Hooves thundering against stone-studded earth, Linder, Farren and Gray rode out for the woods, led by Helmer.

Rendarr took one look at them, then tossed his pitchfork somewhere unimportant-- abandoned his stable duty, and ran to tag along. Clearly, he did not fear Second Lieutenant Audryn's wrath, or death. Those were similar, anyway.

He hastily led a certain infamous chestnut mare out of the stable by the girth straps and swung himself over the saddle.

"What--" he began to ask the reason for this outing.

"Suspicious wheel tracks," said Gray briefly, "quickly now!"

Naught but the quiet rustling of leaves filled the silence that stretched taut among them as they rode up to the dirt road, wary eyes on the surrounding woods. For the last couple of days, soldiers on Klo's command had scoured the surrounding hills and the woods in search of Alastair.

Farren had thought that would be a rather easy task.

Now coming out here herself, she was overwhelmed despite how well she knew these parts. The woods were vast, stretching all the way to the mountain to the north. Gods, one could hide a whole mercenary company here, let alone one shitty assassin who can't do the one job he's been assigned.

"So, Helm. Where are these tracks you speak of?" Farren asked Helmer.

"Halfway to the village, Corporal," he said. "So, I'm on my way up to the camp, when I see them, right-- then I follow. Say, for some hundred paces. But then I think-- hey, maybe I should report that instead of going off on my own."

"Good thinking," said Farren approvingly. She would've simply followed the tracks alone and waltzed into trouble, like the fool she was.

"And good observation as well," Linder added.

Helmer gave them a shy nod. The bright smile that graced the young recruit's face filled her with pride.

He seized the reins of his mount then, turning from the dirt road to a less trodden trail leading into the woods. "This way, across the waterfall. This is a short-cut."

After days of freezing winds and bleary skies-- the supposed return of the winter, the sun today was a bliss; falling in dusty beams through the leaves and casting specks of gold upon the grass.

Farren looked up at the Unnamed Lord in admiration, as she did everytime they happened to pass by the waterfall.

At the statue's feet lay stalks of wheat and grains, apples and berries and an assortment of wild flowers-- tribute from the folks of Kinallen, left there at dawn. The terrified villagers had turned to the stone image of this nameless warrior who they had come to regard as a god, praying for protection. News of the two winters-- widely regarded as an ill omen-- had already spread.

To which the Unnamed Lord remained ever oblivious, his stoney eyes unseeing.

Or perhaps not.

The dagger at her belt hummed.

The faintest vibration, like a soft gust of wind on a leaf, like little waves made by a pebble tossed into water-- yet Farren felt it nonetheless as her hand came to rest on the handle. Then it stopped.

Her eyes snapped up at the weathered statue again, at the rough lines upon its surface that glimmered in the sun. Runes.

Had those runes always been there?

"Hurry up, now," Rendarr said from ahead.

For a moment, Farren considered telling him what she'd just experienced, but dismissed it. What was she to say? The statue makes my dagger feel funny?

She nudged her mount to a canter and joined them beside the stream.

The stream was shallow here, and in one place wooden planks lay across it. While the riders led their horses one by one, Gray rode up beside Farren, his brows crinkled in thought. As she stopped beside him, he cleared his throat, his eyes shifting from Farren, then to Linder, whose focus was set upon leading his black stallion across the planks. He turned to Farren, and opened his mouth to speak--

"Should I don my helmet?" she asked before Gray could say anything.

"Why praytell, do you ask me?"

"Because you look like you're about to spit venom."

At first, Gray looked as though he was trying very hard not to burst a vein. Then he took several, calming breaths, and maybe succeeded in not bursting said vein. "Well, not anymore, eh? Sarge would have my head, were I to wrong you."

"Would he now?" Farren raised her eyebrows.

"Well, I'm no fool," said Gray, who was very much a fool in Farren's opinion. He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I know you two were snogging behind the stables, okay? Anyway, my point is--"

Farren choked on air. How much had he seen? "There was no snogging."

Gray did an offhanded gesture. "Well, something brought you two together, back there. Call it fate, destiny--"

"A horse." Farren shot the culprit equine another glare.

"Whatever you're into," said Gray impatiently, then glanced at Linder again. When he spoke next, his voice was surprisingly quiet and calm. "Let me get this clear. Just... don't make him regret this. I beg of you."

She scrunched up her face in a frown. "What in Lord Atruer's name does that--"

But then she stopped, as her eyes fell on him.

Gray was looking at an oblivious Linder, his face full of concern and something close to... regret. Farren was taken aback to see something other than aggression in Gray's demeanor. Yet, thinking back, he was always the one at Linder's side, an ever vigilant guard whom he trusted the most.

What was it about Linder that worried the corporal so much?

Gray swung the same concerned glance toward her.

Farren, like a reasonable adult faced with serious and complex emotions, responded with laughter.

"Ah, I see what you're getting at. But I'm afraid you assumed too much from what you saw of us, near the stables." She adjusted her reins, which did not need adjusting.

"Your dear friend has no business fancying street rats," she said, more to herself than to Gray. "Right?"

He sighed, running a hand through his pale brown hair. "This is not entirely about him fancying you."

Farren gave him a questioning look.

"See how he just turns his back without a worry in the world, while someone like you has that deadly dagger. Which, if you come to think of it, is a rather daft thing to do."

Farren wanted to scowl again, but she considered this. "While you are obviously attacking me here, you do have a point."

"So my conclusion is: either he trusts you with his life, or has no will to live."

"The latter, I'll bet my axe," said Farren, the planks creaking beneath her mount's hooves as she made the crossing, "have you seen how he drinks his coffee? With Goldcrest whiskey."

Gray winced at the name. "I know, right?"

The young recruit led them down another trail, the terrain sloping downwards. Linder rode quietly just behind him, Rendarr in the middle, and Farren and Gray making up the rear.

And she discovered Gray was not particularly hard to talk to, when he was not busy being an absolute wet sock.

"You've known him long, haven't you?" she asked.

To this, Gray stayed silent for a few moments. "I was in the Byton City Watch with him. The guards who arrested you...I was one of them."

Farren gaped. "Anything else you want to reveal? Were you perhaps present during the Great War too?"

But Gray went on as though confessing a sin, hardly listening to her. "I was the one who urged him on, when he said he wanted to go after the thugs of Silver Knife Square-- go after you. Everyone else warned him not to do that, yet I..."

Farren shook her head. "No surprise there, really. Upright bastards, both of you."

"He trusted me. Went out there to free the city from corruption-- foolish idealism if you ask me," said Gray, "and look where it landed him. From the heart of the kingdom to a stuffy mine where dust clogs the air."

"He wants to get out of there so badly, he's been... reckless, lately," he added after a pause, worry creeping into his tired voice.

Gray looked up, the sunlight peeking through the leaves casting shadows on his face. "Don't be like me. If he-- anyone, puts their trust in you, don't make them regret it."

Farren sighed, having felt the similar way before. Lieutenant Evander's disappointed face flitted across her eyes.

The lieutenant put his trust in her too, that she would abandon her old ways and be a true warrior, one who would command respect. And what had she become?

An immoral bastard who can swing an axe, sometimes.

She looked at Gray, her heart heavy.

So that's the reason for your loyalty to Linder? Not friendship, nor battle-forged brotherhood, just guilt?

Glad that we have something in common. Be it chains of guilt dragging us down.

"So did you get a transfer order to Brittlerock too, like him?" she asked at last.

"Nah, he took all the blame when Sir Troth questioned us. Never uttered my name." Gray's smile was sour. A pause.

"I begged Sir Troth to let me go to Brittlerock with him."

Farren offered him a sad smile.

Not just guilt then.

✦✧✦✧

Rendarr glanced back at them, then grinned. "You two friends now?"

Gray and Farren looked at each other with raised eyebrows, then back at Rendarr.

"Allies, for the time being," said Farren. "Rest assured, I'd be just as happy if you knocked him out in a match."

"We just have some common points we agree upon," Gray said curtly.

The wheel-tracks left on the dirt road led into the woods, eastward, in the direction of the hills.

"Here," said Helmer, dismounting and leading his horse by the reins.

Linder followed him, then dropped to a crouch to have a better look. The strange tracks cut deep into the forest floor, and even kicked up chunks of dirt in some places. The others watched over his shoulder. Once or twice he ran a gloved hand against the deep gashes, then rose up, brushing dirt from his much-prized cloak.

"Well?" Farren asked.

"Firemount carrier wagon," he said, "heavy wheeled. The way these tracks are, and from the fact somehow the bandits had a Firemount with them that night, I'm certain of it."

He glanced at Gray. "Remember that attack in Brittlerock when the battle was going on in the isles? The wagons the Calbridge Division used?"

His eyes widened. "Right! They hauled up dozens of Firemounts on them. Huge abominations-- wheels a man's height."

Linder turned to Farren and Rendarr. "Even though you said bandits attacked the village that night, I'm led to believe they were assisted by Drisian forces as well."

"Makes sense. Or how else would they have gotten their hands on those Firemounts, or the wagons?" said Farren.

"Does anyone at the camp know we're here?" Rendarr asked.

"Yeah, I reported to Sergeant Wolturs," said Helmer.

Linder nodded. "Let's follow these tracks then."

Leading their mounts with the reins, they continued on foot along the trail. The woods grew denser the further they went, the trees more close-packed, and the sunlight fainter. At places, snapped branches and flattened bushes lay as proof that a heavy vehicle had indeed passed through there.

A rotting stench reached them further down the trail. A bloated corpse-- a man's, lay on its side, a few paces right to the tracks.

Farren and Rendarr exchanged worried glances, both thinking the same thing.

With trepidation, they shuffled through the undergrowth towards it.

A bandit. Fur-clad and armed with a crudely forged short-sword-- possibly one of the attackers from that night.

"Well, let's see what killed the poor bastard," said Rendarr, and with a nudge of his boot, turned the corpse over.

Blackened bruises covered the man's neck, which was twisted at an odd angle. One side of his head was caved in.

"Neck snapped," said Farren, her cloak raised to her face against the stench, "and thrown from the wagon; thus the head injury."

Linder nodded in agreement. "Scratches on his face and arms-- there was a struggle."

Both of their eyes fell on something else at the same time.

One of the man's hands was curled tightly into a fist. A torn piece of blue fabric could be seen through it-- the same material the cloaks used by the Midaelian soldiers were made of, the very same Farren had draped across her shoulders at this moment.

But the man's fingers were clenched tightly around whatever he had been clutching just before death. Finally, Rendarr and Gray stepped in, and managed to pry them open. Joints popped and bones snapped.

A silver cloak clasp fell out from his unfurled fist.

The symbol etched upon it was the insignia of an officer of the Midaelian army, ranked Commander.

"Sweet Mother Draedona..." said Rendarr.

A triumphant smile spread across Linder's face, almost too bright for a man who sat beside a decaying corpse. "There has been an abduction. They took the commander on the way to the camp. And he put up a fight." He looked up at them. "Just wait till the autopsy report comes in. That body in the infirmary isn't Brianus Karyk."

For a few moments, only the wind whistled through the leaves. Then Farren broke the silence.

"Well, if you can prove to the soldiers of Kinallen that their commander lives," she said with a chuckle, "maybe they would reconsider putting an arrow through your heart. Maybe they'll even like you."

The next moment, an arrow zipped through the air right past Linder's face and struck a tree with a loud thunk.

"Or maybe they won't!" Finished Farren.

They whirled around to find sullen-looking figures emerging from the surrounding bushes, signs of starvation on their sunken faces and pale green uniforms ripped and crumpled.

Drisian soldiers.

"What the hell?" Gray said.

"Must've snuck in with the bandits, the night of the attack," Farren muttered, eyes scanning her surroundings, "but couldn't make it across the border, I suppose."

Helmer took a cautious step back, gathering the reins of the horses.

"Klo's men have been scouring these woods for days" said Rendarr. "Gods, they've been hiding here the whole time."

"See, I was right. The soldiers and bandits were allies after all," Linder let out a dry laugh.

And they were surrounded.

A total eight of the Drisians, counting the one archer.

✦✧✦✧

Linder faced them, arms crossed. "So your bandit friends abandoned you?"

Gray was right. This man really has a death wish.

"Wimps, all of them," spat one of them in heavily accented Midaelian, presumably the leader of the group. "They did the job and ran, as soon as the vampires showed up. Shoved us off our own wagons, and left us here to rot."

"Understandable." Linder gave them a nod, as though this were merely a discussion over coffee. "And what was this job, may I ask?"

"To give Commander Brianus Karyk a ride to his... destination, of course," said the soldier with a grin. "Yet why do I waste my breath on you lot? It's not like you're going back alive."

The soldier gestured, and the others unsheathed their weapons, movements in sync despite their obvious exhaustion. Another arrow slashed the air from somewhere unseen, and Helmer hit the ground with a grunt, clutching his thigh.

Blood boiled in Farren's veins.

She stepped in front of the group, eye to eye with the leader, her battle-axe at the ready. "Oh, you're going to pay for that."

Rendarr yelled, and swung his sword out of its scabbard and lunged at the nearest Drisian, who dodged.

"Watch out!"

Gray shoved him out of the way. Another arrow hit the spot where Rendarr had been moments ago.

"What-- have you-- done with our commander?" yelled Rendarr, more desperation in his voice than anger.

"Tell us if you find out, because we don't know, either," said the leader, "we were just following orders, kid. And now we're doomed to die."

The Drisian man reached over his back, and took a massive warhammer out of its straps. He cracked his neck, facing them.

"And we'll take you to hell with us."

Linder yawned.

"Ah, but I'm not going anywhere until I have a nice hot cup of coffee," he said tiredly.

He strode up to stand beside Farren. With a thumb, he wiped off the thin trickle of blood from his cheek where the arrow had grazed him, then gave her a soft smile.

"Let us see your skills with that axe of yours, shall we?"