by Jada Fisher
They trudged forward, and this time, none of them had any desire to speak. They were on alert, as they should be. The silence weighed heavy on them. Even the birds stopped chirping. It was just quiet. Unnatural, even. The hairs on the back of Dorrick’s neck stood on edge. They were being watched; he could feel it. He looked around, but there was no sign of anything or anyone. Tree folk and spirits could flit between objects at will, so that meant little.
He knew they were there, watching. And this time, it wasn’t just paranoia.
For whatever reason, they were content to watch. Fine by him. He supposed he could understand it too, since he’d be curious if a band of highly-armed and highly-trained knights marched through his neck of the woods. As long as they stayed away, he could live with it, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t make his skin itch.
Before long, the bloodwood trees gave way to regular trees. Ahead, he could hear voices, distant and loud. Not quite yelling, but urgent. It was many people. The village, if he had to guess. Seemed like a pretty safe bet.
“We’re here,” Sir Nogrund said suddenly. He went forward. The path widened and the trees gave way to a wide clearing and the village. Dorrick had to stop in his tracks.
It was an Al-Sevaran village, a bunch of families paid good money by the government to settle the wilds and try to bring some sense of civilization to the place. Of course it was, because the wildling villages would never call the knights for help. It was a quaint little hamlet, six white brick houses with straw thatched roofs centered around a well, protected on all sides by a low stone wall. A small field to the north was cleared for crops, though Dorrick couldn’t tell what had been planted.
In the distance, far in the distance, Dorrick could make out the peaks of the Lazendires, the natural barrier between the Spirit Wilds and the Mushroom Wilds. Both were savage, both filled with spirits and tree folk and terrifying monsters, but there was no way they’d ever tame the Mushroom Wilds.
That was a lost cause. Too far from the city to ever be practical. Too much danger, too many risks.
But even here, only a day and a half ride from the city, there were rampaging spirits. Dorrick often wondered if this was wise, sending regular people into the wilds without assigning a detail of knights.
Still, it seemed to be an idyllic village, if not for the destruction that had befallen it.
A large chunk of the wall on the far eastern side had a hole in it, and large tracks went to and from the surrounding wilds. Two of the houses had chunks missing, one with a roof caved in and another with one whole side blown away, bricks and bits of furniture strewn about. A bit of smoke billowed from the remains, charred wood standing out stark against the brightness of the village, though it appeared the fire had been put out.
Beyond that, there didn’t seem to be any more damage. Dorrick hoped that no one had died. They could defeat a monster, but the dead stayed gone, unfortunately.
Sir Nogrund led them down the shallow hill and into the village. The destruction became more widespread the closer they got. Broken glass and chunks of brick gouged away, large prints stamped into the mud, small wooden fences broken to bits. Whatever spirit had done this, it was a big one.
“What do you think did this?” Marcella asked in a low voice.
“Something very big,” Dorrick replied.
She scoffed. “You think, genius?”
He shrugged, trying to stay serious. “Sir Nogrund said in the briefing that they didn’t know what it was, only that it was a large, enraged spirit.”
“Well, that narrows it down.”
“Unfortunately, as a whole, we don’t know a lot about spirits.”
“Other than the fact that they’re dangerous?”
Dorrick smirked. “Yes, other than that.”
They came upon the villagers, who were all huddled together around the village well, arguing about something. Dorrick was curious as to what, but before he could make out what they were saying, they all went silent at the approach of the knights.
An old woman, with graying red hair, sighed dramatically. “Thank goodness you’ve shown up!” she said, hand over her heart.
“Took you long enough,” someone muttered.
The old woman’s head snapped to the voice. “Shut up, Eusten.” The venom with which she said that named made Dorrick’s skin crawl. Must be her husband, he thought with a grin.
Sir Nogrund came to a stop before the villagers. Dorrick and the squires filed in alongside him. “Sorry for the delay, good citizens. We came as quickly as we could.”
“On foot?” asked a man with a blacksmith’s cape on, his face and beard stained black from soot.
“We rode to the nearest waystation, but couldn’t risk the mounts on such narrow paths. Now, everyone appears upset. Has something else happened?”
There were some mumbles of dissent, but no one voiced them. The old woman, who seemed to be a vocal one, spoke up again. “The beast came again, just about an hour ago! Plowed right through my home over there.”
“Did anyone get injured? Any casualties?” Sir Nogrund asked.
A few gazes went to the ground, grief bubbling to the service. That was a yes then. “My son,” said the woman. “He tried to fight it yesterday but was killed.”
“And my wife!” yelled another man.
“And my husband,” said a young woman who couldn’t have been much older than Dorrick.
When no one else volunteered a casualty, it was assumed that was it. Three, which was three too many. Sir Nogrund placed a fist over his heart and bowed his head, muttering a prayer to Gremel, the ferryman to the afterlife, so the departed had a safe passage.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. What can you tell me about the spirit?”
The woman’s husband, Eusten, was calm by then, his attitude gone. He stepped forward, eyes heavy with grief. “Large and mossy, half as big as a house. Looked like…. Like a bear in shape, but with legs like a falcon. Dying flowers that reeked like carrion bloomed all over it. And it had this…this strange purple glow about it.”
Well that’s just about the most awful thing I’ve ever heard, Dorrick thought with dread. They had to fight that?
If Sir Nogrund was disturbed by the description, didn’t show it. “Sounds like a deranged nature spirit.” He nodded and crossed his arms as he thought over the situation. “Which direction did you see it go?”
They all pointed east, to the billowing house with the wall missing. “Came an hour ago, was gone as quick as it came,” said the young widowed man.
“Okay, we shall handle it.” Sir Nogrund unclipped the large bronze horn from the bandolier that crossed his chest. He handed it to the blacksmith. “If the spirit returns while we are gone, blow this and we will return swiftly.”
The blacksmith wiped his hands on his apron before taking the horn. “Will do.”
“I pray that you won’t have to use it.” Sir Nogrund turned to the squires and inclined his head to the east. “Let’s move out!”
And without any further ceremony, they were off again, with haste, tracking down a monster. Dorrick’s shield rattled against his back, his steel blade banging against his hip as they jogged. Yes, this will be fun.
Unfortunately, he feared his inner sarcasm would be rewarded in kind.
6
Dorrick
As it turned out, tracking a massive spirit wasn’t so difficult. It left quite the mess in its path. Trees bent and snapped, grass and bushes crushed, plus the very obvious tracks, which were alarmingly large. Shaped like a bird’s, they were four pronged, with three front talons and a heel talon, and they were so large that Dorrick could curl up comfortably within the space they left.
This spirit had to be humongous. So this was what he got when he finally got to go on a mission to prove himself. Typical.
But he would see this through and overcome it, because that was what being a Vane meant. It was hard work and dedication and never giving up, defying the odds. If he was to make his fat
her proud, he would get through this with a smile on his face. Dorrick just had to make sure that smiling face was still alive when all was said and done.
They kept jogging for about a mile. It was tiring, but part of their training had squires running for miles and miles around the city in full chainmail, shield and sword and all. They had to be able to travel long distances on foot, because sometimes, horses couldn’t make it through the perilous parts of the wilds. So even though this run was very tiring and uncomfortable, Dorrick could have kept it up for hours.
Which was almost needed, given the spirit had gone a long way.
Dorrick suspected that maybe it was this rampaging that was causing the wilds to feel so lifeless. That would explain things, as he could understand not wanting to be anywhere near such a monster while it was rampaging.
After several miles following the path of destruction, it suddenly stopped. The tracks disappeared. They reached the last broken tree, and then it was just the forest, as it had been. That wasn’t good.
Sir Nogrund lifted a fist in the air, the signal for them to stop. “Be on your guard, squires. Spirits can dematerialize through objects, even the big ones. It could be nearby.”
“Is there any way to know when one is coming?” Dorrick asked.
“Unfortunately, there isn’t. You just have to have gut feeling, use instincts. That’s what makes spirits so dangerous. Their unpredictability.”
The squires nodded. It was something they’d been taught: expect the unexpected when it came to spirits. Tree folk had habits, as they were more or less people in a way, and creatures had habits that could be studied and quantified, too. But spirits? They were as numerous and different as snowflakes.
Sir Nogrund unsheathed his sword and strapped his shield to his other arm. He gave the others a look that told them to do the same. As Dorrick unslung his shield from his back, his heart started to race, pounding so loudly in his ears that he was sure the others could hear it. This was it. They were about to fight a giant monster and save a bunch of villagers. This was what he wanted.
His first mission, his first taste of action, his first real chance to prove his father wrong and make him proud.
So why am I terrified?
He took a deep breath and swung his sword around, keeping his muscles and joints loose. It did little to calm the rapid-fire beating of his heart. As the others prepared themselves, Marcella approached him. She was good to go, sword in her right hand and shield in her left.
She arched an eyebrow and frowned. “You okay?” she asked. Of course. Marcella had always been able to read him like a book, so why would now be any different?
His lips flattened into a line. “Just a bit nervous is all. First time and all that.”
“Me too,” she said, her eyes batting. “Feel this.” She grabbed his shield arm and guided his hand to the exposed flesh of her neck. For a moment, he felt nothing, but then he felt it—the frantic rhythm of her pulse. “I’m terrified right now.” She smiled. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to put on a brave face and give it my all.”
Dorrick’s cheeks warmed. He smiled, averting his gaze from her eyes, or the creamy skin of her neck. “You’re right, Chella. Thank you.” He dropped his arm and readied himself.
She grinned and bumped his shoulder with her own. “Buck up, big guy. We got this.”
And as always, Marcella managed to cheer him up. It was her special gift, and she was a woman with many such remarkable gifts. He loved that about her. Of course, these thoughts just made his heart thud even louder.
They prepared themselves, all with swords and shields out and at the ready. Of course, all squires were required to train with all manner of weapons, but on missions, they would just take a sword and shield. It wouldn’t be until they became full-fledged knights that they would they specialize in something. Sir Nogrund, Dorrick, and Marcella were all prototypical sword and shield users, though obviously they were proficient in all forms of combat. Evan would use a warhammer when he earned his colors, and his brother… Well, Ollo always had trouble deciding things. As of then, he’d narrowed it down to using a halberd or dual-headed axes. He was equally deadly with both.
Dorrick was a swordsman, through and through, like his father, who was considered one of the best in all the world. It was a lot to live up to, but he strove to prove it every single day.
Sir Nogrund grunted and rolled his shoulders, the old joints groaning. “Okay, squires. I’m going to draw it to us.”
“How?” Marcella asked.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Ah, someone hasn’t been paying attention in their alchemy lessons.” With a wry smile, he dug into the one of the pouches of his bandolier. A moment later, he pulled out a large, clear flask of black liquid and held it aloft for the squires to see. Dorrick sucked in a breath.
“Godly Ruin?” Dorrick asked incredulously. “That’s what we’re using, sir?”
“Indeed it is, Vane.”
“But— But, sir, won’t this attract any hostile spirits in the area? Who knows what will show up? I don’t think we’re equipped for a horde.”
Godly Ruin was an exceptional piece of alchemical ingenuity. Blackened soil from the Forgotten Continent, ground sabercat bones, and the blood of a high dragon. It was hard to make and harder to even get the ingredients. It was illegal to use by anyone that wasn’t a knight, because it called all nearby spirits and almost always enraged them. Not something to be used lightly.
Sir Nogrund was undeterred. “I know it’s dangerous, which is why you’re going to draw a warding circle around the clearing. Any lesser spirits that cross it will be exorcised. As for the big beasties, well, that’s what we’re here for.” He dug another pouch out of this bandolier and tossed it to Dorrick. “Here.”
Dorrick caught it, though he almost dropped it he was so caught off guard. “Sir?”
“It’s ward powder. Ground up hart antlers, and anointed stalks of thyme and rosemary. It’s used by a lot of wildling settlements to keep out malicious spirits, though ours won’t turn them away but incinerate them if they cross it.”
Well, that would certainly be helpful for the coming fight. Dorrick didn’t know much about warding magic, as only Madam Sage Reshni practiced magic, along with her priests. But alchemy had a lot of magical elements too, right? So he knew enough.
“Spread it in a slow circle around us,” ordered Sir Nogrund. “Make sure to keep the line of powder unbroken.”
He nodded and did what he was told. While the others continued to prepare for battle, Dorrick slowly stalked the perimeter of their little clearing, letting the warding powder fall from his enclosed fist. There was some other magic at work, because the pouch was about the size of his palm, but powder kept on coming, never running out until just when he finished the circle. He looked at the small hide bag with suspicion.
Magic? Was it enchanted by the sage? That would explain why there was a grain bag full of powder in a pouch smaller than a coin purse.
Once he was done, he gave the pouch back to the knight. Sir Nogrund nodded, his expression grim and serious.
“I pray you are ready.”
“As ready as I can possibly be,” Dorrick replied, and that was the truth. He legs trembled and his heart still sang a frantic tune, but nothing would stop that, so he just had to suck in a breath and be ready for whatever the hell was about to happen.
Sir Nogrund smirked. “Good.” His eyes found the others. “If any of you wish to resign on your shields now and forfeit your place in the order, now is the time. Otherwise, be ready for a fight that may well lead to your end.”
Dorrick was happy to see that none of his friends even entertained the thought of leaving. Well, he didn’t know if they thought it, but he knew them, knew them as well as he knew anyone, and his friends weren’t ones to quit. Not for anything, and they definitely wouldn’t run from a fight.
When no one objected, Sir Nogrund nodded. “Good. Now, let’s begin. Be ready.”
He unsealed the top of the vial, which took some doing because you didn’t want just anyone to be able to open it so easily. It took a special little key that each high-ranking knight was given. Only they could open it. Once it was opened, Sir Nogrund paused to take a deep breath, then he turned the vial over and poured out the contents.
It was liquid, but thick like blood. Like the crude black gunk that miners sometimes struck in the mines along the western coasts. When it hit the grass, it coagulated into a steaming, sizzling mess. The smell was tremendous. Not bad, exactly, but strong, like being around onions but much worse. The squires pulled up their cloaks to cover their mouths and noses.
Sir Nogrund did the same. “Sorry, forgot to warn you about that.”
As they watched, the Godly Ruin bubbled and built, growing taller and taller and solid, like a crystal. It was a magnificent—if not a bit horrifying—thing to witness, like something alive. Dorrick had learned about the use and effects of the stuff and how it was made, but he didn’t know this was what it looked like when it was used. It made him feel queasy.
It finally solidified into a jagged, shimmering black crystal almost as tall as Marcella. For several seconds, nothing happened. Is that it? Dorrick thought. Did it work?
Just when he thought that, the crystal glowed white-hot for a flash and sent out a pulse that rippled through the air and went through them all. It felt like being pushed by a strong gust of wind, but otherwise, Dorrick was fine. The squires all looked at one another to make sure they were all in one piece. Dorrick should have known better. He was aware of what Godly Ruin did, and that it wasn’t harmful to humans. Still, with such strong alchemy/magic, one could never be too cautious.
Several seconds slipped by in silence, the air thick with it. Dorrick’s pulse thumped in his skull, much too loud for his liking. It was much too quiet.