Chapter Text
The gentle bristle tickling the tip of Rayla’s nose finally roused her from her blissful slumber, despite her best efforts. Angled spears of sunlight still penetrated the canopy of leaves and branches she had used for shelter. Dusk would come in a few hours, but those last few hours in particular would have been appreciated, judging by the soreness behind her eyes. It had taken some adjustment, but by now Rayla’s body had become accustomed to nighttime traveling and daytime resting – much to her dismay in this specific instance. It took her eyes several moments to clear the fog of slumber, which took dreams with it when it departed, but eventually, Rayla noticed the Archangel Lunaris resting on her nose. The distant bark of a dog alerted her to its significance.
Sobered and risen, Rayla swatted the giant moth away and leapt to her feet. The barking was soon joined by others, deep howls and shorter yips. Rayla had thought she liked dogs, but these beasts sounded massive, unlike the small, cute pugs about the size of Bait she had seen back in Katolis. Oh, if only these dogs could have been Bait. As they drew closer Rayla could hear other sounds too: the shouts of the hunters, and the splash of their horses in the stream – less than a mile away. Too many.
There was no time to pack up camp. Rayla checked her butterfly blades but she was already running before she realized they were missing. She would have to double back for them later. No time. Too many. Too close.
Rayla scrambled to find her footing in the dense brush, but she had to remain in the forest. It would slow their horses down and give her a chance. Those dogs were still going to be a problem, but she would have to deal with that when the time came. Branches and brambles tore at her clothing. She could barely feel the scrapes and cuts across her body as she tore through the undergrowth, leaving a desperate trail a child could follow – even a human child. There was now the snapping of teeth between each bark pounding her eardrums.
Her mind went to Callum. Would that silly boy ever learn of her fate? If she knew him, he would be reading right now – some ancient, dusty tome dug out of that massive castle library. Rayla’s cheeks warmed. It was good to be elsewhere in the final hour. Her last thoughts would be of him.
Abruptly, the dogs halted their pursuit, and snarls fell into whimpers. Rayla dared not glance back, but the fading voices of the hunters meant that they were falling back. Against all odds, she had escaped. The problem now would be to find a way back to camp to recover her butterfly blades. Assuming, of course, that one of her pursuers had not stolen them. If they had… no. One thing at a time. She slowed to a casual lope, catching her breath as quietly as she could manage. A little further and she would be in the clear.
The forest was older here, as evidenced by the thicker trunks and opaque ceiling of leaves that completely blocked the sun. Bushes and brambles transitioned to rolling knots of roots as thick as her leg that sometimes sprung up at sharp angles to create natural arches she could fit under. The air was still and heavy, the only sound was her jagged breath. Until… a second set of hooves, this time on the dry forest-bed of leaves.
Rayla jumped back into a sprint. These hunters would not let up! Darting around a trunk, she noticed a small ravine that ran between two hills, covered completely by gnarled and knotted roots. She could lose them in there. And if she couldn’t, then that human was going to be in for a nasty surprise. The rider drew closer, but Rayla only grew excited in anticipation. This time she had a plan. The shadows closed over her head and she yearned for the embrace of the moon that would come in just a few hour’s time. She clung to the sides of the cavern, searching for an alcove to lie in wait. There was a brief moment when Rayla’s fingers felt a jagged gash in the cavern wall.
It was only her reflexes that kept her head attached to her shoulders when a flash of talons shredded the earth behind her. But as she rolled out of the way, a second blow caught her in the stomach, knocking her airborne and smashing the scream from her lungs. She threw her arms up, scrambling like a madwoman against a torrent of slashes and cuts aimed at her throat. Drool splashed across her face, nearly blinding her. She kicked and twisted, her heart slamming against her rib cage as if trying to escape. A pair of hands closed around her neck, she bit down on them as hard as she could but to no avail. She could feel the life being crushed out of her body.
But above all the noise came the thunder of hooves. The grip around her throat slacked at the scream of a horse. Her vision overcome with a wave of blackness, Rayla drifted through these moments as if they were a dream. A crash followed by an explosion of wood, splinters of it suspended in the air about a fountain of blood. A creature half again as tall as any man she had ever seen reeled back, limbs flailing in the air as an inch of steel erupted from its back. The beast’s fur was a matted mess of brownish lilac and saffron, stretched across a vulpine skull beneath a silvered mane. Two of its many arms gripped at the shattered lance protruding from its chest, even as its others struck down the rider’s horse. Despite the blood, as it turned, Rayla caught a glimpse of the golden towers of Katolis on the banner thrust through its grisly wound.
The rider’s sword was already in their hands as they hit the ground, sliding to remain on their feet. Onyx armor glinting with the chance rays of sunlight from outside, the warrior fell upon the beast with a low roar. Even as the beast tried to wrest the weapon from them, they twisted the blade free, dancing away from the furious counterattacks. As control returned to her limbs, Rayla forced herself to her feet, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon. The warrior suddenly caught a strong blow to the head which knocked their helmet clean off and almost flattened them, a mat of golden hair lay over a trickle of blood. With a yell, Rayla drove a stone into the back of the monster’s skull with all her strength. Jolted, the monster swung at her but she struck it again and again and again, clinging onto its back for dear life.
When it finally threw her off, her ally had recovered and pressed a new assault with his sword. Confused and in agony, the creature spun about between them, blood oozing from its first, crippling wound. With a gargled howl, it broke off and fled, scrambling over the walls of the ravine and disappearing into the forest. Despite her injuries, Rayla pulled herself together when she noticed the brave young knight rubbing the side of his head. Rushing to his side, she managed to catch him before he fell. “Soren!” She cried.
“Hey, Rayla.” He smiled, pressing something into her free hand, “You dropped these.” Then she recognized the familiar grip of her butterfly blades.
Clipping one of the weapons to the suspenders across her back, Rayla gently helped Soren down by the side of the cave. With the other, she turned her attention to his horse. The poor gelding was still alive, but, given the angle of its back and stillness in its rear, its spine had been shattered like glass. Rayla squeezed back tears as she cut into the animal’s neck, below the jaw and up into the brain. The horse stopped flailing before its hot blood had finished rushing across Rayla’s fingers. Straightening herself, she walked over and flopped down beside Soren.
“Let’s move on.” He said, nodding towards the dead horse. “We can sit somewhere else.”
“Look at you,” Rayla protested, “you can barely move!”
“I’ll be alright.” Soren answered through gritted teeth, “Just let me grab my saddle bags, and then we can get you cleaned up.” He swayed a bit as he rose, feeling the side of his head, and Rayla caught him again, grimacing at the bloodied handprint now on the front of his breastplate. He shrugged it off. “Helmet is toast.” He remarked, tossing aside the mangled ball of steel he had been inspecting. “It’d be cheaper to buy a new one than find a smith that could repair that.”
“Aren’t you supposed to wear something under that?” Rayla fussed, “That could have killed you.”
“Have you ever worn gambeson all day before? Not fun.” He quipped, bending over to unfasten the leather straps around the saddle. “And I wouldn’t say I was expecting to pull you out of a Draegolath’s jaws when I woke up today. Besides, I don’t see you wearing any armor.”
“Moonshadow Assassins don’t need armor.” Rayla explained. “It gets in the way and restricts your movement.”
“Not the good stuff.” Soren chided, leading the way out of the cave. “Luckily for you, I was wearing mine.”
Rayla scoffed. “So what did you call that thing? A drago-laugh?” With a few quick steps, she had caught up to him. “I’d never seen, or even heard, of such a thing.”
“A Draegolath. You mean you don’t have them in Xadia?” Soren asked in surprise, “No, I suppose that would make sense. You could consider them a great human innovation.”
Rayla regretted allowing Soren to climb first when his oafish boot kicked a generous helping of scree down towards her face. “Blegh, a ‘great human innovation?’ Let me guess, dark magic. Again.”
“They’re a relic from the Mage Wars, yes.” Soren pulled himself over the edge. “My sister could tell you more. She actually paid attention during Dad’s lessons.” Turning back around, he reached down and offered his hand.
Rayla took it and he pulled her up beside him. “Do you think we killed it? It just ran off.”
“I wouldn’t get my hopes up.” Soren shrugged, “They’re tough and dangerous. I doubt my lance did more than inconvenience it.” Concern flashed on his face. “Did it bleed on you?” he gasped, patting her down briskly.
Heat flashed in Rayla’s cheeks. “I don’t think so.” She stepped back. “I’m fine, Soren.”
“You have to be very careful.” he insisted, stepping forward to continue his inspection. She had to politely brush his hands away. “It’s blood is acid, I remember that much. It will melt the skin right off your bones.”
Rayla’s eyes widened as she suddenly remembered the thick, sticky saliva across her face. “It drooled on me Soren!” she panicked, clawing desperately at her face. “Get it off! Get it off!”
Soren laughed, “Oh, the drool is fine. It’s only poisonous.” he scratched his chin pensively, “Or was it venomous?”
“Drool is ‘fine?’” Drool was fine?
“I can’t remember.” Soren concluded. “Either way, it’s not something I’d suggest testing for yourself.” He continued forward into the forest.
“Where are we going, Soren?” Rayla finally asked.
“We’ll find a stream, and get you cleaned up.”
Rayla threw up her arms, “Listen to yourself. Do you even know where a stream is around here? Because the only one I know about is back there where that monster went. And if that thing, that Drae-go-lath, is still out there, then the last thing we should be doing is wandering around in the wilderness, waiting for it to find us.”
“Would you rather we return to its lair and wait for it to find us there?”
“You hurt it bad with that lance and nearly scared it to death.” Rayla argued, “It won’t be back home for quite a bit after that.”
Soren chuckled at that, grinning from ear to ear. “Do you really think I made it brown itself?”
The gentlest flash of white teeth in that smile made Rayla laugh louder and harder than she had intended. “Judging by how fast it was running, I expect that it did drop as much ‘dead weight’ as possible.” Another grimace across Soren’s face cut her short as he reached for the side of his head again. “We’re going back to the cave. Now.”
“Justice above, I’m fine!” he snapped, wincing even as he did so, “Just stop talking so loud.”
“You’re concussed.” Rayla insisted, “And unless you want me to concuss the other side of your head, you’ll come back now.”
Soren finally relented and allowed Rayla to support him back into the ravine. They had to go the long way around because Rayla did not trust Soren to slide down that same slope they had climbed up earlier. Rayla’s sides, her neck, her arms – well, her everything – still hurt, but at least she wasn’t at risk of suddenly falling over dead. Runaan had taught her to always treat head injuries seriously, no matter what the patient said. The last thing she needed was for Soren’s stubbornness to make things worse. She remembered Callum was like this too. Why did humans always make it so hard to take care of them?
“The horse is going to be a problem.” Soren remarked grimly as he slid back down against the cave wall. “Hopefully the only thing it will attract will be wolves.”
“I’ll get a fire going.” Rayla decided. “It will keep them at bay.”
She was about to begin searching for dead wood when Soren caught her arm. “You’ll sit down here and clean yourself up first.” He insisted. “If you get to pretend to be my mom, I get to pretend to be your dad.” Reaching into his saddlebags, he pulled out a handkerchief and a waterskin. Wetting the fabric slightly, he offered the rest of the waterskin to Rayla, who drank greedily. As the cool, delicious water rolled down her parched throat, she jumped a bit when Soren touched her arm with the handkerchief. Using it like a rudimentary washcloth, Soren busied himself with cleaning first her right arm, and then her left. The fabric was soon coated with dirt and blood.
Rayla thrust the waterskin back to him when he reached up to touch her face. “I can wash myself.” She blurted. “Thank you.” She closed her eyes and did her best to clean the muck off her face, although she may have only ended up spreading it around.
Soren watched on in silence. “Ooh,” he suddenly hissed, “that’s already starting to bruise.” Rayla realized he was looking at her neck where the Draegolath had seized and attempted to strangle her. “Does it hurt?”
Self-conscious, Rayla’s hands leapt to her collar. “Oh, this? It’s fine.” It was not fine. The excitement had finally worn off, and the pain was setting in. But the last thing she needed was for this numpty to exacerbate his own condition by pointlessly fussing over hers. At least she wasn’t going to suddenly drop dead. “So…” she began, eager to change the subject, “what are you doing out here, Soren?”
“I’m a crownguard,” he answered simply, “and I could ask you the same question. What are you doing just… in general?”
Ignoring his question, Rayla continued. “So King Ezran must be hiding around here somewhere. After all, the great, super-important crownguard can’t let him out of their sight.”
“That is not technically true,” Soren replied, “there are more of my sworn brothers and sisters back in Katolis keeping my king safe. But a crownguard’s duties also extend to members of the royal family. I guess you missed the moon moth I was using to follow you.”
“That lump on the side of your head must be worse than I thought,” Rayla laughed uncomfortably, “I’m not part of that royal family or any royal family for that matter…”
“Callum feels otherwise.” His words hit her like a punch to the gut. “If circumstances were different, you would be a princess by now. Back to my question though, why did you leave? He is not taking it well.”
Of course he wasn’t. It had been too much to hope that Callum would, knowing him. But she knew herself better. And if she had hesitated, if she had crawled back into bed beside him that morning… “Is that why he sent that hunting party with you? To kill me?” She couldn’t exactly believe Callum would wish her harm, unless he was a very different man than she had thought. But it was a distraction from what had already started gnawing at the edge of her thoughts. Distractions were good.
“Hunting party? What hunting party?”
“Oh, the one with all the horses, the hunters, and the dogs that wanted to tear my throat out. I can see how you would miss them, considering they were only making enough noise to be heard in half the forest.”
“Oh, that hunting party.” Soren placated, raising his hands between them, “I saw them from a distance a few hours ago, but don’t know much about them. They’re Del Barish, I think. Why would they be after you, anyway?”
Rayla raised her own hand, spreading her fingers wide. “You’ve got four guesses, human.”
“Well they won’t lay a hand on you,” Soren nodded grimly, “I’ll make sure of that. Beside, I think they’re going to have bigger problems to deal with soon enough.” He added, nodding up the side of the ravine, “That’s the direction the Draegolath ran off, right?”
“You’re right.” Rayla sighed, “I almost feel sorry for them.” Setting the handkerchief down, she sat forward towards Soren. “Now, let’s take a look at that head of yours.” Soren recoiled from her touch and nearly smashed his head into the cave wall in the process. But Rayla was faster, seizing his skull and holding it still as she peered at his injury. “Stop fidgeting.”
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Of course I—” Rayla was about to permit a little white lie, but when Soren twisted about yet again she snapped, “If you dae that again I’ll box your ears you wee little eejit!” That made him stop moving at least, but Soren began laughing against her chest. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” Soren chuckled, straining a little against her grip, “nothing at all.”
Rayla found herself laughing too, which quickly rose in exasperation. There was nothing she could do. She was not trained for this sort of thing and, even if she was, she didn’t have the necessary tools. She couldn’t just sit here and hold him as he died. Maybe it would wear off, but maybe it wouldn’t and she hated not knowing. She had to do something. She briefly considered the handkerchief he had given her, but tossed it away in disgust. Filthy. “Do you have any… normal clothes? You can’t just wear armor all the time.”
“Well, Claudia’s always been more of a shopper than me, but I know a good doublet when I see one. As for shoes, I always prefer a good pair of boots but sometimes…”
“I mean in your saddlebags, dummy. I need to make a bandage.”
“Pajamas mostly,” Soren answered as she picked up the leather satchel and began rummaging through it, “some of it should still be clean, I think.”
Rayla’s nose hairs nearly twisted themselves free of her flesh as she inspected garment after garment. “You know you’re supposed to keep your clean clothes separate, right?” she asked, but she already knew the answer. Dejected, she set the bag down in favor of a cleanish pair of stockings that only smelled of cheese and onions. “Never mind then. I just hope this won’t get it infected.” With a sigh, she took out one of her butterfly blades and got ready to cut the fabric. “Soren, what the,” she said suddenly, “is that your name stitched into the socks?”
Soren nodded. “Long story,” he said, “when I was training to be a knight, General Amaya had my class go on long expeditions and other quests. I shared tents with the other squire, and our clothes were always getting mixed up. I kept losing my socks, so one year my dad decided…” his voice trailed off.
“I’m sorry, Soren.”
“You don’t have to say that.” He shrugged. It was his turn to sigh. “He had changed. What you did when you… killed him, it was the right thing to do.”
“He was still your dad.”
“Yeah, and I don’t know if I’m ever going to live that down.”
Rayla wanted to say something, but words escaped her. Placing the socks down, she grabbed a less intrusive undershirt and began tearing the fabric into long, narrow strips. Taking the remainder and balling it up into a tight wad, she held it firmly over the wound as a gauze and began wrapping the cloth around his head. After three passes, she held the makeshift bandage taught and looked around for something to be used as a pin. One of the roots by her head proved sufficiently stiff, and she snapped it off between her fingers. She was working it into the knot when Soren interrupted her work. “Thank you, Rayla. I know what you were trying to say and well… thank you.”
Once the bandage was secure, Rayla permitted herself to look for firewood. Soren was placated by being tasked with starting the fire, which proved far more difficult than anticipated. Given his reluctance to use the steel of his own sword against a flint stone, he became determined to create fire by any other means necessary. This included staring at the fuel with grim malice, as if attempted to burn it with his mind alone. “I think I’m getting it.” he said once when Rayla returned from one of her trips, carrying a bundle of kindling. Soren was seated cross-legged, with a smooth branch pressed between his two palms. He was rolling it fiercely into a flat split of wood, and had so far managed to bore a small hole in it. Sweat was pouring down his face to such an extent that Rayla wondered if it might extinguish any ember he did manage to create.
Time away from the cave also gave Rayla the opportunity to diagnose her own injuries. Nothing was broken as far as she could tell, but a few bones may have been cracked or scraped in that desperate struggle with the monster. As much as she hated to admit it, Soren might have had a point about wearing armor. Of course, if he hadn’t flushed her into the cursed thing’s lair to begin with, this wouldn’t have ever been a problem. The scrapes no longer stung, but had faded to a dull throb that resonated with several bruises she could feel against her collar and under her athletic corset. It was nothing a hot bath couldn’t fix, although she couldn’t remember the last time she had had one of those.
That wasn’t exactly true, she could in fact remember her last hot bath – at the moon nexus – and that was precisely the problem. It felt like a lifetime ago, or even another woman’s lifetime. And what had happened since then? If this Draegolath was indeed the echo of Dark Magic she had been following, then Claudia’s trail had indeed gone cold, and the last eleven months had been a complete waste of time. Callum had been right. He had been right, and that made everything she had done inexcusable. Was Soren going to bundle her off back to Katolis now that he had found her? What would she do when that big, lumbering man-child presented her to Callum like some hunting trophy? What would she say? What would he say?
Well, come to think of it, Soren wasn’t going to be bundling her anywhere without a horse, and with his skull thoroughly concussed. Oh Soren, he had saved her life and she had the nerve to think so little of him? No, she would get him through this. Then they would be even: a life for a life. She would make sure he got somewhere where he could recover, somewhere he would be safe, and then she would leave.
She found herself drawn towards the shattered path the Draegolath had torn through the forest. The dead wood was snapped and easy to gather here, even if she had to avoid the occasional splatter of blood. The vile acid smelled a degree of sourness she would not soon forget, which made her glad that she had not eaten since the night before. Hesitant signs of nature had returned to the forest; evening birds sang in distant trees, and squirrels chattered incessant gossip that only Ezran could have followed, but nothing touched this cursed path. The natural order was repulsed by this perversion, and even the trunks of shattered trees seemed to have bent away on their own accord to escape such horror.
Rayla finished gathering another armful of firewood when a sudden whoop from the cave brought her running back to the ravine. A warm, flickering glow that reflected off of the slope brought a smile to her face. She returned to find Soren excitedly nursing a small flame into the delicate construction of tinder he had built in the fire ring. His face was frosted in dirt and ash, but he did not seem to care. Setting aside her own jubilation long enough to carefully set the firewood down, Rayla rushed over to help. Together they soon had a roaring fire that washed over them with waves of molten bliss. When she had to scoot back from the blaze in order to keep from singeing herself, Rayla remembered that they would have to ration the logs carefully so that they would last through the night.
Or she could go out and gather more. She had been so distracted that he hadn’t even noticed the moon rise. With the return of the moon came the return of a jovial tingle in her heart that brought an extra glow to her laugh and a heat to her cheeks as she conversed casual nothings with Soren. Her goal had been to keep him talking, and so she had. The man was far more knowledgeable and insightful than she had imagined. “But that’s crazy, right?” she found herself saying, “Who would want to drink bread?”
“I know.” Soren laughed, “You wouldn’t expect it to work, but it does. With a couple pints of mead, you almost don’t even need any food! That stuff will put hair on your chest, Rayla. Or… at least it does that for guys. I don’t know what it does for girls. But it will make you feel ready to wrestle a lion!”
“That might just be the alcohol, Soren.” Ethari had never let her have anything stronger than moonberry juice, but, when she completed her assassin trials – the youngest elf ever to do so, Runaan had smuggled her a flask of a silvergrove rosé. It had been sweet, if terribly bitter, but her uncle had explained that you weren’t really supposed to drink it for the flavor. That had been a warm, wonderful night that misted her vision as tears threatened the edges of her smile.
“Maybe,” Soren continued, “but the best stuff comes from Duren. Dureni Beekeepers lace their mead with just the most magnificent honey. I don’t know what they feed those bees, but I’m going to convince Ezran to investigate. When he’s older, of course.”
“Next time I’m in Duren, I’ll have to check that out.” Rayla chuckled.
Soren tossed her a wedge of cheese he had dug out of his saddlebag. “Oh, and Evenere. Eveneri spices are exotic indeed. Now that the war is over, so many more wonderful discoveries can be made. Dureni honey, Xadia moonberries, Eveneri nutmeg… that mead would be wondrous!”
“Perhaps you will be the first, and brew me some one day.” Rayla smiled. Soren caught her gaze, and for a heart-stopping moment, the flames in the fire seemed to stand still, reflecting off their eyes in twin mirrors.
“Oh, I hope I’m not the very first.” Soren broke away. “I’m crownguard, after all, and we don’t exactly get a lot of time off. There isn’t really much of a retirement plan either.” The moment was over, and Rayla wondered when it would return. Soren’s face was all seriousness once again. “My head feels a lot better now. What’s the plan?”
Rayla straightened her joints and rolled her head about. “I can conceal this cave with an illusion the same way I hide my campsites. This area is much larger than I’m used to, but the moon is strong tonight. Assuming this thing doesn’t have any Archangel Luminarium, it shouldn’t be able to find us here. We can wait here until daybreak and then get you out of here.”
“I can’t do that, Rayla.” Soren frowned, “My duty as a crownguard also extends to the innocent. Now that we discovered it, I cannot sit on my hands while that monster runs amok in the countryside. I will not.” He concluded. “I must slay it.”
“Your ‘duties as a crownguard’ also extend to me,” Rayla reminded, “And if I decided that I didn’t want you running after that creature. If I instead chose to stay here…”
“I trust that you would not force me to make that choice.” Soren answered firmly. “I know you won’t allow a Draegolath to run loose in Del Bar. You nearly got me killed when you saved that dragon in western Katolis after all.” There wasn’t even a hint of resentment in his voice as he fixed her with his stare. “You know I am right.”
A burl of frustration twisted her lips. He was right. And she hated him for it. But there was one thing that was going to be set straight first. “You’re staying here. I’ll go after it, myself. Alone.”
“You’re joking, right?” His nostrils flared as he snorted in bemusement.
“I’m not, Soren. You clank like a kitchen in all that armor of yours. It would hear you coming from a mile away. Besides, I’ll move faster on my own.” She would not budge on this. An elf could be just as stubborn as a human if she set her mind to it. He would have to accept that this was for his own good. She would be gentle about it, but Rayla would not hold back if she needed to.
“Listen, I know what you’re trying to do. You’re not nearly as subtle as…”
“Then you must understand that it’s for your own good.” Rayla interjected, “Your own safety.”
“Safety?” Soren laughed in sharp staccato. “I swore an oath, Rayla. My safety hasn’t mattered for years.”
“Fine.” There was no other way around this. “Stand up and walk over to me. Then you can come along.”
To his credit, Soren pushed himself to his feet with minimal exertion, or at least, exertion that was at least noticeable. But he had barely made it two steps forward before he careened off to the side, steadying himself on the cavern wall with one hand and clutching his head with the other. “I’m sorry,” he winced, “if I can just…”
Rayla caught him in a grip that molded into a tight embrace as she lowered him back down. “I can’t hunt this monster and worry about you at the same time. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”
“Alright,” his breath was heavier than normal, “I’ll be here if you change your mind and need me, but Rayla,” he gripped her arm as she tried to pull away, “be careful. You have no idea how dangerous a Draegolath can be when wounded.”
Despite the severity of the situation, Rayla let out a boisterous chuckle. The moon’s rays glistened across her skin, even under her layers of clothing, and she could deny the exhilaration no longer. The gentle push and pull of the primal sent waves rolling through her blood like the tides themselves. Everywhere they passed, her hairs stood on end with anticipation. Until there it was, like the gentlest crack of thunder: magic. “Oh Soren,” she couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear, even as her earthly form turned translucent in the fading light, “I swore some oaths too, back in the Silvergrove. It will not take me by surprise.”
A moment later she was racing through the mangled and shattered forest. Her heart and breath were calm, flowing through her as she flowed through the gentlest midnight breeze. Was this how Callum felt when he touched the sky? She could not allow herself to become distracted, but the intoxicating joy of the moon made that seem impossible. When she closed her eyes, even if only to blink, she could almost imagine herself in the next shadow – a few paces above, ahead, or to the side. It was so easy to lose herself in these winks, these flickers of hedonism. Did that make her a lunatic?
As she ran, it occurred to her that this was her golden opportunity. She could vanish and Soren would be none the wiser. She could then settle this business with Viren and then return to Katolis a hero. But Soren’s words bit at her heels and drove her onward. Assassins protected their homes from monsters. Ethari may have shown her kindness in the Silvergrove, but she was still a ghost to him and everyone she had known growing up. Katolis was now her only home, and, like it or not, Soren was a part of that. The Draegolath could not be allowed to rampage freely through the countryside and endanger the only family she had left.
Rayla channeled the euphoria into a hyper-fixation on her surroundings. Her senses exploded with bright, vibrant bursts despite the muted grays of moonlight showering down around her. Places, where the earth had been shredded beneath taloned feet, jumped out at her as she passed over them. Blackened brands lay burned into the trees where the creature’s blood had congealed. The enraged roar of honey bees, whose hive had been torn asunder in a mighty, blind cleave was nearly overpowered by the succulent aroma of a fresh honeycomb. Beauty born of tragedy. Rayla would endure the stings to taste even a bit of that ambrosia. But no, she had to remain focused.
The Draegolath had torn its path in the direction Rayla had come from that morning, and she began to recognize a few of her surroundings. It was right in the direction of the hunters, of course, but she could not hear them up ahead. It was quiet, deathly quiet. Even the evening calls of owls had evaporated in the still air. She was close.
As if to validate her concern, Rayla nearly tripped over a splinter of wood in her path. Although one end was properly polished and oiled, the other had disintegrated into barely a toothpick, which lay beside an equally warped shard of metal and tattered pieces of red fabric. Soon after Rayla recognized the destroyed remnants of Soren’s lance, her eyes caught another detail among the thick canopy of trees: an arrow buried up high in the trunk of a tree, a few paces to her left. Although she did not recognize the fletching, it was clearly human-made. The feathers were from some large, flightless bird. An ostrich? There were no such beasts in Xadia. It seemed she had found the hunters, unfortunately, as she picked up a new smell that was only too familiar: the sharp iron tang of blood.
The kills were fresh because they had not yet begun to reek, but there was blood everywhere. Grim-faced, Rayla first stepped over the dogs as she entered the ruined clearing. The faithful beasts had tried to buy their masters time, but it had not been enough. Arrows were scattered about, their shafts pointed in random directions at extreme angles, having been shot wildly in the chaotic battle. Counting the arrows, Rayla tried to guess how long the desperate fight had lasted; considering the number of hunters as well as their estimated shooting speed, it couldn’t have been longer than a few terrible seconds. Rayla found herself focusing on the arrows themselves because that was just about the only thing in the clearing she could look at without suppressing the need to vomit. Dogs, humans, and horses were everywhere and sometimes in multiple places at once. Crushed beneath each other or hanging from trees, Rayla could not meet their frozen gazes, made all the more dreadful by her heightened senses.
Rayla shrank in on herself. There was nowhere she could look, nothing she could do. Even with her eyes closed she could still see the woman’s head lodged between the branches like it had been kicked there by a child playing with a ball – her once-golden locks of hair stained crimson, resting still on crystallized pupils. The joyous radiance of the moon turned cold, corrupted by the horrors around her. She could not hide from it. She wanted to curl up and cry.
And she did, but before the floodgates completely opened, her croaks were met by a pained groan from across the clearing. Snapping back to attention, Rayla raced over, hoping against hope for a survivor. The man in question was pulling his legs out from beneath the shredded remains of his horse. The bones were shattered, but the flesh itself was not broken, so at least there was a chance for healing. “An… an elf?” he laughed maniacally between groans, “Just my luck. Have you come to gloat before you finish me off, or did you just want to watch me suffer?”
Ignoring the comment, Rayla came up behind the man. Gripping him by the armpits, she slowly pulled him out the rest of the way. The man’s laughter became a long, agonized scream as he grasped desperately for a weapon. Once he was out however, he relaxed back into gentle sobbing. “Flask… flask.” he said, pointing to his saddlebags. Rayla retrieved a small, steel canteen, from which the man drank voraciously. A few droplets snagged on his reddish beard, which he wiped up with thick fingers. “If only whiskey worked faster.” he cursed, “Warn me next time, will you?” he added angrily.
“Can you walk?” Rayla asked.
“Well, my right leg only feels like it was crushed by a cow, instead of an elephant. So if I get some crutches, I might be able to make it halfway out of this forest before that thing finds me again.” Rayla busied herself looking for branches sturdy enough for this purpose as the man continued, “Can’t say I was expecting to find a Moonshadow elf this far from the border.”
“What do you mean? Weren’t you hunting me?”
“Hunting you? We didn’t even know you were here!” the man exclaimed, “Although, that would explain what the dogs were freaking out about earlier today. That, and of course…” he gestured to the carnage around them, “...Justice above.”
“Here.” Rayla soothed, sitting him up against the trunk of a nearby tree. Squatting beside him, she began to lash branches together into a pair of makeshift crutches.
“You know, normally I’d be a bit skeptical of help coming from an elf, but now…” he snorted through a crooked nose that may have been broken years before, “...my name’s Horace and I can’t say I’ve ever been happier to see someone before in my life.”
“If you weren’t hunting me, then what were you doing out here, Horace?”
“Isn’t a lord allowed to hunt game?”
Rayla recoiled in disgust, “You hunt animals for food?”
“Well, that’s awfully rich, coming from an assassin.” Horace rolled his eyes, “Or did you think I wouldn’t recognize that uniform after what happened to Good King Florian?”
“We don’t kill people for fun.” Rayla snipped, jerking one of the lashings taut. “You human blue-bloods hunt for sport.”
“And food. We’ve been needing quite a lot of that lately.” The Del Bariard had an air about him that was accustomed to carnage it seemed. Although he still seemed to be in great pain, it was clear to Rayla that this was not his first time witnessing the butcher’s yard. His green eyes did not grow distant the way they usually did in people who had seen more than their share. “Of course, had I known there was a Draegolath in these woods, I would have brought more men. And a few mages for good measure. I can’t imagine an elf would have any part in their creation. Are you hunting it?” he asked. “Where’s the rest of your tribe? Xadian…” he bit his tongue, “...You Xadian hunters always travel in packs.”
Rayla could pretend that she hadn’t heard the stifled slur. “I am hunting it, but it’s just me.” Soren couldn’t help her anymore.
Horace’s laugh was genuine this time. “You have got to be the craziest woman I’ve ever met!” his teeth flashed in a rictus grin, “I can see it on your face. You genuinely believe that you can do it too.”
“What happened here?” Rayla asked.
“We couldn’t believe our luck.” Horace began, leaning back against the truck. “After days of careful tracking, stalking the herds and flushing them out with our dogs, the game had turned around. The whole forest just seemed to throw caution to the wind and run right through us – dozens of imperial and monarch stags running by us as if we weren’t even there.” he gestured fancifully with his hands, mimicking the prancing of animals. But his eyes grew cold. “We had nearly bagged more meat than we could carry on the horses when the true reason for the stampede appeared. Our own animals tried to warn us: the dogs cried and the horses screamed, but we didn’t care. All we could think about was how many bellies our bounty would fill. It…” his hands tightened into fists, “...it crushed the kennel master like a tomato and threw him aside just as easily. The dogs were on it in an instant, but they could only buy us a few seconds. It moves…” he gripped Rayla’s shoulder, fixing her hostage with his gaze “...like a leopard, springing about from step to step. Its coat melds with the shadows around it so you don’t even know where to aim your weapon. It wasn’t hungry for us, it just… killed us. And when it was done, it just left. It didn’t even stop to eat.”
Rayla shook his hand away. “Where did it go?”
“I don’t know,” Horace shook his head. “I was thrown from my horse early on in the fight. Or rather, it was my horse that was thrown. I couldn’t see what was happening anymore and I dared not move, but I heard it kill my bodyguards, my friends. It must have thought I was dead.”
Then there was little use staying around here. Rayla gripped Horace by the armpits again, he pulled him to his feet. He weighed surprisingly little for a lord whose diet consisted of meats and sweets. “Will you be able to make it out of here on your own with these crutches?” she asked, propping him up with each of them.
“Probably not,” Horace shifted, shouldering the supports. “but it’ll be better than crawling, and I’d be no use to you in a fight. Besides, I’ve survived worse. You still haven’t told me your name.”
“Rayla.” she answered quickly. Was she really going to let this man off on his own to fend for himself?
“Listen, Rayla.” Horace reached up to pat her shoulder again, but she backed away. “You are crazy for even attempting this, but you seem like a good woman to know.” Clearing his throat, he dug a small scrap of paper from his tunic. “If you do manage to kill that thing, I’ll owe you a tremendous favor. Better than that, I may have work for you.” Pressing it into her palm, he closed her hand around the paper. “I’m hiring a band of mercenaries on behalf of a Katolish ‘blue blood’, as you say. The pay won’t be enough to retire on, but nothing to scoff at either, and the work won’t be anything you aren’t used to.”
Rayla opened up the parchment and skimmed it. “Where did you get this?” she asked in surprise.
“It’s not exactly a secret,” Horace shrugged, “just ask about it in town. They’ll probably be able to send you my way. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’ll need to be off. I want to be able to return and give my men a proper burial.”
“And you’re just going to walk off into the forest just like that?” Rayla asked, “You’ll blunder straight into the Draegolath.”
“I don’t think so.” Horace replied, “I couldn’t tell you exactly where, because I couldn’t see, but the Draegolath went off in the complete opposite direction. I think it doubled back.”
“No,” Rayla shook her head, “it couldn’t have doubled back. I would have run into it on the way here.” But even as she reassured herself, doubts began to manifest in her mind. Claw marks on a tree here, the angle of a broken branch there – not signs of violence but of passage. The rampage was over; the stalking had begun. Blind rage faded to cold calculations. The fresh trail was becoming clearer in her mind, causing her blood to chill.
“It might have taken a different path back…” Horace wondered, “...there.” he marked, confirming Rayla’s fears. “It veered back South where it had come from, but it took a wider berth, moving downhill…”
“...towards the ravine.” Rayla finished. Soren.
It was difficult to sleep when Rayla was in danger. It was difficult to sleep when it felt as though your skull had been split with an axe. But Soren managed, or at least he was able to keep his eyes closed. The fire had burned down to its embers, and he considered shoveling them under some dirt in order to heat his bedroll through the night. No, he would count to five hundred three times. And if he had not fallen asleep by then, he would use the fire’s remaining heat to brew himself something for his migraine. What was it that Clauds always used? Ugh, it hurt to think too.
The gentlest tumble of scree caused Soren to peak one eye open. Rayla was back already. Covering a yawn, he rolled his head luxuriously about to pop the joints and rose to his feet. He didn’t fall over this time and was about to call out to Rayla when something stopped him.
The sound had stopped. If she had slid down the ravine, he would be able to hear her feet crunching the scree beneath her as she returned to the cave. Whatever had caused those rocks to fall was circling around the top of the ravine. Although he could not see it himself from inside, Rayla’s illusion seemed to have confused whatever was approaching. Soren retreated back into the cave, away from the light. He may not have been a Moonshadow assassin, but he knew that although you could see from a dark place to a bright place, you could not see from a bright place to a dark place. His fist tightened around the hilt of his sword.
A dark figure dropped from the cliff above the cave entrance and landed on all six. Soren stifled a moan, sinking down behind a low rise in the cave floor. Where was Rayla? Had it killed her when he was stuck, useless in this cave? The Draegolath paced back and forth across the cave entrance, perplexed by the illusion concealing it. Would that spell still be holding if Rayla had been killed? She must still be alive. Soren wasn’t sure if that was how magic worked, but, as he saw it, that was just how it was going to have to work tonight. Rayla was alive.
The Draegolath sniffed the air and seemed about to leave when it caught whiff of an unpleasant smell that had grown in Soren’s nose all night: the horse. Frostdancer had deserved better, but tears would do him no good now. The Draegolath tested the illusion first with its hand, then with its nose, and soon it had crossed the threshold. Clucking softly to itself, it shied clear of the fire circle as it approached the fallen steed. Soren dared not move as it began to feast. It was ok. Frostdancer was dead and cold. Rayla had given him that mercy. But Soren had known him since he was a colt. Rage burned inside him, but he shifted to his dagger. He would have to get too close for a sword to be any use.
One of his steel plates clicked in his movement, and the Draegolath snapped to attention. Rayla had been right; his armor did clank like a kitchen! Soren surgically removed one of his gauntlets as the cursed abomination began sniffing the air again. With a jerk of the wrist, he chuckled the steel armor further back into the cavern, where it clattered against the stone walls. The Draegolath pounced nearly on top of him, talons inches from his face as it looked after the commotion; it was only a matter of time before it looked down and saw him. With no better opportunity in the cards, Soren stabbed up with the dagger under the Draegolath’s neck. The creature’s massive jawbone deflected the weapon, which instead tore off an ear before it was wrenched from his hand.
Rolling away from the fountain of acidic blood, Soren barely had time to draw his sword before the wind was knocked out of him. The Draegolath had him pinned against the ground, and it took all of his effort to keep the steel of his sword between the beast’s snapping jaws and his face. His breastplate was the only thing keeping him alive as it tore away at it with its free limbs. With a sudden jerk, he was able to twist his sword free, taking three of the monster’s digits with it. It was enough to get him free, but only for a moment. In a howl of pure rage, the Draegolath snapped the weapon in two like a wax candle.
And there he was. Naked except for the tattered remains of his armor, and unarmed. His sword was ruined, and his dagger was too far away, on the other side of the unholy horror he had caused so much pain but could not seem to finish off. He always knew this day would come eventually. He was only disappointed that he did not have more time. He remembered what Amaya had told him time and time again during his training: live your entire life in every breath; duty is all; death is easy. Our lives before theirs.
Rayla’s legs moved with a mind of their own, deftly avoiding roots and stones as she tore her way through the forest. The trail was difficult to spot, but it did not matter. She knew the destination. This was her destiny, to lose those she tried to protect through her own foolishness. It enraged her. Her body was failing her. But she would not fail him. Her vision darkened as her lungs screamed for air; her heart urged to erupt from her chest. She would not fail him.
The coals burned into the bottom of Soren’s feet, but he did not care. The Draegolath was hesitant around fire, so he would use it. It was the only thing he had left. Clutching a charred branch of glowing firewood, he circled the monster as he would with a long sword. The gauntlet still on his left hand was the only reason he could hold onto it, although the heat was starting to throb in his palm through the steel. He would need to bring in his second hand to deliver the strike, but there was no sense immolating himself before the moment of truth.
The Draegolath hissed and snapped, trying to snatch the makeshift weapon away in its leathery grip, but Soren kept it free. The glow of the embers reflected in its wretched, black pupils, but it was only a matter of time before it went cold. He would only have one shot. Soren grimaced wickedly. Setting that tattered mane ablaze would be a fitting final act of catharsis. The Draegolath swiped at him again, but Soren lunged inside the blow, bringing the branch crashing down on the side of the monster’s head. The wood shattered from the impact, barely singeing the hair, and the Draegolath’s counterattack nearly killed him on the spot. Soren felt his ribs cracking, and his arms went limp. As he gazed up and the monster that had killed him, silhouetted against the full moon, Soren hoped that the end would come quickly.
In a way, the end did come quickly, although not in the way Soren had anticipated. Soaring through the air, her pale hair loose and wild, Rayla drove her first butterfly blade clean through the back of the Draegolath’s neck. The blade turned as she spun, and the second entered the twisted flesh from the side. Rayla landed on her feet. The Draegolath’s head landed a moment later.
As her gaze fell on him, a mask descended of pure terror. Rushing to his side, she did not even notice the decapitated cadaver wrench itself back to life behind her, trashing wildly in every direction. “Rayla!” he screamed.
And then things got interesting.
Rayla had never imagined that she would be killed by a headless monstrosity. And yet, if Soren had not called out when he did, that is exactly what would have happened. By all accounts, the Draegolath should be dead, but it still thrashed about as violently as ever, and its head still snapped at her heels with its jaws. She squared herself up in front of Soren, but she didn’t know how much protection she could offer against something that just refused to die.
It did seem a little less coordinated that before, lashing out in every direction instead of directly at them. Rayla danced about, hacking away at the offending limbs, but it was only a matter of time before the acidic blood would corrode her weapons to stubs. Its heart was still pumping, as evidenced by the ever-expanding pool of blood she had to skirt away from, and it seemed to be searching for its head. Fortunately, Soren managed to snatch it away before it could try and reattach it to its shoulders. Could it do that? Rayla shuddered at the thought. Soren dragged himself further back into the cave, cursing as the severed head chomped away on his vambrace.
Following the general direction of its head, the Draegolath’s body dragged itself after Soren, forcing Rayla to retreat. It really was a shame that it was immune to its own acid blood, as it smeared it all over the cavern floor. Rayla couldn’t keep doing this forever, and at this rate, it was going to catch up to Soren sooner rather than later. They were also running out of cave. Jumping over it, Rayla sacrificed one of her butterfly blades, stabbing it through one of the monster’s massive calf muscles, pinning it to the ground. With the other, she chopped away at the arms struggling to free it.
“Rayla, the heart!” She looked up to see Soren holding one of his loose gauntlets. Tossing it to her, he picked up a discarded dagger, struggling to keep the Draegolath’s head still. Rayla caught the armored glove right as one of the arms pulled the weapon free. “Destroy the heart!” Soren held the dagger over one of the monster’s eyes, which glared up at him with feral savagery.
Grimacing, Rayla slipped her hand into the glove and found where Soren had first wounded the beast with his lance. Through freakish, unnatural processes, the once gaping wound was almost closed. But it was enough. Suppressing the urge to vomit, Rayla plunged her gauntleted hand into the Draegolath’s chest. Fortunately, Soren had larger hands than her, otherwise, the acid might have gotten around the gauntlet and onto her forearm. Her fingers wrapped around around the throbbing, pulsating heart as tears of exasperation flooded her vision. The Draegolath flailed at her, but couldn’t quite get a good enough grip on her in time. “Just die!” She shrieked and crushed her hand into a fist. A moment later, Soren drove the dagger through the monster’s eye and into its brain.
The torso let out a garbled, voiceless scream that faded as energy began to fade from its horrid limbs. Soren kicked the head away, where it rolled open with its jaw slack. One by one, limbs slackened until finally gravity took over, and the cadaver collapsed into a pool of its own blood with a sickening splash. At long last, the Draegolath was slain.
Rayla quickly checked herself, tearing off fabric from her clothing from the few places where she had gotten blood on herself. There were a few minor burns, but there was no acid left on her that a thorough bath in the nearest stream wouldn’t sort out. At any rate, there were more pressing matters at hand. She ran to Soren’s side. She would have to give him a bath too, to make sure that none of the acid was lingering on him too.
“Rayla,” he croaked, “I…” but he was able to get out no more as she pulled him into a fierce embrace.
“It’s ok,” she sobbed gently, running her fingers through his long, golden hair. By the sounds of his breathing, he may have been crying too.
She held him there for a long time, before finally pulling away to examine his injuries. There was nothing life-threatening from what she could see, but what she could see broke her heart. She was no doctor, how was she supposed to help him? She was quiet as she worked, determined to not cry anymore that night. But Soren’s gaze remained fixed on the slain abomination, and when he finally spoke again, his voice was low and hoarse, betraying the emotion in his voice. “At first, they only took volunteers. The bravest and the best of us were willing to lay down our lives and our very souls for monarch and country. But the wars dragged on, first for years, then for decades, then for entire generations. The volunteers dried up, but the need was stronger than ever for more mutants, more experiments, more weapons. So the mages turned to criminals: thieves, murderers, and enemy prisoners of war. And when even they began to dry up…” his voice faded, “…that could have been anyone, once.”
Tears welled in his eyes, which Rayla wiped away gently with her thumb. She didn’t know what to say. There was nothing she could say. She didn’t know the full story of why Soren had come searching for her, but she knew that he wasn’t telling her anything. And yet, if he hadn’t been here today, she would have died today at the hands of a terrible human sin. Here he was, lying stricken with wounds he had suffered defending her, and all she could do was question his motives. But she must ask the question. Everyone she had grown to care about could be in grave danger and she knew nothing except for the scrap of paper Horace had given her earlier that night. Had she spent these last eleven months searching for one danger and ignoring the other beneath her very nose? Swallowing her pride and accepting the inevitable, she leaned down to look Soren in the eyes.
“Why is Callum recruiting mercenaries in Del Bar?”