Chapter 7: Pursuit

The first night after his death, Brankellus found a hollow, and since he was neither warm nor cold, he laid near the trunk of a tree and closed his eyes for several hours. A deep and profound tiredness washed over his body, and he hoped to cure some small part of it in the way he always had. He settled among the debris of the forest, rested his head, and closed his eyes. He listened to the roar of his breath and the nights dim sounds drifted in the background. The taste of the cool night chilled him to the edge of chattering, and the pressure of small needles never let up. He gave up his fight for the earthly pleasure of sleep in a fit of disgust, as the faint scent of his death, both rancid and sour, gathered and grew about him.

Brankellus grudgingly rolled to his knees, got up on his feet and hands, then grunted as he stood straight-ish, and trudged back out onto the roadway. He concluded there was only one rest for the dead. The eternal rest—and though he knew how to enter that blissful realm—he was unwilling to take that step.

Not yet, anyway. Not until he caught his quarry.

As he trudged, the stars continued their call. They poked hoped at his heart, as they stared down from above, and begged him to take his eternal rest. There was something about them that lit the faintest whisper of hope deep in the dead man’s chest.

The night slipped away and the sun crept over the horizon once more. The drudgery of the day was no less and no more than the torture of the night. He felt he should be strong and capable of a steady march; but his pains and ailments shifted and overlapped, always causing his gait to be slow and jumbled. If it was not the heat of the day, then some strange nausea, or an extreme exhaustion. If not one of these calamities, then he was limp with a sore ankle or foot—or perhaps his breath would catch, and he’d struggle for air—gasping and hacking as it finally came.

Sometimes his weakness completely overcame him. He’d stumble or pitch into the dirt. There, he laid for several minutes, doing absolutely nothing, totally overcome, and given the respite of knowing he’d done all he could do…

…and the the slow creep of the earth came upon him again, and he remembered the deep chill of the night. He itched, and a burning vengeance gripped his heart. Teeth clattering, he grumbled to his feet, and shuffled after the scent of his enemy once again.

Brankellus stood and continued to drift south and east along the road, blessed with a sixth sense. He did not understand the sensation, only that he was called south, as if by the voice of a sad and suffering people. He imagined they were the many victims of Petaerus and his ilk. Their dirges helped fuel his rage.

Eventually, Brankellus arrived at the north wall of Rynth Falls. In his living years, Brankellus once visited the small Trohl settlement. The little town was not as he remembered it—mostly because Rynth Falls was no longer small. At first, there were a number of tents, most of which he witnessed before he even reached the wall.

He was forced to stand and wait at the wall. For nearly an hour, Brankellus itched, as he tugged and struggled to work past the gate with no effect all. He had to wait for the watch to switch before he could get inside. He howled, and his initial steps were faster than the guard as he lurched into the old city. Beyond the familiar wall, the town was much bigger and more established than he remembered. Were there not a few small farms the last time he was here? But now the houses were pressed quite close together—though a few still maintained a small garden her or there. Most of the buildings were two or three levels high.

Near the outlook, one building stretched to the impressive height of eleven stories—but then, Brankellus was far more impressed by the outlook itself. There was nothing but clean clear granite for some 300 feet—and then a lateral drop of some thousand feet or so— and all the valley below, stretching out to the great plains of the Noeth.

The roaring plume of the river turned to thin ropes. These ropes of water frayed, and small sheets of liquid fabric, tattered and blown, drifted to the earth—most of it falling in a great pool.

Next tot the pool, the second part of the old town stretched out as he remembered, only grown up, like it’s sister up top. The sprawl of new building, another wall, and a flood of tents stretched out into the patchy forest beyond.

Slowly, Brankellus drifted toward the edge of the cliff. He remembered people picnicked in this open area, with some of them stepping so close to the edge that they’d dangled their, heads, hands, or legs over the edge. In life, he was never interested in staring off ledges, and seeing these people so cavalier around it—especially the children!—gave him a bad case of nerves.

But now things were different. In the dead of night, there was no one around but Brankellus as he stepped along the rock until there was nothing but air before him. He was strangely unconcerned with the consequences. His feelings were so low that he felt he should not even notice falling from this cliff. It was not as if the fall could kill him, he thought.

He stepped from the edge. Petaerus was down there, somewhere in that forest of soldiers, and the road down the cliff was winding and long. This was much quicker, and perhaps it’d prove to be a pleasant way to skip the drudgery of switchbacks. And so, he dropped with the care of a feather in the wind—and impacted with the seriousness of a steak hitting rock. The flesh and bone of his body mashed into the granite—bounced once—and rolled to a slow stop. The pain of it was excruciating—but only for a split second—and then he died for a second time.

But he’d sworn a pact with the gods of vengeance and strife. Slowly, they stitched their acolyte using the scar tissue of perceived wrongs, and pulled him back together, as a mother darns a cloth doll. The howl of the dead rushed across the valley, and ignited his undead purpose once more. Brankellus coughed as he rose to finish his dreadful purpose.

As the ghost picked himself back to his feet, he noticed it was now day, and most of the tents were gone. How long was he out before the itch of his hatred caught hold once more against the great chill of the earth, and he finally came back to in his scratchy and irritated existence?

Most of the tents that were still around were at the edge of the city. He figured as the last to arrive, they’d also be the last to leave. About a mile back from the wall, some number of shooktroops prepared to march. They were thick as hornets as some loaded provisions, while others waited to march, already ready, or simply scoffing off as they might. There was a good number of Trohls among them, with some few Saot, about as many Hebronese, and perhaps a Gressian or two. Though it was a mixed force, they all wore Trohl garb, including the Ministrians. Brankellus realized the Empire once again waged war under false pretense.

As Brankellus slogged along the road, some commander of the troops meandered down the street near him, as he inspected the troops, and matched the unseen ghost stride for stride. A weather worn scout stared up at the commander as a knot of other officers and soldiers pressed around the man.

“How far were they when you left them?” the commander asked.

“Eight days out,” the scout answered.

“And that was…?”

“Four days ago.”

“In what condition did you find them?” .

“I rode with them three days as they marched. They were in good health, mind, and spirit. If they are late at all, I should think it is only a day or two…” the scout finished.

“No troubles? No sign of Waokie on the south road?”

“No sir, not by me or any man I met.”

For several seconds the commander stared at the scout, as he continued down the line of soldiers. The men all engaged in a flurry of activity as they watched the high officer pass—though the commander seemed not to notice. “Is there something you’re forgetting?” he said as he continued to stare at the scout.

For a second, the scout simply stared back, dumbfounded and terrified. Then he remembered the letters in his bag, retrieved them, and handed them to the officer with a crisp salute.

With a smile and a wave, the officer turned from the scout, and said, “thank you—that’ll be all.”

As the officer drifted down the street, he opened a letter and read it to himself. With a smile, he said to no one in particular—though the gathered men all seemed to hang on his every word—“It seems we’ll have the second and third legions here almost as quickly as the first! They shall be here by the end of the month, with another seven expected by the end of summer.” Though triumphant, his grin quickly turned to a frown, as he continued to speak. “And we shall need them all, since we must now fight on two fronts.”

“Do we pursue the waokie immediately?” asked one of his weaselly men.

“No. For now, keep half a legion here to watch the town. The Trohls leave four hundred of their own men, and no one has seen a single beast within a day’s ride since the war melted away. I should think the waokie are properly thinned and satiated for now…” he speculated. “When the first legion arrives, send half to join us in the field, and keep the other half here. When the second half arrives, split it again. Send half to us. Then send half a legion north and see if they might recover our forts. When the third legion arrives, do the same as the second. Also, send word to Wibbeley and have them send the next legion north to clear out Valcovour’s Pass,” the commander stated. “From there, I want every other legion split in half, with one part taking the north road from Wibbeley, and another part coming here first before joining our effort in the north,” he said.

“We retake the mountains,” the commander stopped and turned on the last man that spoke, “and this time we take them for good! We’ll control the Bunderhilt from Wibbeley to Ebertin, from Gopi lands to the plain of the Noeth, we will!…”

Brankellus outpaced the lecture, and was happy for it. Eventually, he approached the far edge of the army and left them all behind. Petaerus was not among them.

Brankellus wondered how long he was out after his fall from the ledge, that so many of the troops had already left. Was it just the remainder of that night, and the first part of the next day—or had he lost another rotation? Did he lose a full day, or even days?

He could not believe he lost more than a week at most. How much longer would the Empire gather her army before they would attack? Needless to say, Brankellus was shaken by the fact that his recovery was so slow—and yet he should remember nothing of it but an impossible pain, the briefest glimpse of some strange oblivion, and a vague sense of bliss and comfort.

For hours, Brankellus walked. The sun rose and slowly apporached it’s zenith. Eventually, the column of Ministrians and Trohls appeared, and marched from Rynth Falls on their way to…? Brankellus wasn’t sure. These were the lands of Noeth and he did not know them.

Brankellus did not notice the train of troops until the first of the horsemen was immediately behind him. His mount spooked as the beast brushed into Brankellus. The horse reared and nearly threw its rider, as the ghost turned to see the creature was almost on top of him!

The horse stared at the ghost and did everything in it's power to avoid any further collision as the rider tried to settle the animal and coax it forward. The mount passed to one side, as it pressed into it’s neighbor, and took several quick steps before it finally calmed under the veteran hand of it’s rider.

The next horse stomped and fussed as it veered and also gave the spirit a wide berth.

"What's up with ‘em?" the rider asked, as he too struggled to calm his mount.

"Dunno," another shook his head as they stepped around the unseen ghost, giving him an ever increasing berth.

Intrigued, Brankellus stepped close to one of the horses and held out his hand. His fingers brushed the animal's coat and an electric jolt passed from him to the beast. The horse jumped at the touch. The horse gave out a panicked whinny, collided with the next horse, and caused several more mounts and riders to collide—though none fell. Well trained, the riders managed to stay on top of their horses.

The flow of soldiers stepped off the road to either side of the ghost for a good twenty feet. Aware that something was up, several horsemen eyed the spot where Brankellus stood with out and out suspicion—though they invariably looked straight through him. There was a stir among the men and a general call went up, "Voressa! Voressa! See what cannot be seen!" they shouted.

From among the troop, a young page led a weary donkey, and upon it, a stooped and withered, old woman. The page brought her into the circle, and stopped at the old woman’s word. She stepped from the beast and approached the spirit. Her eyes were cloudy, and Brankellus wondered if she could see anything at all, until she stopped maybe a foot from him and locked her gaze on his eyes.

"Why do you trouble us?" she asked, her manner familiar and curious, her question unafraid.

Brankellus noted the pin she wore with two fangs, one of silver and one of gold. Brankellus did not know what the mark meant, only that the very worst among those at the Invader’s Fort wore it. A snarl curled over the dead man's lips as he glared at the old woman.

Voressa frowned as she raised a weathered arm at Brankellus. "Do you challenge me?!" she said and pointed a charm of fine metals and delicate crafting at the spirit; all flowers and stars knotted together. "Do you not know that this is a world for the living, first and foremost!" she yelled.

Brankellus did not recognize the relic, but he could feel a strange power radiating from it's five point forms. Caught in a wash of hate and vengeance, he lunged at the old woman in hopes of somehow causing her damage.

"Begone, troublemaker!" Voressa yelled as she twisted the amulet.

His hands passed right through the old woman—though they brushed the metal of the amulet. A wall of air crushed into Brankellus, and the spirit shot backward into the trees, flung like a rag doll. He came to rest in a thicket of undergrowth, a good forty or fifty feet from the road.

Voressa turned to the soldiers and waved them onward. Assured there would be no more trouble, the column proceeded once more as the old, blind woman stared through the trees at the vengeful Trohl spirit. Caught by the old woman's uncanny gaze, Brankellus didn't dare move. He simply watched the troop proceed, as he wondered at the woman’s amulet.

The final soldier passed. With the solid page’s help, Voressa struggled back on top of her donkey, and the page led the weary donkey along. Two mounted men with armor and weapons stayed back with her, and flanked her protectively as the entire column continued on its way.

As the troop disappeared with their supernatural protector at the van, Brankellus began the wearisome process of standing up. He slogged after the soldiers, though they progressed quickly, and soon he could not even hear the clomp of hooves.

The day stretched, and for several minutes it took on the red hue of evening. The blue stretched into black. Slowly, the stars peeked out of the night. Once again, thin pricks of hope occasionally shot down from distant starts, and spurred the ghost onward. Near midnight, Brankellus hobbled passed the same troop of soldiers as they rested at the side of the road. Not wanting to run into the old woman, he kept his distance, which was easy since he simply had to keep the road. Indeed, Voressa was awake and near the center of camp.

He glanced at her from time to time, as he made his way past. She turned and glared at him with her strange eyes. "Trouble us again, and I will send you through the veil!" she yelled as Brankellus moved through the trees on the far side of the road. He wondered if she could do such a thing, and thought it best not to test her.

For two days, Brankellus played leapfrog with this column of Ministrian shock troops. Each day they passed him earlier, and each night he passed them later. Although he never stopped, they traveled at a faster clip—even as they made camp each night. Brankellus realized he would only catch his quarry if the man might stay in one place for a while. He would not catch Petaerus until the man stayed in one place.

Yet, they must all be going somewhere. Eventually, the soldiers wouldget where they were going—and then Brankellus must surely catch him!

But he did not think of what else he might find there.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 7.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Komotz stepped into the dark room and looked out the window. He leaned toward Duboha and whispered. "How long have they been out there?"

“Long enough,” Duboha shrugged. "I suspect they arrived when our friends returned."

"Will they attack, or...?" Komotz continued.

Homoth lumped his younger brother on the shoulder. "They're not sneaking around for the fresh air, you moron! It's the middle of the night!" He said in a harsh whisper. "Go put on your colors!"

Komotz opened his bag and began to search for his Oak and Beast tabard. Homoth turned back to Duboha. "How many are out there?"

Duboha shook his head, "We've spotted at least a dozen out front and that many more out back, so, fifty? Maybe sixty altogether?" he shrugged as he offered a guess.

“Are you sure?” Komotz asked.

“I wouldn’t bring any less,” Duboha noted.

the younger brother hissed and looked to Homoth with wide eyes. "Can we fight that many?!"

"Gonna have to," Homoth shrugged.

"Is everybody awake?" Duboha asked.

"The word's going 'round; ten minutes and git downstairs," Homoth answered.

Duboha gave a nod. "I go to gather my stuff," he said and stepped from the brothers. He gave a nod to Traust as the commander came down the stairs.

Traust wore a chain mail shirt and the tabard of the Oak and Beast. He set his pack on the floor and an ornate shield next to it. The shield bore a great tree done up in jade detail with a large, hairy, wolf-like beast, made of onyx, asleep in its shade. On his hip, Traust wore the sword he always wore, with a sculpted black hilt in the shape of a beast's head, with emeralf eyes and ivory teeth. "What do we have?" Traust asked as he stepped between the brothers.

"Degorouth. Ministrians," Homoth shrugged. "Duboha believes there may be as many as a hundred."

"That many?"

"I wouldn't bring any less," Homoth shrugged. "What do you think? Do we wait for their attack? Do we try to break a line and make a run for it? If so, do we rush the front or the back?"

Traust shook his head. "This house is tinder. We can't stay. Once the others are ready, we'll fight our way free, and make a run for the wall."

Komotz gulped. "How long do you think we have?"

"Minutes at the most," Traust shrugged. "Let's hope we're ready to leave before they're ready to come in—otherwise we'll have to start the fighting before we start the running."

"Simple enough," Homoth said.

“I should think it is too simple,” Komotz gulped.

Homoth turned to his worried younger brother. "Don’t fret. Complicated plans tend to go right out the window once the swords start swinging anyway. Let their plans be complicated, so once we disrupt them, they can fall all over themselves,” he grinned.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 7.3 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Andrus rushed into the room as Saleos and Toar rested in their chairs. Elpis lay in the bed, heavily bandaged and completely out of it.

"He'll live?" Andrus asked as Saleos began to stir.

"Give him a week or so and he should be alright,” Saleos gave a nod. “I'm concerned about the eye—but the other is good—which is to say nothing of his emotional state,” he finished with a shrug. “Of course, we won’t see any of that until the drugs wear off.”

"What if we have to move him?" Andrus asked.

"Like, to another room?" Toar replied.

"More like out of the city," Andrus answered.

"Now?!" Toar sat up in his chair, suddenly concerned.

Andrus nodded.

Saleos shook his head. "He's drugged to the gills. We'd have to carry him. Why? What's going on?"

"We’re discovered. We think they were followed,” Andrus gave a nod to Elpis. “Traust wants to make for the wall."

"The wall?" Toar stood. "What good'll that do? The gates won't open 'til dawn!"

"That's maybe an hour away," Andrus answered. "If they put up half a fight, it'll take us that long to get there."

Toar didn't like the idea. "You expect to run and fight for an hour?!" he began. He was about to complain further when Aim stepped into the room, a massive intimidating beast of a man. At the sight of him, Toar swallowed his complaints.

"I hear we have to go," Aim said as he looked at Elpis.

"That's the word," Andrus said to the massive man.

"I assume he's not going to carry himself?" Aim pointed at the injured man.

"Not a chance," Saleos answered.

"Well then, I suppose I better bring our friend." Aim said as he gently scooped Elpis from among the covers and placed the man over his shoulder. Saleos assisted and helped him settle the injured man on the giant’s massive shoulder, then arranged a thick blanket to cover Elpis.

"It'll do," Saleos shrugged.

"Let's hope so," Aim grinned. "Komotz says there might be two hundred of ‘em out there. Now get what you need and get downstairs," he continued. "We leave immediately."

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 7.4 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

"Not you too!" Scurra fussed as Duboha stepped into her room. "Why won't you people just let me sleep!" she bawled as she launched a shoe at the door.

Duboha brushed the shoe aside. "Andrus says you threw a cup at him."

"I'da thrown a knife if I had one close!" she complained as she buried her head in her pillows once more.

"Wish I didn't have to bother you, but we have company," Duboha noted. "Degorouth, Ministrians—either way it doesn't look good."

Suddenly aware of the implications, Scurra stared wide-eyed at the man. "We were followed?!"

"That's what I thought," Duboha shrugged.

Scurra rolled over on her back and huffed. "Dear Jeiju! I was finally comfortable!"

"It isn't meant to be," Duboha shrugged. "Your brother gave me this. He thought you might want a bit," he held up a small leather pouch. "If it is what I think it is, I wouldn't mind having a bit myself," he noted as he offered the pouch to Scurra.

Scurra opened the pouch and removed a slight spoon, then sniffed its contents. Her eyes went wide as she identified what was offered, “fio.” With a sharp inhale, she sat up straight. "Alright then, let's do this," she said as she stuck the spoon into the pouch, removed a bit of fine green powder, and ate it. She wiped the spoon on her covers and passed the pouch and spoon back to Duboha.

Duboha took a dose himself. "Invigorating," he grinned.

"Never been a fan of the stuff," Scurra shrugged. "Makes me feel jittery—but if there was ever a time to take it," she threw off her covers and peeled off her nightgown.

Wide eyed, Duboha turned from Scurra as she wore nothing but her small clothes, though he fought the urge to take another look at the athletic woman.

"Where do you want my bow?" Scurra asked as she pulled on her travel leathers.

"Most of us are gathered in the main hall. Apulton and Andrus are up on the roof, if you care to join them," Duboha answered.

"The roof it is," she nodded. "So what's the plan? Do we stand and hope to outlast a siege, or do we make a run for it?"

"We run. We make for the wall," Duboha said. "If you get separated, make for The Copper Kettle and Rooms, six hours on the main road east."

"Six hours, eh? That's not so bad," Scurra noted.

"It's six hours on horse," Duboha shrugged. "It'll take you two days on foot—more like four or five the way you been traveling."

"Haha," Scurra scowled.

"There's maybe fifty men out there, and they don't mean to see us go peaceful," Duboha frowned. "When things go sideways, we'll be lucky if half of us make it out."

Scurra studied Duboha with a critical eye. "Have a little faith, my friend. You never know what might happen."

Duboha shrugged and stepped from the room, "Pray for the best, prepare for the worst."

~!@#$%^&()_+ 7.5 +_)(&^%$#@!~

In the main hall, as the party crowded around in the dark, Celesi stepped close to Toar with Evereste in her arms.

"Why do you bring the baby?" Toar asked. "Why don't you give her to her mother?"

"That one is a bit of mess right now," Celesi whispered as Toar caught sight of the priestess. Wenifas leaned heavily on Krumpus as the two slowly navigated the stairs. "I'm just happy to see she's on her feet again," Celesi continued.

"That bad, eh?" Toar stared at Wenifas as a wicked looking dagger dangled from the priestess’s hand. Toar turned back to Celesi. "Do you need a weapon?" He asked the former Jay.

Celesi lifted the hem of her dress that he might see a set of blades attached to her thigh.

"Throwing knives," Toar smiled. "Are you good at tossing them?"

"No," Celesi admitted. "And I don't intend to throw a single one—but I know which edge splits skin,” she pulled a blade and waved it about menacingly, then placed the knife back in its sheath. "Besides, if I need to fight, we've already lost. Instead, I'll care for the baby and let the mother handle a weapon. She looks like she'd enjoy cutting someone."

"Let's hope it's not Baet," Toar muttered under his breath. He shook his head. "I'm not much better myself," he said as he eyed the sword at his waist.

Celesi looked about the others. "There are a few fighters here. We'll be alright," she said, and hoped that saying such a thing might make it true.

Though the fighting men all wore the colors of the Oak and Beast, they wore varied armor and brandished a wide array of weapons. Saleos carried a bow in hand, a quiver at his waist, and two short swords on his hips. Duboha was heavily armored with a shield and a long sword. Homoth was also armored, but had no shield. He had a long mallet in his hands and a pair of short swords on his belt. Komotz wore chain mail as he carried a shield and his long sword. Aim carried a long pole axe and Elpis on his shoulder. The giant man also had several edged weapons about his waste including Elpis’s axe. Creigal carried a long sword in one hand and a small shield in his other. He wore thick leathers and a metal plated helmet. Carringten had a long spear, a large shield over his back, and Bence's short sword at his hip. Baet had Derris's sword and a long knife in his other hand. Krumpus was draped in his dirty travel cloak and carried his staff with a metal point on the end. His other arm was looped around Wenifas, as the priestess leaned against him. A wicked looking dagger dangled from her fingers. Toar carried a short sword in one hand and a large hunting knife at his side. His free hand looped around Celesi's elbow as she held Evereste with both hands, all too happy to have Toar standing so close. She drew strength from his touch.

Of all of them, Traust was the most formidable. His armor shined as he brandished his extravagant sword. His other arm held a large shield decorated with silver, jade, and onyx. Celesi smiled at the regal look of the man and thought nothing could happen to the party with such leader at their front.

Toar looked about the room. "We're missing Apulton, Andrus, and Scurra," he noted with a frown.

"They're on top of the house. As soon as we start running, they'll cover us until we get free," Saleos whispered. "Once we're free of the house, they'll cut loose and follow."

"That's the plan?" Celesi asked, horrified that it was so simple.

"Just about all of it," Saleos shrugged. "Make for the wall. If you get separated, go for The Copper Kettle and Rooms. Its a good distance down the east road, maybe thirty miles on your way to Hearthstone..."

As Saleos spoke, shadows grew and danced among the group. Komotz turned and pointed to the front of the house. "Fire," he noted in a calm manner.

Celesi turned and saw flames as they crawled through the cracks of the window and the frame of the door.

"We go now," Traust ordered. With a nod, he stepped to the back garden door while the others pressed close behind. He pulled open the door and stepped through.

A barrage of arrows screamed out of the night. They shattered against the armored form of Traust and fell away harmless—all but one. One slipped just above the edge of his shield and buried itself in the slit of his visor. With a jerk, Traust backed a step, jerked about, floundered, and fell to the floor. Celesi watched in horror as blood poured from under his helmet. He convulsed and twitched as his body went limp.

With a curse, Duboha charged through the door. Several arrows slammed against his armored form—though there were significantly fewer missiles. This time, none of the arrows caused any damage as Duboha surged into the garden.

Homoth followed immediately and the others quickly emptied out of the house behind his heavily armored form. Creigal set his small shield aside and took Traust's massive round with its intricate detail instead.

Celesi looked up and saw arrows fly about the roof of the house. With her stomach in her throat, Celesi cradled Evereste as she ran toward the sounds of conflict. Panic rose in her chest and threatened to overwhelm her as Toar pulled her forward, toward the mayhem.

A figure toppled over the edge of the carriage house and landed with a sickening crunch only a few feet away. Another slipped from the roof as he clawed and screamed, his voice filled with pain and panic, as an arrow protruded from his side—then another stuck in his shoulder and he fell to the ground, screaming—until the ground crushed the air from his lungs.

Ahead of her, metal banged against metal. Curses, yells, and screams quickly followed. If not for Toar, Celesi would have run in any direction, and hid in the first convenient patch of shadow. She kept her eyes on the brave, young Trohl and gripped his hand as tight as she could.

Toar led Celesi through the back garden gate as they chased after the others. Celesi could hardly keep up. As she ran, she stepped passed Saleos. He aimed his bow back the way they came. She glanced back and saw his arrow impale a shadow. The attacker lost his feet and his weapon crashed to the ground. The sword slid and clattered to a halt near her feet as it's former owner gargled and died a short distance away—and then she was running again...

As Toar pulled Celesi along, they passed a number of dead and injured men. One fallen man sat against a fence with his stomach cut open. Shock and horror danced across his face as he ignored everything else and tried to gather his intestines. Despite a frantic effort, he simply could not put the slippery knots back inside his belly.

Celesi felt sick. She pressed her mouth into the screaming form of Evereste and suppressed an urge to vomit. Thank the gods she did not recognize the man.

Toar pulled Celesi down a thin alley at break neck pace. She turned her focus to Evereste and did her best not to jar the child as she ran. They turned a corner.

Suddenly, Toar stopped, and Celesi ran into the back of him. He pushed off of her and they reeled away from each other.

Something heavy split the air between them.

An axe looped end over end through the space Celesi just occupied. She backpedaled furiously, but couldn't keep her feet. She lost balance and rolled on her back, careful to cradle Evereste, as she crashed to the ground. Her breath caught as she tried to ignore the pain that rang through her rump and back. There'd be bruises for sure.

Toar helped her up as large form appeared behind him. A Ministrian stepped out of the night and Celesi screamed. Toar turned and just managed to dodge as the Ministrian brought his sword down. He countered, but the Ministrian swiped aside his strike and stepped close to Celesi. The Ministrian grabbed her and nearly pulled her off her feet. Celesi screamed again and did everything she could not to drop Evereste.

Toar slashed at the attacker. The Ministrian turned the blow—though he was forced to let go of Celesi. She backed from the conflict, looked about for the others, and wondered where they were. Outmatched, Toar backed away from the Ministrian—only to realize he was cornered.

Something dropped out of the sky and wrapped about the Ministrian—a serpentine thing with massive wings. The attacker screamed and tried to throw the beast off as it bit him again and again.

Toar took the opening to attack. For a split second, he wondered if he should go after the man, or the serpent, and decided to stab the Ministrian. The tip of his sword pierced the man's chest between his heart and shoulder. The man gaped at Toar, shocked by his sudden misfortunes. He backed away in a rush as he wrestled with the winged beast. Then, the serpent separated from the man—though the man continued to fight. He clawed mercilessly at his own throat and screamed his panic and terror. Blood streamed from his neck and hands as he buried his nails in his own soft skin. He jerked and convulsed, and his screams turned to a gurgle as he fought only himself. A few seconds more, and the attacker slumped on the ground, his life fled with his blood.

Celesi yelled as the giant serpent turned toward her. With a hiss, the beast spread its wings and launched itself into the air. Wide eyed, Toar and Celesi stared after the creature, as it disappeared just as quickly as it came. Scurra and Andrus appeared from out of the dark as they ran down the alley with bows ready. They glanced nervously after the beast,

"What the bloody hell was that?!" Andrus asked as he took Celesi by the arm.

Celesi shrugged and wondered how half the city wasn't awake with so much bloody screaming and fighting. She looked about the nearby buildings to see that many windows were indeed lit. Now that she thought to look, she noticed much of the neighborhood was in fact awake! People streamed out of their houses, most with weapons in hand. Panicked, Celesi realized they’d never fight through all of them!

"Let's go," Toar urged and pulled Celesi down the street. There were several more bodies. Celesi only looked long enough to see that she didn't recognize the dead. She turned quick from the pooling blood. Scurra and Andrus followed close on her heels.

A shout went up to her left, "Ministrians! Ministrians!"

Celesi turned toward the voice and saw several shadows as they bolted across the street.

"Ministrians!" The call was repeated and started to sound all around. "Ministrians!"

The sounds of fighting erupted everywhere, instead of just ahead of them. As the fighting intensified, it also drifted away. Slowly, the tension eased from the air, and Celesi felt she could breathe once more. For the first time since she stepped from the house, she thought she might live through the night.

The rest of her company no longer fought. Nor did they run. They were stopped in the middle of an intersection. They gathered about and stared down the streets in all directions. Celesi glanced about her friends. Although there was a good deal of blood among them, most kept their feet. As she began to count heads, she noticed armed shadows gathered about. Slowly, a crowd of men closed in from every direction. A knot of dread formed in the pit of her stomach.

Celesi was pushed to the center of her companions. She came eye to eye with Wenifas. The priestess looked just as harried as Celesi felt. "My baby!" Wenifas exhaled and claimed the crying child. Although Evereste whined, she seemed no worse for the wear as Celesi handed her over.

Also pushed to the center, Toar leaned close to Celesi. "So much for making the gate," he frowned.

"Who goes?!" Duboha called to the men that gathered.

"We ask the same!" Came a reply. "We are the Pan Iskaer, and you have broken our peace! Put down your weapons or perish!"

Saleos let out a sigh of relief as he set down his bow and sat in the street. He put his head between his legs as the others sheathed their weapons or set them on the ground.

"Do we know them?" Celesi asked.

"We know 'em,” Duboha nodded. “It's their neighborhood after all."

“Wait, you expected them to intercede!?” Celesi glared, suddenly suspicious. “And you made me think we had to run all the way to the wall?!"

"Expected?” Duboha shook his head. “No," he said as he placed his sword on the ground. "But we certainly hoped it might happen,’” he shrugged. “Still, I'd prefer not to be at anyone's mercy.”

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 7.6 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Claiten woke from his sleep and sat up in a luxurious bed. He considered the room as a light haze poured through the windows. The sun was about to come up.

Despite the early hour, Meu was missing. Claiten told himself he was unconcerned—though he didn’t like being alone as much as he used to. The serpent came and went as she pleased and kept strange hours—but she always came back. Besides, he didn't want to distract her from the task at hand. She was looking for his mother, and nothing could please the boy more.

Although Claiten saw Meu with the Ministrians several times, she forbid him to talk with the men in her silent way, as she stared into his eyes. Cautious of what might happen if they realized he was a Ministrian child, he kept his distance and remained silent.

Claiten went out a few times himself, during the heat of the day, when he expected the nagas were least likely to be slinking about. Despite the sun’s brightness, he refused to go into the parks. He took several coins with him and often treated himself to pastries and sweets while he looked for his mother among the many shops. He noticed one man with such black skin and thought he must be the dark warrior. Several guards marched him away, but as he followed the guards, Claiten got a good look at the man. Though they stared at each other for a long moment, there was no recognition on his face, and the boy realized there must be some few such dark men in the world. He wondered where they were from, and how far they must travel to reach this city of Trohls. There were certainly few enough of them. Among thousands and thousands of strangers, he saw few faces so dark.

Claiten pulled on his pants and went to the balcony door. He pulled open the door and stared off to the east as the sun began to peek over the horizon. There was a chill in the air and it made Claiten feel alive. For several seconds, he listened to the birds chirp as the world was painted red. He breathed in the new day, as a defiance surged through him. Then he crowed, long and loud, like a proud rooster should. "ERRR-AY-ERRR-AY-ERRRRRR!"

He turned this way and that to see if anyone cared for his crowing. If anyone minded, they kept it to themselves. He gathered his breath and gave another call, "ERRR-AY-ERRR-AY-ERRRRRR!" He stared out over the city streets. He was about to crow a third time when he spotted Meu. She flew straight toward him.

Claiten pushed the balcony doors wide and stepped out of the way. Meu shot into the suite and swirled about before she settled on the bed. A darkness swallowed her and Claiten turned away. As soon as the darkness faded, he knew she'd be naked as the day she was born.

Meu whipped on a sundress and ran to Claiten. She grabbed his hands and pulled him inside as she said the only thing she ever said out loud. "Druss meu!" She said excitedly.

As Meu gathered her scant belongings, Claiten gathered his purse and the naga dagger he’d carried from Beletrain. He left the ill-fitting outfit Meu found him that first night, since they'd purchased him a proper set of clothes the next day.

"Druss meu!" Meu exclaimed again as she dragged Claiten from the room and out of the inn altogether. His hope soared as he realized she must have found the others!

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 7.7 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

A limp child hung from Golifett's arm. He'd gone through a great deal of trouble to secure the young boy, and hoped it'd live at least a little longer. They had a better texture when he cooked them fresh. He leaned his ear to the boy's face and was satisfied to hear the child breathe, long and deep. A smile crested the naga's lips. This child was smaller than the last, and certainly didn't come with a surprisingly large bag of coin, but was big enough, and should do as the centerpiece of a feast. To think he'd found the other child almost by chance in the very halls of Beletrain—only to have him stolen away!

Although Golifett was above ground, there was a bolthole nearby that would carry him down into the safety of Beletrain. It appeared only to be a spot where a stream went underground, but the stream was deeper than it looked, and the naga could slip under the ill-fitting grate that aimed to block anything moving through the water. The cold of the water would shock the boy awake—but then he'd be in Beletrain, and all the screaming in the world wouldn't save him. Still, Golifett waited. The dawn was almost upon him, and he wanted to see if the spell he put upon the last child might still be intact.

This night was strange for the naga. The normal quiet of the morning was shattered about the same time he grabbed the boy from his bed. At first, he thought he was discovered and might have to fight his way back home, but the commotion was something else, and immediately traveled away from him. Men's voices and the sounds of conflict carried on the wind as Golifett quickly made his way to his exit. Once safety was at hand, he stopped and listened to the fighting as it grew, and faded, and rolled in waves. Rumor had it that the humans were fighting more than usual, though none of the naga had any idea why. Personally, he didn't much care for a reason. He only hoped it would continue. Let the humans fight! He thought. With luck they’ll reduce Ebertin to ash—and then it will be time for the naga to return the surface once more!

As Golifett thought cruel thoughts, another note caught in his ear. It was a most pleasant and appreciated sound—indeed, he liked it more than the fighting! Somewhere to the east, a young boy mimicked the sound of a rooster. He listened to the call once... twice...

Although there wasn't a third, he was quite sure it was the boy that most recently got away. A smile creased Golifett's lips. So the curse stuck after all! The child should be fairly easy to follow, until he eventually slipped the naga’s magic and thought no more of courage and chickens.

Golifett wondered if he might get the child, the gold, and perhaps the woman's infant too boot. He touched the scarred tissue of his burned face, and thought it proper to take both of the witch's children for what she did! And then he'd kill the witch too!

Still, day was upon them and he didn't dare stay in the city any longer. For now he'd have to satisfy himself with this other child. Still, he'd prepare a feast and gather his cousins. Then, as night fell, the hunt would commence for this other child!

Polished — 2020/02/19