Previous Chapter: The Aiv and the Thief
The Forming of a Company
The will-o’-wisp glided through the Mawlden Forest, leading them through briar and bramble, its faint illumination painting the woods a ghastly emerald. Josun had little experience with magic, for mages were rarely passengers in vessels taken by the Roslagen, and other than an alchemist he’d chanced upon during a raid of the northern forest, he’d never met a magic user besides Cassilda. The alchemist had been old and frail, with a face covered in pox scars, and he had tried to mumble a curse before Josun struck him down. He had not been beautiful and lithe like the sorceress, nor had he been capable, Josun suspected, of any substantial magic. He certainly couldn’t have produced anything like the will-o’-wisp, which bobbed and weaved around foliage like a firefly. He had asked the sorceress about it, what it was, exactly, and she stated that was a spirit eager to do the bidding of the living. “Some spirits want to destroy, while others desire the pleasures of the flesh, and a few just wish to please anyone that will summon them,” Cassilda had explained. “It takes a lot of experience to identify a useful being.” She said nothing more, and Josun had not asked any further questions. He had discarded the superstitions of his people in favor of rationalism, and now his new faith was being challenged by the spectral light hovering through the woods, as well as the other inexplicable abilities of the sorceress. Perhaps there were logical explanations for various magical feats. After all, he didn’t understand how the Northrons powered their steamships with coal, nor did he comprehend how they constructed firearms. He would ask Cassilda later to explain magic to him, after he knew her better. To barrage the witch with questions would make him seem a child in her eyes, and he found that he wished to be seen favorably by the strange and comely woman. He did not believe that laying with a sorceress would make one impotent, as Coriver had stated, although he was also wise enough to know that such an occurrence was not very likely.
“I’m sorry,” he said to the sorceress, as they climbed through a narrow ravine. The will-o’-wisp was weaving a circuitous route, as though tracing someone’s footsteps.
“For what?” asked Cassilda, not turning to look at him.
“For tackling you during the raid. You would have killed them all and it would’ve been a just end for marauders of their ilk.”
“You probably would’ve been next. I was in a foul mood, for someone had stolen my amulet. It was smart to bind my hands with adamant. How did you know to do so?”
“Whenever we boarded a ship, it was my task to subdue any wizards, and so I had the chains, which we stole from a slave freighter many years ago. Wizards, to my knowledge, are not numerous, and until recently I never had a chance to use the shackles.”
“We are not numerous anymore. The Conventum has seen to that. They made a pact with the nobility after the Calamity in Valice, and now only the weakest, most obedient novices become licensed. I myself do not have a license to practice, and so I am called a sorceress, a name that conjures images of evil temptresses plotting to raise the dead or skewer the hearts of princes. If I were caught by so-called reputable mages, they would take me to Bilbao where I would be judged and likely sentenced to imprisonment. It would be something of a homecoming for me, for in Galvania they punish children for their parent’s crimes, and I was born on the Rock.”
She stopped and stared at the barbarian to see if he understood what she was saying.
“The Rock,” he said.
“You haven’t heard of it? It is a dismal island out in the Gulf of Katan. The waves beat against its jagged shores, and the waters are infested with sharks large enough to swallow a person whole. There is an ancient castle that the authorities have transformed into a prison, and there the damned serve out their sentences. I learned to read and write there. In those walls I had my first kiss, as well as my first bloodshed. I was very lucky, Josun, for I was able to control my talents from their onset. I was able to make a guard think that I had become his lover, and so he took great pains to smuggle me out. Unfortunately, I could never love Galvania, for she treated me poorly even after my imprisonment ended. She is a bitter and jealous country, always wanting more while her citizenry starve in hovels. I shall never look eagerly upon her arid lands.”
Scouring the ravine, they soon found the smoldering remnants of a fire and a bag of mushrooms next to a little cave. This discovery thrilled Cassilda, who sat down and played in the ashes for a bit while Josun opened the bag and consumed several handfuls of mushrooms. He hadn't eaten for some time, and although he preferred his mushrooms cooked, his hunger erased any reservations he had about eating abandoned fungi.
“It was him,” she said after a while. White ash stuck to her fingers.
“Who?” asked Josun, helping himself to another handful of mushrooms.
“The Thief. My companion on the ship.”
“Companion?” asked Josun, raising an eyebrow.
“Co-conspirator would be more accurate. Yes, let's use a word that does not have any secondary connotations. He was roped into a scheme and decided too late that he wanted out. The type of man that he is, I suppose I should've foreseen this happening. He has an amulet of mine that we need to retrieve, as well as something even more important.” Cassilda stood up and pointed west. “He went that way. It seems that he was following someone or something.”
“There are wylfen tracks all over this gully,” said Josun.
“No, this thing is human-like, but small and gracile, judging from what these ashes tell me,” responded the witch.
Josun briefly wondered if it would be worth the trouble to explain to her what a wylfen was. He decided against it.
“Will you kill this thief when you meet him?” he asked.
“No. I've already maimed several today.”
They had been walking for only a few minutes when he heard the wylfen. The sorceress had refined her searching spell, and the ball of emerald fire had brightened and grown. Josun feared it was too visible beneath the thick canopy of the forest, where moonbeams struggled to break through. Cassilda had just stepped on a stick when he heard a bassetto rumble seemingly utter from the bowels of the earth. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and then drew her close so that she could see his finger pressed against his lips. Together, they crouched down very slowly. The sorceress said nothing; he could feel his heart beating against his chest as though it were about to break through his sternum. If the wylfen finds you, it will be the last thing you ever see. He knew of no living person that had seen one, and some among his people doubted their existence, yet around the fire they still told tales of men being snatched away like children and taken to the creature's lair to serve as a living meal. Looking out into the forest, he saw a massive shadow emerge from behind a tree to linger in the open. It was tall and broad-shouldered, with long arms that ended in lengthy, finger-like claws. The rumbling began anew; he watched as the great head lolled downward, its nostrils sniffing the air. Suddenly, he smelled it, the rotten, putrid odor of dried blood and carrion. What to do? He didn't know. It seemed to know they were there—perhaps it had been tracking them—and was waiting for their next move. Cautious, as all predators are. Maybe the smell of humans was foreign to it, and the creature was more curious than hungry.
“Can you kill it?” he whispered to the sorceress.
“Kill what?” she asked, in a voice that was louder than he would've preferred. Very slowly, he pointed at the wylfen, who still stood in the open, watching, waiting.
“What is it?” she asked, still speaking a little too loud.
“A monster,” he said simply. Perhaps she would understand.
“There are no monsters,” she said. “Just dumb animals.”
She stood up and stepped a few paces away, summoning the small green firefly, cupping it between her hands and then flattening it with palms pressed together, resulting in sparkling, cackling energy that writhed over her fingers in a spastic dance. Swiftly she shot the energy before her into the earth, where it vanished, leaving only a faint emerald glow. These actions caught the attention of the wylfen; it started to move slowly towards them, a thunderous growl emitting from its throat. Josun drew his ax, though he guessed it would do him little good, for the monster's reach was great, and its skin was said to be tougher than iron. The closer the beast came, the stronger its stench hit them—Josun's eyes watered, and he struggled to breath. How enormous it is he thought, noticing the dagger-like teeth hanging from its trembling jaws. A mere thirty feet away, he saw that only empty sockets sat behind the protruding maw, which dripped thick strings of saliva. Is it blind or did it never see? The question sat in his mind as the monster made its charge, a terrible roar freezing him in place, his sight fixed on those holes where eyes should be. Yet before it could reach him, a storm of green electricity erupted from the earth and flowed through the creature, halting it in its tracks. The wylfen was racked with convulsions; its teeth shone white like the light of the moon; it snapped its jaws and pawed at the air in frustration. Josun felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Cassilda staring at him in wide-eyed fascination. Run he heard in his mind. Instantly he obeyed and followed the sorceress, who had sprinted ahead. Behind them he heard the monster, its screams growing louder, its rage palpable, a current felt on the breeze as they cut through the forest, fleeing blindly as prey.
Josun didn't know how long they ran, but he stopped after Cassilda tripped over a tree root and fell. She lay there for a moment, panting, hugging the earth. “There's no time,” he said, bending down to pick her up, but she shrugged off his hands and climbed to her feet.
“What was that thing?” she said, in between breaths.
“A wylfen, as I said,” replied Josun, impatient to continue.
“Whatever it was, it had a great deal of magical resistance. That trap should've killed it instantly. Instead it just incensed it. I'm tired, though. Maybe that's it.” She sat down on a stump and stared behind them, her hands on her knees. “I've been beaten, put before a fire, forced to walk miles on no sleep and no food. Witches require sustenance, you know. We can't materialize everything out of thin air. I'm finding now that I don't particularly wish to continue until I've had a few minutes to recuperate.”
“You don't fear the wylfen?” asked Josun, incredulous.
“After what it's been through, I doubt it pursues us. Most things dislike pain, though I am certainly no wylfen expert.”
Josun looked around. He had never been in this part of the Mawlden Forest. The tree trunks here were as thick as three men, and the foliage had an ugly vibrancy about it, as though it were made of shadows that fed on darkness. This is not a safe place screamed his instincts. A high shriek penetrated the stifling silence, followed by a long, low moan that sounded human, raising the hair on the barbarian's neck. He looked at the sorceress, who sat unperturbed on the tree stump, gazing down at the ground. At first, he thought she had fallen asleep, but then he realized she was in some sort of trance, judging from the odd pattern of her breathing and the tremors that ran through her body. Again a scream echoed through the night, this time closer. Whatever she was doing, he wished that she would hurry up.
“We cannot stay here any longer. We must…” started Josun, placing a hand on Cassilda's shoulder. Suddenly he found himself no longer in the Mawlden Forest but standing on a ship. The sky was crimson, the sun a bleeding heart sinking into the churning sea. All around were heartless men; he recognized their type, having lived among barbarians his entire life. They stood with their hands at their sides, bestial men in black leather and hoods, only smirking grins visible on their animal faces, surrounding a girl with a broken nose and tears in her eyes, who knelt before them, fists clenched, while blood dripped onto the worn wood of the deck. One of the men came forward and placed his hands on her shoulders—she shuddered violently, tried to push him away—but he continued to press down on her, until she fell on her belly, her face by his boots. Looking down, the man removed his hood, revealing a bald head, impossibly wrinkled and liver-spotted. His lined face smiled a toothless grin, an expression like the frozen rictus of a corpse. Kiss it he said, pointing down to his boot. Out in the sea Josun saw something thrashing, heard someone calling out in a hoarse, raw voice. The girl looked at the bald man and spat. I think you should live and always remember said the man, grabbing her by the throat. Whoever was struggling in the water yelled a curse, the vehemence of the words lashing his ears like claws raking flesh. Drown already responded the man, dragging the girl towards the cabin. The red sky darkened to the color of dried blood. Drown already. He realized that everything was lost in the sea.
At once Josun was back in the woods, standing helpless in the night, looking straight into the empty eye sockets of the wylfen.
“Cassilda,” he said, as the beast loomed above them, its slavering jaws opened, hot breath burning his face.
“Drown already, you fool,” she whispered, her eyes suddenly opening, lit by an emerald fire.
Cassilda stood at his side. With a twitch of her arm, the wylfen flew backward, crashing into a tree with enough force to splinter it. The monster let out a roar and tried to stand, but the sorceress hit it with a telekinetic blast that pinned it to the ground. The wylfen struggled and dug ruts into the earth with its claws, moaning in a human-like voice, slobber spraying from its mouth, which snapped at the air as though it would disembowel the wind. Sparks shot from its hide and smoke rose from its nostrils while green, ghostly light enveloped the fallen beast. Cassilda's mouth clenched in a grimace; a great volume of blood flowed from her nose, trickling down her lips and puddling at her feet. I can smell it dying thought Josun, who watched with a subconscious nonchalance, as though his fate did not depend on the outcome. Suddenly the tree behind the wylfen cracked and toppled, landing with a crash on its head and driving the great skull into the ground, killing it instantly. With a cry, the witch ceased her spells and collapsed to the ground, head bowed and chest heaving. Josun watched for a moment, hesitant to approach. After a battle, the Roslagen allowed each other time for the rush to subside; with boiled blood, tempers flared at the slightest provocation, and even a hand on a shoulder could be cause for assault.
“Witch,” he said, after a while. “Are you capable of walking?”
“Yes,” murmured Cassilda in a weak voice.
“You have slain the creature,” he said, walking over to its corpse. “I did not think it could be killed.”
“Everything dies. Even the Heart of Rankar will cease to beat one day, perhaps sooner than we think.” She climbed to her feet, weariness plain on her face, which he did not recognize. Her nose was crooked; there was a scar on her forehead, a jagged, ugly mark. In the moonlight, he noticed that she was missing an ear.
“You're the girl in the vision,” he said.
“You shouldn't have seen that,” she replied. “When I need strength, I think of that moment. It's not really a memory anymore, but a part of me, a piece that I relive every day. That ship, those men, the screams as he drowns… it doesn't matter how many faces I wear, how many beautiful masks I slip on and off, because beneath it all, I am her, that poor, mutilated girl lying on the deck, hate growing in her heart like a patch of weeds. That day never ended for me, barbarian. But one day I shall replace it.”
Josun walked over to the wylfen. It was ancient; he could tell from the gnarled hardness of its skin as well as the faded scars that littered its battered skull. Up close, he discovered that it was much like a gigantic man, albeit for the eyeless sockets and protruding jaws. Reaching down, he wrapped his hands around a six-inch tooth and pulled with all his might. It popped out of the gums with much less resistance than expected. Maybe the beast had a cavity he thought. Holding his newly-obtained treasure up to the moonlight, he turned towards the witch and called her close.
“You should keep this as a totem to ward off evil,” he said, giving her the tooth. She took it gingerly, staring at it in the pale light. It was robust and smooth, designed to sink into flesh and keep hold while the monster's head shook from side to side. Cassilda pondered it for a while before looking at the wylfen in detail.
“This creature was not native to the woods or to Pannotia,” she said. “Its blood is black, which is evidence of an extra-dimensional origin. Foreign elements in its veins react strangely to our environment. In fact, I'd wager to say that it was dying. There are tumors all over its body.”
“I have heard tales of the wylfen since I was a child. King Wotan himself did battle with a wylfen,” protested Josun.
“Some wizard or other likely attracted this creature long ago, perhaps even hundreds of years in the past when a great feat of magic was performed. Extra-dimensional entities are as curious as we are. This thing became trapped in our world where it had no natural ecological niche. So it established itself as a top predator and its reputation spread through the local villages, and that's how legends were formed.”
Josun looked doubtfully at the dead creature and gave it a good kick. “I don't know,” he said. “What evidence do you have of extra-dimensions?”
“The fire at the tips of my fingers,” replied Cassilda. “There were mages powerful enough to travel to other worlds, though you wouldn't want to stay very long in most of these places. Some are mirror universes, like our own yet different in some way. Look at this creature, for instance. It has the general shape of a man, no? Perhaps it comes from a world where mankind did not evolve intelligence but instead degenerated to a bestial form. Or maybe it comes from a possible future. Who knows? It hardly matters to us now, does it not? We have business to attend to.”
An emerald firefly materialized and swirled around them several times, leaving glittering dust floating in the air, before flying off on the trail of the Thief. Cassilda followed it, fatigue melting from her face, which assumed a beautiful appearance once again. Josun, tired yet having no other direction, trailed, his thoughts muddled, disparate, and vague. For a while he kept glancing back to make sure the wylfen had not risen from the dead. Nothing followed them but the hum of the cicadas, the rhythmic crack of their step, and the faint, pale light of the moon.
They stood beside an immense tree, its trunk as wide as four men, its roots twisted and emerging from the earth like giant worms fossilized by the passage of time. This was where the firefly had taken them, yet all around was nothing but more trees, similarly huge and eldritch, suggestive of an age that had long since passed beyond the recollection of memory or even written word.
“Where is the Thief?” asked Cassilda, nearly screaming.
“Perhaps an animal took him,” suggested Josun. “Carried him up into the tree.”
“Like what? An arboreal monster? Another predator searching for prey? I don't think the Thief would fall victim to a wild cat or whatever else lurks in these woods. He is not a conventional burglar. He possesses a power akin to sorcery but different somehow; I cannot detect his magic, because it isn't magic, really. It is a method of passive suggestion—that's the best way I can make sense of it. But maybe you're right. Perhaps he's hiding up in the boughs of this tree, or perhaps his carcass is, rather. How do we scale something of this magnitude?” Cassilda stared upward. The first tier of branches was a good thirty feet above them.
“Can you not use your powers to fly?” asked Josun.
“No, unfortunately. There are wizards that can fly, though I have never met one. Levitation was also a skill I never mastered,” she admitted sheepishly.
Josun stared at the tree's trunk for a moment. Its bark was rough and composed of deep ridges that were spaced apart just wide enough for a person to fit their fingers in between. In fact, it looked as though someone had already plotted a route for a prospective climber—he noticed several horizontally-angled ridges that were the right distance apart to serve as handholds for an ascent. He placed his hands on the bark and began to climb. Cassilda aided him by summoning another firefly to light his path upward, and in a few moments he had reached the first tier of branches.
“What do you see?” asked the witch.
Balancing himself on the thick branch, Josun looked upward at a dense expanse of wood. It took him several seconds to realize what he was seeing. This isn't part of the tree—it’s the underside of a deck he thought. Sprouting from the trunk were perfectly camouflaged supports that looked just like gnarled boughs, and moss covered much of the deck's bottom, rendering it green and indistinguishable from the tree's foliage to an unsuspecting observer. As the firefly rose to illuminate the structure, he discovered a row of rings fastened into the deck to aid one in climbing to its right side. Let's hope they hold he prayed. Josun was a big man, however the rings looked suitably sturdy. Though they groaned as he traveled across them, they did not tear from the underside, and the barbarian was able to quickly reach the edge of the deck and pull himself up onto it.
Sitting in a crouch, he examined his surroundings. The deck was circular and wound about a building three stories high, which in turn wrapped around the trunk of the tree. The edifice was covered in shingling; a large round window pointed in his direction, and behind the glass he saw light and movement. Instinctively, he reached for his ax, yet he did not remove it from its sheath—whatever was in the house was small, and he had the feeling that no weapons would be needed. With a great deal of care, Josun slowly made his way towards the window, pausing after every step. The impatient sorceress waiting below was forgotten as the barbarian hovered by the window pane.
He saw a curious creature through the glass. It had a disproportionately-large head with enormous eyes and giant, bat-like ears, and though it looked somewhat monstrous, it was clad in a jerkin and a pair of trousers. This being was crouched next to a figure sleeping in a rocking chair, whom Josun recognized as the man he’d subdued during the steamship raid. Its hands lingered about the sleeper, as though it were deciding between rifling through his pockets or strangling him. Suddenly, it took a knife from its belt and held it before the man’s chest. Josun moved without thinking. In a second he had burst through the door, a towering figure in the tiny house, and the little monster had screamed and dropped the knife.
“What the hell?” said the man, jumping out of his seat. His eyes found the fallen knife, and he seized it and held it before him.
“Are you the Thief?” said Josun, undeterred by the weapon.
“You’re a barbarian, one of the raiders from the ship… how did you get up here? What do you want?” asked the Thief.
“He wishes to atone for his misdeeds,” said Cassilda. Everyone jumped, for no one had heard her enter, and she had seemingly materialized out of nothingness. “You, I hope, wish to do the same. I pray that you have something that belongs to me?”
“You’re not carving it out of my chest!” snarled the Thief. “I won’t be used as a pawn in your schemes.”
“I was not referring to the Heart, though that too is mine. My amulet, please.”
The Thief felt around in his pocket, and to his great surprise, he found the green stone there.
“I lost it,” he said. “It sunk to the bottom of the sea.”
“You have it in your pocket. I can read it plain on your face.”
“This is an outrage! Who are you people? Why are you in my home? Have the laws of common decency been completely forgotten?” interrupted Fergal.
“I’m so sorry that we did not introduce ourselves,” said the sorceress sarcastically. “I am Cassilda of the Rock, a sorceress of questionable morals, and this is Josun Tenderheart, a former pirate and breaker of arms. This arboreal nest is quite charming, I must admit. Could you be a good host and bring us glasses of wine? What are you, anyway? Some kind of troll?”
“He’s an Aiv. One of the faerie people of the forest,” said Josun.
Fergal’s already flushed face turned purple. “What did you say, you mindless brute? Is that some barbarian term stolen from another people, like most of the words that make up the vocabulary of your pidgin-tongue? Civility and decency ended when your heathen tribe invaded the Mawlden Forest! I watch, you know, I watch the people as they go about their lives, and never have I seen such savagery as the senseless violence perpetuated by your bestial kinsmen. The world would be a better place if they were suddenly wiped from the face of the earth.”
“I agree,” said Josun.
“You agree! What am I to say to that?”
“How about nothing?” said Cassilda, snapping her fingers. Fergal’s lips continued to move, but he made no sound.
“Listen, Thief. You and I have been through quite a lot, and I must say that I am glad to see that you survived the raiding of the Revenant. A brilliant corona of luck surrounds you like a shield, and you are very skilled at survival, which is admirable. You don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you, yet I get the sense that you don’t trust anyone, for your profession demands such wariness. Every confidant could be a snitch; any friend a liability. You must see the gallows as your future, and though you will not veer from the path you’ve tread, you still take care not to end your journey prematurely. But we are bound now, for the Heart is in your chest, and until it is removed, we shall be joined at the hip. You’re going to have to trust me. Like you did when you leaped from Capanne Mons.”
The Thief sat back down in the chair and placed the knife on his knees. There was nowhere to run to in the Mawlden Forest, and he was hundreds of miles away from Capetia. The sorceress was right. He was stuck with her.
“What are the side-effects of having this thing inside me?” asked the Thief, forlornly staring at the floor.
“My sources disagree regarding that question. Some even stated that the Heart of Rankar cannot be bonded with a living being. According to the Vulgate of Herodotus, only the greatest of the Theodoti claimed pieces of God and at great risk to themselves and their race. The Corruption may have even started from an unworthy vessel, someone too weak or immoral to bear the burden…”
“I don’t have time for digressions,” said the Thief. “Spit it out.”
“You may ease in and out of time. Your body may age and crumble like worn stone. Languages will all make sense to you, even if you’ve never heard them before. You might attain certain levels of sentience unimaginable for even the wisest. Or none of it may come to pass, and you’ll just feel a slight ache in the chest every now and then. Perhaps it all depends on your character and strength, master Thief.”
“You owe me more money. Whatever pittance I agreed to is not enough. And this,” he took the amulet from his pocket, “shall remain in my possession, because I know what you use it for, and I will not be controlled like a puppet with your hand up my arse.”
Josun stared at the sorceress with his large, dark eyes. She could tell that he was thinking of his pact with her and wondering if he had made his own decision.
“Fine. You can keep it for now, if it makes you feel better. Just so you know, that is the Periapt of Vyrmyth, and it reduces the lifespan of its wearer by an hour for every day it is worn.”
“I’ll take my chances,” said the Thief.
“Very well then. It is agreed. We are a company, and our bond shall not be dissolved until we reach the Shimmering Isles, the ancient land of Archaea. In the depths of the Underworld, I shall remove the Heart of Rankar from the breast of the Thief, and claim it before the Pit of the Dead, and then take it within myself and claim it as my own. We shall go our separate ways afterward, but I shall reward each of you with whatever you desire, for such power will be within my capabilities. All right then! I suggest that we rest here tonight and leave in the morning. Josun, I assume that you can direct us to where the Roslagen keep their vessels? We shall need something large and seaworthy.”
“The Roslagen will have moved now, and they will be vigilant. I do not suggest that we search them out, unless we wish to do battle against unfavorable odds.”
“What about him?” said the Thief, pointing to Fergal.
“Oh yes, the troll! I had forgotten about him. Perhaps he can be of some use.”
Cassilda lifted the spell, and a wave of angry words came rushing out of Fergal’s mouth.
“What incredible rudeness, why, I never imagined such terrible conduct from a magician, if you can even call yourself that! Breaking into my home, silencing me with magic, and then ignoring my presence as though I were an unruly pet to be muzzled and thrown in a corner! In all my hundreds of years, I have never been treated in such a manner! If you all could summon a modicum of decency and leave immediately, then I might find it within myself to not pray for the worst possible fate to befall each and everyone one of you. Ruffians! Bandits! People of low-standing!”
“I’ve never been called such nice names in my life,” said the Thief.
“He was about remove the Thief’s heart before I stopped him,” pointed out Josun.
“Oh that is interesting,” said Cassilda. “The troll calls us such loathsome creatures, and just minutes before he was planning a murder! Why were you so interested in the internal anatomy of the Thief?”
“Murder, why, I’d, uh, never… I refuse to listen to such a blatantly false accusation! I was simply… um, preparing to defend myself against a potentially dangerous intruder, someone who had broken into my home, much like yourselves, and refused to leave! What would you do under such circumstances?”
“He said he could see the Heart through my chest,” said the Thief.
“Well Mr. Troll, I’m afraid you are too compelling to abandon, even in the middle of nowhere,” said Cassilda. “You appear to be a cross between a bat and a gnome; you claim to be hundreds of years old; you can spy the Heart of Rankar through the meat and gristle of the Thief. There is a bounty of knowledge locked away in that disproportionate head of yours, and we need someone to guide us through the Mawlden Forest, someone adept at evading barbarians and monstrosities. Therefore, it is with great regret that I must conscript you to our cause. We are going to raid your stores anyway, so you might as well come with your food.”
“By what right?” asked Fergal.
“Why, by the right of force, of course. Might makes right, or so they say. Please, Fergal, don’t make this unpleasant. I’m tired, cranky, and in need of a good night’s sleep. Perhaps by the next morning, we shall all be great friends.”
No one noticed the sign she made behind her back. Immediately, everyone yawned and felt drowsiness fall upon their shoulders like a ponderous weight, pressing them down. The Thief settled back into the rocking chair and closed his eyes. Josun lay down on the floor like a tired dog. Fergal found himself in an alcove, his anxieties fading away with his consciousness. His last thought was of his bed and how ridiculous it was that he was not in it. He would not have been pleased to know that Cassilda retired to his room and slept well in his comfortable, albeit tiny, bed.
Next Chapter: The Aerodactyl
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