We had been riding for hours, the relentless jostling of the rough saddle making my bottom ache. My hands, bound with a crude rope, were all but too familiar at this point, and with no one else in sight, I couldn’t get out of this. They throbbed with every step of the horse. The general had stayed behind, absorbed in his naval pursuit, leaving only a small contingent of five soldiers to guard me.
My horse was ridden by a young soldier, his armor gleaming as if freshly polished and his face unmarred by the scars of battle.
“We’ll set up camp here,” barked one of the riders—a short man with the build of a beast—from his horse on the right. The mounts slowed to a cautious trot, then came to a halt. The air felt thick and sticky, smelling of a nearby body of water.
They tethered the horses to nearby trees, using thick ropes to ensure they wouldn’t pull free. Heavy bags were secured to the horses' backs with sturdy straps, their contents shifting slightly with each movement of the animals.
A few of the soldiers set to work gathering logs from the surrounding area. The damp earth made the task of cutting down trees more arduous, but they managed to fell a few small trees and gather fallen branches. They dug shallow trenches in the ground to anchor the thicker logs, carefully positioning them upright and securing them with additional stakes driven into the earth. The damp conditions made this more challenging, but they worked efficiently to stabilize the logs as best as they could.
With the basic framework in place, the soldiers stacked additional logs horizontally to form the walls of the shelters. They used smaller branches and twigs to create a rudimentary roofing structure, weaving them together to form a rough lattice. Over this, they draped cloth from their supplies, making sure to secure the edges with stones and additional logs to prevent it from blowing away in the wind. The cloth wasn’t entirely weatherproof, but it provided some protection against the rain.
In barely thirty minutes, they managed three makeshift tents, enough room for the six of us. It was clear how experienced they were with this. I guess if you traveled a lot you had to be.
“What about the captive, sir?” a soldier asked, his gaze fixed on me. The other soldier standing beside him cast a wary look in my direction as well.
The officer, scanning the structures, let out a sigh. “He’ll sleep outside tonight,” he said with a firm tone, his eyes returning to the soldier. “We can’t risk having him in with the rest of us.”
Fucking bastards, I thought. How could they do this? My hands were bound, and I was blatantly outnumbered, and that’s what they worried about?
I turned my attention to the officer. His attire was distinctively different from the others. His armor was lighter and less reinforced, and he carried only a single dagger at his waist.
“Hagen and Berengar,” the officer commanded, “start on the fire.”
Hagen, giving a nod and a salute, replied, “Yes, sir.”
“Leode,” the officer directed another soldier, “see if you can find any food.”
Turning to the younger rider who had been carrying me, he said, “And you, Ermengard, keep an eye on the captive.”
Everyone set to work as instructed, their movements eerily quiet. Ermengard led me to a stone and gestured for me to sit. As I settled down, he glanced back to ensure Officer Roderich wasn’t watching. He removed his helmet, revealing a flushed, sweaty face—likely a result of the heat.
“Ermengard, right?” I asked, hoping for some acknowledgment, but he remained silent. “Where's my friend?”
Earlier, they had wrapped Odessa's wound with a cloth and separated us into different groups after I repeatedly asked about her.
“Quiet,” the young soldier snapped. “Captives are forbidden to talk.” As he spoke, Ermengard fumbled with the straps of his gear uncomfortably.
“Do you know what I did?” I asked steadily.
“Sorcery,” he responded, his voice lowering to a whisper filled with anger. “You murdered innocents.”
Shifting uncomfortably on the rock that dug painfully into my skin, I shook my head. “That’s what Chlodovech says,” I began, slightly frustrated. “That’s what your general says.” I was aware that my tone sounded manipulative, and indeed it was, but I had no other choice. “I just want to protect myself and my friend. Can’t you understand that?”
The young soldier remained silent; his face turned away. I leaned in, my voice rising with desperation. “I’m begging you,” I pleaded. “They were going to kill me. Aren’t you supposed to protect people like me? Like my friend?” My words grew more urgent as I continued, “There’s a curse inside of me. If I don’t get rid of it, I could destroy everything.”
Still, he didn’t respond. My eyes flicked to Ermengard’s clenched fists. Was he starting to get angry? I pressed on, my voice dropping to a low, threatening murmur. “Do you have a family at home?” I asked, “If you don’t let me go, and this curse takes over...” I paused for a moment, “I’ll kill them first.”
“You son of a bitch...” Ermengard’s face flushed with rage as he unsheathed his sword, drawing the attention of the officer as it the metal screeched.
“Ermengard!” The officer barked; walking over. “What the hell are you doing, scout?”
“He was—”
“I don’t fucking care!” Roderich snapped, cutting him off. “You don’t speak to captives. It’s forbidden.”
Ermengard fell silent, his nerves evident as he stood rigid, staring at the ground.
“Come here, scout,” Roderich commanded. “Now.”
With a deep breath, Ermengard complied, his steps slow and hesitant. He kept his gaze fixed upward, trying to avoid Roderich’s eyes. The officer’s hand shot out with a swift punch, striking Ermengard squarely in the face. The young soldier crumpled to the ground, clutching his jaw in pain.
Roderich loomed over him. “You listen carefully to orders, you hear?”
“Yes... sir,” Ermengard replied, voice strained and subdued.
Now was my chance. The officers’ focus was on Ermengard, leaving a clear opening for me to escape. I slid silently to the other side of the rock and crouched low, hoping to stay out of sight.
I moved cautiously; each step deliberately to avoid any sound. The branches underfoot bent but held firm, and only the occasional rustling of leaves betrayed my presence.
After about ten seconds, I heard shouting overhead, their voices rising in alarm. “Fuck...” I muttered under my breath, the urgency of the situation sinking in.
There was no turning back now. Could I really outrun them? There was only one way to find out. I turned on my heel and sprinted through the forest, the trees blurring past as I pushed myself to run faster.
The pounding footsteps grew louder with every moment. I wasn’t quick enough after all. My heart pounded in my chest as I glanced around at the towering trees and their rough, splintery bark. One stood out—thicker and more gnarled than the rest. It was a long shot, but it was my only option.
I veered sharply and wound myself around the massive trunk, pressing my back against it. Dropping to the ground, I pulled myself under a dense layer of underbrush, hoping to blend in with the forest floor. The leaves and twigs provided a scant shield, but it was all I had.
I held my breath and listened as the soldiers’ voices grew closer. With rare luck, the soldiers ran right past my hiding spot, oblivious to my presence. I counted three as they moved by, which meant the other two were still at the camp.
I waited until their footsteps faded into the distance, then carefully peered out from my cover. The forest was still, save for the occasional rustle of leaves. I had to find a new route, as returning to the camp was no longer an option. Taking a deep breath, I scrambled out from the underbrush and used the trunk to find my stance.
I didn’t waste a second and bolted forward, weaving around roots and scaling small hills to increase my speed. They’d be backtracking soon, scouring the woods for me.
The pond, which I had sensed earlier, finally came into view. It was a peaceful spot, with a gentle stream flowing from its edge, using the body of water as its source. I was far enough now that they wouldn’t find me here quickly.
Slowing down, I nearly stumbled from the sudden stop, skirting to a halt at the water’s edge. The pond’s surface mirrored the brilliant blue of the sky above. Breathless, I dropped to my knees and scooped the cold, clear water into my hands.
As I brought it to my lips, the sensation was almost heavenly. My throat was parched, my body screaming for hydration. Each sip almost hurt, but the cool, refreshing water was worth every bit of discomfort, and it barely registered that the liquid was still and unfiltered.
“Fuck...” I muttered, cupping more water and gulping it down. I drank until my thirst was sated, losing myself in the simple act. The world narrowed to the cool liquid slipping down my throat.
Eventually, I collapsed onto my back, lying there with a heavy breath, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. The taste of the water: a gritty, almost sour aftertaste, barely registered.
The relief quickly evaporated as heavy footsteps approached from behind. Panic surged through me. I sprang to my feet, spinning around to face the newcomer.
It was a man—unarmed, unarmored. His short black hair was matted with grime, and his arms bore the marks of harsh treatment. A deep and permeant scar ran down from his right cheek, but other than that he wasn’t old, but young.
“Who are you?” I demanded, breathless. Water dripped from my chin as I clenched my fists and lowered into a defensive stance. I swallowed hard, preparing for whatever might come next.
“Lydus Einervil,” the man said, stepping forward. As I flinched, he raised his hands to show he meant no harm. “I belonged to the Bridgevault Rebellion.”=
I lowered my stance, confusion overtaking me. “Bri...Bridgevault?” I stuttered. “The Orerhan Rebellion—right?”
Lydus nodded, a hint of sadness crossing his face before he pushed it aside. “Gone. Orerha destroyed it.” He tilted his head slightly, as if pondering something. “And you’re Alaric.”
“How do you know that?” I asked, eyeing him warily.
“You’re known everywhere,” Lydus said, closing the distance between us slowly. “They call you The Rogue Sorcerer.”
“I’m no sorcerer.” I replied bitterly, taking a step back as he said that “What do you want?”
A small, quick laugh escaped him, but it wasn't born of humor. His eyes dropped to the dirt, filled with regret. “Because of me... a powerful man threatens to wipe out the continent,” he said, lifting his gaze to meet mine once more. “I know of your curse and your blood. We could use your help.”
“We?” I asked, my voice skeptical. I needed to know more. How could he, a stranger, come to me with such a claim? He could be lying, or worse, leading me into a trap.
“Survivors of the rebellion, and others who’ve helped me,” he said, his voice steady. “I know of your power, and with it, we have a small chance of defeating him... Would you join us?”
I studied him closely. There was something in his demeanor—the way he came unarmed and unprotected, his earnest eyes—that made me want to trust him. Yet, with everything that has happened to me, I just couldn’t.
“No,” I replied bluntly, not wanting to explain myself. Trust was a luxury I could no longer afford.
He bit his tongue whilst nodding, eyes dropping to the ground again, “Well.” Lydus replied quietly at first, “It’s your decision.” As I turned to leave, he stopped me, “But I have information... that’ll help you. I was supposed to use it as leverage but...” He stopped himself, and decided a different approach, “Your curse can be broken. Or at least, I know someone who can tell you how.”
“Who?” I asked abruptly, moving closer.
“Thadomire,” Lydus said firmly, “and you can take my word on it. He’s helped me in the past.”
“How do I find him?” I pressed.
Lydus glanced off into the distance, his eyes distant as he spoke. “The Northern Mountains,” he replied swiftly. “You in Heladon call them Theosilic. He’s exiled himself there long ago.”
“What?” I exclaimed. “That’s past Heladon City—it would take weeks, months even just to reach him. I have someone I need to rescue first.”
“If you rid yourself of the curse,” Lydus said slowly, “you’d be able to help them more.” He then pulled out a map from his pocket. “If you trust me, this will guide you to him.”
He approached, and this time I didn’t back away. As he extended the map, I took it from him. The map depicted part of Heladon and some of Orerha in simple detail, but the Northern Mountains were marked with an intricate line leading to where Thadomire was said to be. The path was clear, though I’d have to rely on his word to believe it.
“Thank you.” I said with a hard nod.
“One more thing.” He said, offering a weak smile, “Don’t fuck this up.” Lydus winked, then finally turned to leave, “For all of us.”
I had a lot of questions. Without further context, nothing really made sense—how he knew me, who or what he was. Everything I knew felt superficial. But he was right.
As Lydus disappeared into the woods, I was left with a difficult decision. Despite my deep concern for Odessa, I knew I had to focus on ridding myself of this curse first. I had no idea what would happen next, or how much time I had left. All I knew was that every day, the curse drew closer to completion.
With a deep breath, I set my sights on my next destination: Chepstow. Traveling for weeks to reach the Theosilic Mountains was impractical, but if I could find Ikevine again, I might persuade him to take me back—or he might decide to kill me on sight for supposed retribution.
Then something else struck my mind and one I didn’t even realize till now. I killed Vesperus. So, the curse should be broken. Speaking with Lydus I had almost forgotten...so killing him wasn’t the answer after all.
Taking one last look at the serene water, I turned back into the woods, pushing through the dense tree line and beginning yet another arduous march.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
