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Captain Farvery Ditch walked through the trench, the wooden boards failing in their duty of being a dignified safe harbour from the mud that squelched underneath his boots, splashing up to coat his trousers. The tall dark trees of the Black Forest, their branches laden with snow, cast deep and long shadows over the area, saving them from the sun but dooming them to the cold. His breath billowed out in front of him as he walked, the freezing temperatures of the German landscape forcing him into a fleece coat, hiding away the muscles he’d spent years developing. Despite being a German citizen by birth, the War had taken him to lands far away from Germany, their temperatures warmer and less harrowing. Over the time he’d spent away, his body had gotten used to the warmer temperatures. Had conditioned to it. But now he was back, three years going, and he was suffering the temperature like many under his care. Sent back home on the outskirts of Lörrach, right on the border of the Black Forest, tasked with the objective of pushing further into Europe in the hopes of eventually pressuring the Australian Sanctuary from the north. During those three years, they had suffered losses, but had also won many battles, the land they were on highly contested. As such, something of a stalemate had occurred between them and the German Sanctuary, neither able to truly triumph over the other.
As he walked, he passed men and women huddled in groups in the mud, some reviewing maps and battle strategies, others polishing swords and cleaning muskets, and more still merely trying to share the warmth. On any other occasion, Farvery would have reprimanded them. Put them on toilet duty or on lookout. But this time, he allowed it. They needed even the smallest amount of morale to keep them after the battles they’d had to suffer through in recent months. Battles that had seen family members separated, either by death or by distance, and much blood had been spilt. Many of their men and women were somewhere in the Black Forest, constantly engaged with the guerrilla forces of the German Sanctuary. It was unfortunate that family had to be separated, but that was war.
Reaching his destination, which was the front of a small make-shift wooden cabin, he checked to make sure his sword was properly strapped to his waist, as well as the dual holsters behind him that provided a snug place for his twin pistols. His prized possessions, marking him out as someone of rank. Someone to be listened to. Someone to be feared. Knocking once on the wooden door, he let himself in, enjoying the warmth that rushed to envelope him as he stepped through the threshold and closed the door. Standing in the middle of the room was the only man in the land who succeeded him in rank: Major Burgundy Dalrymple.
“Sir,” Farvery bowed his head respectfully. “You wished to see me?”
“That I did,” Burgundy growled. “Our soldiers are taking a beating. We’ve been trying to push out of Europe and into Asia for the past three years with little success. Can you perhaps explain why this may be the case?”
“Communication,” Farvery responded immediately. “Specifically, the lack of it.”
“Exactly. We have soldiers and armies spread out all over Europe, and yet none of us can get past Germany, because we’re not communicating. We’re fighting a force as large as us in smaller groups. Unfortunately, we simply cannot overrun the German line. It’s too heavily guarded by German sorcerers, and the German Sanctuary has managed to thwart us at every turn, even successfully standing against the Unveiled, blessed be their name.”
“Blessed be their name.” Farvery murmured, acknowledging the family's legacy.
“I’ve recommended we go in and tear the place down. Get the Diablerie in and show the Sanctuaries that if we’re capable of destroying one Sanctuary, we can most certainly destroy others. Seeing as how the French Sanctuary wasn’t a good enough lesson for them, I’m hopeful the destruction of a second will be.”
“Getting rid of the German Sanctuary would be a great boon for us,” Farvery said. “I doubt it will take much convincing.”
“Agreed,” huffed Burgundy. “But right now, we must focus on the real problem. The crux of the issue. I’m under the belief that the reason behind their success is due to our own failure to establish a new line of communication to compensate for our newly-found shortage of teleporters.”
Farvery nodded, recalling the day their teleporter had been visited by Haze Netting, a fellow teleporter, and told that Mevolent was recalling all their teleporters for safekeeping. A response to the Sanctuaries crackdown on teleporters, cutting down any that didn’t swear allegiance to them.
“In the absence of our Teleporters, we must rely on our Sensitives. Which is why I am entrusting you with this.” From underneath the map, Burgundy produced a manilla envelope sealed with a stamp in black wax. “I need you to take this through the Black Forest to the encampment at Todtmoos, where a Sensitive will be waiting to provide instructions to other Sensitives around Europe. It’s a nine-hour hike, so you’ll be supplied with a horse and provisions. But you’ll be on your own. This envelope contains crucial information, so the less people going means less people know about it. A large group attracts attention, one man leaving does not. Can I trust that you’ll get this to the men at Todtmoos by nightfall?”
“You can, sir,” Farvery confirmed. It’s a nine hour walk, four with a horse. I should arrive before midday.”
“Good. Get moving then.”
Knowing when a conversation was over, Farvery sharply saluted, turned and left the cabin, feeling the cold slice through his jacket and chill his skin once again. Tucking the envelope into the inside pocket stitched in his jacket, he made his way to the rudimentary stables they’d erected. Reaching them, he paused to watch the young recruits sparring, laughing and dancing as they battered each other with sticks and blunted blades. He watched them eating together, still capable of smiles and laughter. He saw young couples holding hands, holding each other, sharing memories. The sight before him hardened his resolve, dispelling the cold around him. As a man with children of his own, Farvey knew that they fought for the good of the next generation. To give them a life free to do what they wanted, whenever they wanted, out in the open. The kind of life he’d never gotten but had always wanted growing up. Reaching the stables, he approached a chestnut-coloured horse, her coat clean and rippling with muscle. He’d trained with this horse, and knew that it was prepared for long adventures.
“Good girl,” he murmured, patting its flank. The horse swayed its head to him and butted his chest lightly. Smiling, he was stroking the horse's snout when a young boy rushed over, red in the face and carrying a burlap sack.
“For you, sir. To accompany you on your journey.”
“Thank you, Thomas. Have you been thinking of a name for yourself yet?”
“I was thinking about Hickory Ditch, sir,” the youth said cheekily, grinning to reveal a gappy smile.
“Oi,” Farvery chuckled, swiping at the boy, who ducked under his arm with ease. “That’s my name. Get your own, you little bugger.”
Thomas laughed. “I like to think I could carry it so no one will ever forget your name, sir. Everyone needs to hear about the hero of the Inferni Battle in Mexico.”
Another boy joined Thomas, eyes wide with awe. “Oh my gosh, it’s Captain Ditch,” he breathed, his small frame shaking with excitement. “Will we be allowed to run around using magic soon, sir? My mum and my dad told me that soon we will be allowed to be free and we can live with the mortals without having to hide who we are.”
Farvery reached over and ruffled the kid’s hair. “You sure will be. But don’t forget your parents are heroes as well. They’re fighting for your freedom as well.”
Thomas and the boy cheered as Farvery jumped on top of the horse, getting himself comfortable in the saddle as his feet sought the stirrups. As he coaxed the animal out of the stable, Burgundy walked over, a look of amusement on his face as other young sorcerers rushed over to see the Captain off. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a little procession there, Captain. A fitting send off for the mighty hero.”
Farvery laughed, waving off his superior's jests and dug the stirrups into the horse, prompting it into a brisk walk as it navigated the winding trench and to the entrance facing the Black Forest. Turning his horse around one final time to wave to the crowd that had gathered, he saw the children grinning and waving wildly, the parents behind them more conservative with their goodbyes. A certain weariness had filled the air, but its heaviness was lightened with hope. Hope that this could be the beginning of the end. Hope that their children will see a brighter future. With a final royal wave, he spurred his horse into a gallop, charging deep into the Black Forest.
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The wind roared in his ears as the horse charged through the undergrowth, her hooves churning up snow and dirt. The trees blurred past, the combination of oak, pine, spruce and maple trees throwing dancing shadows on the floor of the forest. Farvery remained silent, his thoughts keeping him company as he considered the future. It had been an hour since he’d left Lörrach, and he was making good time. He’d get to Todtmoos before the noon sun, if his horse maintained its speed.
As he rode, he enjoyed the silence of the Black Forest, only his horses' hooves stamping against the ground. It was calming, being away from the encampment. It was freeing. After a while, he slowed the horse down to a halt. Jumping off, he dug into his pack and withdrew a waterskin. Taking a deep gulp out of it, he cupped his hand and let some of that precious liquid fall into it. Making sure to keep as still as possible, he lifted the hand up to the horse, letting her drink from his hand. After a few moments, the horse was ready. He patted it, absentmindedly pondering on the fact that he hadn’t named the horse.
“I feel like I should name you,” he murmured. “My parents had a farm when I was younger. They’d allow me to ride their horses. Yes, they did. Even when the townsfolk were banging on our door with their torches and pitchforks, my mother was telling me to take a horse and ride it to my favourite spot in the countryside, and that I wasn’t allowed to come back until my father came to find me,” he patted the horse gently, resting his head against it. “He never did. Took me years to realise what had happened. I told them I didn’t want to leave Germany.”
The horse whinnied softly.
Farvery smiled. “I think I’ll call you Hope. Hope that one day we will get rid of the mortal scum and live our lives in peace, forever. The world would be better off anyway, wouldn’t it?”
The horse bumped its head against his chest. As it snorted, the surrounding quiet was punctuated by the snap of a branch. Farvery twisted around, instantly alert. He looked around him, moving in a complete circle, parts of the forest flat, others on a decline, others on an incline. It was impossible to discern exactly where the noise had come from, and it was entirely possible that it had simply been a branch falling from a tree. Forcing himself to relax, he got back in the saddle and continued.
After a while of more riding, he saw a sign up ahead, crude and roughly made with stones and sticks. Reigning Hope in, he forced the beast to a steady walk, giving him the opportunity to read the sign.
“Path clear up ahead.”
“Well, isn’t that considerate,” Farvery murmured. He’d sent a small group of young men into the forest to survey the area and map it out for future battle strategies. They’d told him of a large hole that had consumed part of the path. Evidently, they didn’t tell him they’d fixed it.
Pleased with his men’s intuition, he reached down to pat his horse’s neck. “See that girl? That’s the sign of boy's maturing into men. Don’t you think so?”
The horse snorted in reply. Smiling, he straightened up and looked back up to continue on when he saw something move in the corner of his eye. A shadow flickering between the trees up on the hill. Moving his head quickly, he scanned the hill, his trained eyes spotting a badger bumbling through the snow and a red squirrel climbing up a tree. Otherwise, nothing but the leaves falling in synchronicity with the light snow made any movement. Clicking his tongue, he prompted the horse forward, trying to shake the sense of foreboding. If the War had taught him anything, it was the fact that it didn’t matter where you were, there was always an enemy nearby. But he knew that they had encampments in the forest. No one could have slipped through unless they knew exactly where the sentries were. Comforting himself with that fact, he continued riding, his thoughts traveling back to how he planned on taking the German Sanctuary, considering Thomas’ suggestion of completely destroying the place.
As he rode, his ears perked up as a second set of drumming ricocheted through the trees. There was another horse rider out here. Slowing his horse, he heard the other horses footsteps, louder than before and too slow to match his own. In a split second’s decision, he pressed the stirrups into Hope’s flank, prompting the horse to get faster before the other rider sensed their realisation. Deep in thought now, he thought back to the figure he thought he’d seen in the trees. Now he knew it was, in fact, someone he’d seen, and that the person was following him.
“What do I do?” Farvery murmured to Hope, the horse flicking its head as it galloped as a response. He was still deep in his thoughts when he was abruptly ripped into reality, his body violently pitching forward, his horse screaming as it fell into the hole that a large pile of leaves had been hiding. Thrown forward, Farvery’s body slammed against the wall of the hole, and he scrabbled at the ground for purchase, his nails ripping and tearing as he grabbed at snow and dirt. Finding solid earth to latch onto, Farvery managed to prevent himself from falling in. For a moment, he remained in that position, his mind processing what had happened, but he knew he couldn’t remain like this. Not with someone following him. Looking up, he began to claw his way back to solid ground, dragging his body upwards and ignoring his screaming muscles. Reaching the surface, Farvery drew in deep breaths, shaking his arms to loosen his taut muscles. Looking over the edge, he felt his heart yank as he saw Hope at the bottom, impaled in various areas by large wooden spikes.
“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no.” A sob erupted from his chest, and he sucked in some gasping breaths as he stood up shakily. He looked up at the clouds, seeing the sun set to his left. It was the afternoon sun now. He was almost at Todtmoos. Staggering away from the horrific scene, he continued on foot, drawing his jacket around him for comfort. Gritting his teeth, he twisted his head around like it was on a swivel, glaring at anything that moved or could hide a person. Which was everything that surrounded him. Sweating now, his heart hammering within him, he heard leaves rustle and he twisted around, baring his teeth. Drawing one of his pistols, he marched forward, mustering his courage, and waved it around. “Where are you!?” He roared. “You cold, heartless bastard! Who does that to a horse?!”
There was silence, and he turned, staggering away and down into a gulley that was overflowing with vines, brush and ferns. Halfway across, he turned his head and saw a figure dart through the trees. Cursing, he turned, pulling the trigger of his pistol. There was a spray of bark as his bullet hit the tree, but there came no response. Charging forward, he made it to the tree and looked behind it, expecting someone to be standing there. But as he stared, he felt the colour drain from his face as he stared at the piece of parchment with two words scrawled on it
‘Missed me.’
Fear jolting in him now, Farvery plunged back into the brush and threw himself into a large bush, trusting that it would hide him. As he crouched there, trying to slow his breathing, his mind ran through the possibilities.
‘Sensitive? They knew I was going to look there. No, I would’ve seen them. Invisibility? I would’ve seen tracks of some kind. Unless they’re that good. A hunter. Couldn’t be an Elemental, they would’ve struck by now.’
His thoughts were interrupted by an arrow impaling the ground in front of him, spraying him with snow. Hesitating, looking around the area, he picked it up. There were three tiny letters scratched into the shaft of the arrow.
‘I C U’
Terror seized him and he launched himself out from the bush, snow flying everywhere as he ran towards the steep decline of the hill, knowing that was his best opportunity, the arrow’s trajectory meaning the hunter was behind him. Diving, he skidded down the decline, feet first. Twisting his body on the way, he looked up and saw the dark figure, bow in hand, staring down at him. Fear coiled in his veins and he willed his descent to go quicker. Reaching the bottom, he staggered to his feet and continued on, doggedly making his way forward. In the distance, he could see a warm orange glow. A fire. Camp. It was Todtmoos. He was almost there. Then a sharp pierced his leg and he let out a scream of pain, falling to the earth. Looking over, he saw the arrow that had sliced through his leg, destroying his ability to run. Whimpering, he scanned the landscape and saw no one. No dark figures. No notes on trees. Nothing. Trying to hold his breath, he dragged himself over to a bush, once more accepting its shade and cover. Suddenly, the figure appeared. A man, tall and strong, walking steadily over the hill. He was smiling, a rough beard forming, as messy as the dark hair on his head.
‘He can’t see me. He can’t fucking see me.’ Farvery thought, his teeth bared in fear. The man paused for a moment, his head slowly moving from left to right, scanning the landscape. Farvery held his breath, knowing that breathing meant dragon’s breath, and dragon’s breath was a dead giveaway. Slowly, he reached for one of the guns as the man slowly approached, that damn smile still on his goddamn face.
The man stopped a metre away from the bush Farvery was hiding in. Farvery didn’t dare move, his hand by his side resting on his pistol. ‘Just look the other way, and I’ll blast that damn smile off of your face.’
The man shook his head and spoke. “It took a while to catch you. It wasn’t easy, you know, making sure that hole remained a hole. Your boys did a fair good job with it, but nothing’s too hard when you’re Saracen Rue.”
As the man said his name, Farvery felt his blood run cold. ‘No. No, not you. Please tell me it isn’t you.’ He’d heard of Saracen Rue. Head of the spies for the Sanctuaries, no man, no animal, no Soul had ever escaped Rue. Rue always found his targets. Always. And he’d play sick games with them. Leave them little notes to tell them that he knew they were there. He should’ve known. He should have fucking known.
“Yeah, I’ll admit, you gave a good chase and all, but you can only hide for so long, you know?” Saracen Rue shrugged, the dark, cracked leather giving him a wraith-like look in the snow. He nocked an arrow to the bow and stretched it taut, keeping it pointed at the ground. “I’m sorry about the horse. Hope, did you say? A fine name for an animal. But it’s kinda what you get for siding with Mevolent.”
Hot rage filled Farvery, and he started to raise his pistol, inch by inch, knowing how much satisfaction he’d get from seeing a bullet ruin that fucking grin.
Saracen Rue tilted his head. “But seriously though, you’re really rubbish at hide and seek.” He turned, and stared down directly at Farvery. And Farvery knew that Saracen had known he was there the whole time. “Oh dear, did you really think that would work?”
Farvery let out a sharp breath, and the bow snapped as the arrow flew and then Farvery Ditch knew nothing.