish in his stare. She busied herself with looking around the tree for a large enough branch to accommodate her without slipping off and falling to her death while she slept.
Aeden and Tedric appeared to catch on to what Finriel was doing and went to settle themselves upon one of the enormous branches. Finriel walked easily along a branch, Nora following close behind as she went. When Finriel reached the center of it, she settled into a comfortable position. The branch itself was as wide as a large cot and had enough space for Nora to walk around Finriel and settle her warm body behind Finriel’s head.
In a few minutes, everyone had found a branch and was spread around the large trunk, all save for Krete, who had shimmied to the very center of the tree and curled into a tight ball with his arms wrapped around himself. A pang of guilt slashed through her stomach at the sight of the gnome’s discomfort, but she said nothing as she adjusted her head to a more comfortable position on Nora’s side. Finriel knew how it felt to be completely petrified and forced into being in a situation she hated.
Blinding cold water. Strong hands around her neck and hot breath against her ear. She blinked rapidly and shook the memory away as she turned on her side and closed her eyes. The fear she felt had worn off into a buzz, but her fuzzy thoughts were brought back into focus. She had felt worried for Lorian’s safety, even if it was also fear for her own neck if the scouts had found them. Finriel gritted her teeth with the realization, but found that she was much too tired to hate herself for it. They needed to finish the discussion they had started before Finriel actually began to feel something other than hate for the man again.
It appeared that no one was in the mood for a chat, and Finriel wasn’t either. Tedric’s thoughtlessness about his bag had almost gotten them in terrible trouble, and Finriel wanted to let him feel his mistake, if even only for a little while. The tree was now quiet, and Finriel soon let the soundless forest and soft rise and fall of Nora’s stomach against her head lull her into a fitful sleep.
14
Krete
Krete blinked his eyes open, the rays of faint autumn sun filtering through the canopy of dying leaves above. A groan escaped from his lips and his muscles protested from being upon a hard surface during the entire night. He scanned the tree to find his companions still sleeping and silently cursed their slumbering forms for forcing him into this terrible situation.
Krete sat up, muscles straining and joints cracking as he stretched. He shimmied to the edge of the tree and peered toward the ground, his stomach lurching at the large drop.
“I don’t know how in the goddesses’ names I will get down from here,” he whispered under his breath.
A sudden sorrow washed over him and Krete leaned back to rest his head upon the hard trunk. The pull within to return to the mountain was growing stronger with every passing day and every step closer to his home kingdom. He missed the smell of fresh snow melting upon the rocks with the first signs of spring, the sound of his fellow friends roaring with laughter around a crowded table. He missed his family and his wonderfully plush mattress. Yet, most of all, he missed the thick rock of Creonid Mountain that sheltered him and his people, keeping them safe from any harm or threat.
His thoughts drifted to the poor village at the outskirts of Proveria, and his heart sank further. It worried him how little his companions had thought over the matter, as if blaming it on the brownies had solved the problem. Something didn’t feel right about the fires, however, he could not pinpoint that something. Krete had interacted with the brownies, and it didn’t seem to him that they would have been capable of creating such destruction for those innocent people. Krete shook his head, knowing that his companions would not believe him if he raised suspicions about an alternative to blame for the fires. There was a darkness spreading over the land, he could feel it in the earth and in his bones. Things simply didn’t feel right, from the release of the beasts to the strange flock of birds that had passed over them the day before. He yearned for things to go back to the way they had been before this mess had begun.
The sound of Nora’s loud yawn disrupted Krete from his thoughts, and his companions began to stir at the sudden break in the deafening silence. Krete was beginning to find that he hated Farrador most of all out of the seven kingdoms, and was glad that King Drohan had rarely sent him to relay messages to the elf queen. The barren trees and lack of wildlife confused him still, though he supposed that most animals that dwelled in the forest were readying to hibernate for the approaching winter.
Groans and hushed curses from his companions filled the tree branches, lifting Krete’s sour mood ever so slightly. At least his friends now felt how terrible of an idea sleeping in a tree had been.
“I feel like death,” Lorian groaned as he made his way down to the large center where Krete sat. “We shouldn’t take any more sleeping suggestions from Aeden,” he grumbled, and made toward Tedric’s satchel, which was strewn at the warrior’s feet.
Aeden gave Lorian a rude hand gesture and gracefully stood, making her way from her tree branch toward Krete and Lorian.
“I’m sorry that I made us all sacrifice one good night of sleep so that we wouldn’t get captured and interrogated by elves,” she retorted. “And besides, it was Finriel’s idea originally.”
Finriel shot Aeden a sour look from where she was still seated on her branch, and Aeden returned it with a raised brow despite her calm expression.
“I slept sufficiently enough,” Tedric offered as he came toward them, trying to hide a wince as he rolled his shoulders, which cracked audibly.
Finriel snorted as she settled herself at Krete’s side, eyeing the bread that Lorian had pulled out of Tedric’s satchel with some reluctance. “Please,” she said, “none of us slept sufficiently or comfortably. It was terrible.”
Nora simply stood and arched her back with another loud yawn, then crouched and leaped off the tree branch. She landed on the ground with barely a sound, save the crunch of dead leaves under her feet as she padded off in search of food.
Krete reluctantly took the piece of dark bread and an apple from Lorian’s outstretched hand, biting into the soft flesh.
“I don’t think that I will ever want to look at an apple or dark bread again when this quest is over,” Krete grumbled as he took another bite. No one argued with this as they ate in silence.
After a few minutes, Finriel looked over to Tedric and nodded toward his shoulder. “How is your injury?” she asked quietly.
Tedric smiled and moved his arm up over his head with ease. “Much better. I think the bleeding yesterday was more from stress than actual damage.”
Finriel’s lips quirked upward and she nodded, and Krete noticed a small look of triumph on her face
. He didn’t blame her, remembering, with a lurch of his stomach, the hours of terrible noises and magic she had used in mending Tedric’s shoulder all those weeks ago. His curiosity about her magic nagged at him again, and he decided that he would try once more to ask her about her abilities.
After some time had passed, Finriel took out the map from her cloak and unrolled it. She set it down on the hard dark wood so that they could all see. Krete peered down at the intricate map and looked for the next beast they were to capture. He choked on a mouthful of bread as he saw that the creature was not hard to find at all.
“The rakshasa is coming toward us,” Aeden announced.
“We need to move farther away from Mitonir,” Tedric added, and pointed at the illustration of the elven capital not too far from them. “We wouldn’t want to be caught grappling with a demon so close to the city.”
The companions nodded in reply, except for Krete, whose stomach dropped at the idea of somehow getting down to the ground without simply dropping to his death. He looked at Aeden and raised his brows. She seemed to read Krete’s expression the way she always could and rolled her eyes.
“You will get down this tree whether you like it or not. You agreed to go on this quest and therefore will have to do more things that a gnome typically does not do.”
“Well, gnomes don’t typically go on quests, so that is a start,” Lorian added with a shrug.
“I have been going on quests my entire life,” Krete snapped, “but perhaps I should have looked in the universal mission guide for gnomes to see how often I would be forced to climb up trees.”
“We’ll help you get down if we need to,” Tedric said calmly. Krete took another angry bite from his apple and then discarded it off the edge of the tree. The taste had become sour in his mouth from eating the red-skinned fruit every damned day for over a moon.
“I could simply portal away and go back home,” Krete grumbled, his mood growing worse with every passing moment. He knew he was not usually as foul tempered, in fact, he always prided himself on being friendly and high spirited at most times. Lorian scrutinized him, and Krete’s thinning temper threatened to snap entirely. “What is it?”
Lorian raised a brow. “You said you could portal. I’ve never heard of gnomes possessing that sort of power.”
Krete shrugged. “Only messengers are given a portal stone upon commencement of each journey. We are required to return the stone after each trip as a means to not have so much power or use the portal stone out of ill intent.”
Lorian blinked in surprise and leaned forward curiously. “How are all messengers given portal stones? They’re incredibly rare.”
“Not in Creonid,” Krete snorted. “They are as bountiful as a common weed grows in Keadora.”
“Is it true that you have a giant portal inside of Creonid Mountain that can allow an entire army to pass through at once?” Tedric asked.
Krete smiled and excitement at his companion’s interest in his home prickled his skin. “Yes, it is, though I think it could only accommodate a gnome army if you tried to send that many people through at once.”
Lorian chuckled. “That’s incredible. You have to show it to me one day.”
Hope bloomed in Krete’s chest and he nodded. “Of course.”
“It’s time to move,” Aeden said, interrupting the thief and the gnome.
A strange mixture of panic and anger flooded through Krete and he shrunk away from her. Aeden rolled her eyes as she and Tedric both stood and came toward him.
“You’re going down first,” Aeden said with a mischievous grin.
“No, I’m not,” Krete retorted, the panic quickly overwhelming any anger he might have felt. “There is no way I am climbing down on my own.”
Tedric reached down and offered a hand. “You aren’t going to climb down on your own.”
* * *
After a considerable amount of time spent slipping, scrambling, and cursing, they made their way down from the tree and started on their way toward the rakshasa. They walked in tense silence, eyes and ears on full alert for any signs of the rakshasa or more elven scouts.
“It’s coming toward us at a steady pace, so we need to keep our eyes open and ears alert for any sudden movements,” Finriel announced after some time of silence. She rolled the map up and put it in its place before retrieving the page. Krete looked at her with a frown and she shrugged. “Just in case.”
Krete took in a deep breath and lengthened his stride to keep up with the witch. “Now that we have been traveling together for nearly a moon, do you think you would feel any desire to tell me of your battle magic?”
Finriel stiffened and her ever-stony expression hardened even further. “I would not.”
Krete’s hopes fell, but after a moment, Finriel sighed and mumbled something under her breath, and he looked back up at her hopefully. Her caramel gaze was set upon the browned grass at their feet, and a dead leaf fluttered down to the ground beside her as she finally spoke.
“If I’m being honest, I don’t know how I’ve never been discovered. My mother had battle magic and was banished from Keadora the day I was born.”
“She was discovered?” Krete asked, and Finriel shrugged.
“Yes, though I’ve never gotten a very solid story about it from anyone I have asked. It’s part of the reason why I agreed to join this quest, so that I could go see her in the Witch Isles.”
“I understand,” Krete nodded, “but it’s still strange to me that no one has ever found out about your abilities before now.”
“Lorian has known of my abilities since we were children,” Finriel replied, “but he and my ward were the only ones who ever found out.”
Krete pondered what she said, surprise and compassion prickling his chest. “That is why you didn’t want to speak of it,” he said.
Finriel shot him a look. “What are you talking about?”
Krete looked up at her with new understanding and smiled. “You don’t even know very much about your powers, therefore it’s uncomfortable to speak of. I understand.”
Finriel huffed, and to Krete’s surprise, she nodded in agreement. “All I know is that I have a constant anger inside, and it takes nearly more effort to hold the fire back than it does to actually use it.”
“It sounds like you need a teacher,” Krete mused, and Finriel scoffed.
“That’s another reason for me wanting to go to the Witch Isles. So that I can have at least some time where I don’t need to live in fear everywhere I go.”
Krete and Finriel fell into a comfortable silence, Finriel’s story bringing Krete’s curious mind to stillness. He had been expecting a large story about her powers, he realized, yet it was foolish. How could a twenty-year-old woman understand anything about her abilities when the whole world would hunt her for them?
The last of the large browning leaves were falling from the giant dark trees of the Farridian forest. The air was still around them, not even the slightest breeze grazed against Krete’s cheeks. It was quiet, too quiet.
Krete turned and looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the long grey spires of Mitonir. The entire kingdom was quiet and lifeless, the feeling sending an uncomfortable shiver down Krete’s spine. He’d traveled through Farrador the least in his many years of being a messenger, but it had always given him a sense of unease when he did have to pass through.
“Tedric!”
Krete’s attention snapped forward at Aeden’s warning, and he watched in horror as Tedric sank into the ground. He blinked his eyes a few times to make sure he had not been imagining it, but Tedric had indeed fallen into the ground up to his waist and was now thrashing his arms about and cursing.
“Stop moving, it’s swallowing sand,” Aeden hissed, and she lunged forward, moving slowly as she stepped carefully toward him. When she reached Tedric, she stretched forward and took each of his hands in her own and began to pull.
“Careful,” Tedric grunted, and Aeden let go of his hands. “N
ot that careful!” he bellowed, and Aeden cursed, lunging and grabbing him once again.
Krete stilled in horror as he watched Aeden pull at Tedric, and within moments, the commander sprung out from the ground. The force of the movement made Aeden stumble and she fell to her back. With a grunt, Tedric reached forward and braced his hands on either side of her head to break his fall and avoid landing right on top of her. They looked at each other for a few seconds, panting and shaken from the fall.
Krete looked away, feeling like he was intruding on something he was not meant to see. A sour feeling filled his stomach and he shuffled away, concern for both of them and their potentially poor decisions filling his mind. They both needed to be careful, and Aeden had too many secrets; some that not even Krete, her oldest and closest friend, was aware of. He hoped for Tedric’s sake that they would not do anything rash. Tedric scrambled up to his feet and offered a hand to Aeden. She ignored it and got smoothly to her feet, looking back down at the ground Tedric had just been sucked into.
“This is swallowing sand, it is used by the elves to capture any game or thieves that may enter their kingdom,” Aeden said as she indicated the ground, and Krete noticed that her outstretched hand was trembling. “We must be very careful and make sure to watch every step we take.”
“We need to keep going,” Lorian replied. “I can keep a look out for the swallowing sand as we move, I know how to spot it easily.”
“Why hadn’t you said anything before?” Tedric roared angrily, and Lorian waggled his brows.
“I just enjoy watching you need the help of others sometimes,” Lorian replied. “It’s good for the spirit.”
Tedric humphed, and Krete sighed. “We should get a move on before we catch the attention of the elven scouts.”
Of Liars and Thieves Page 16