The rich, brown sand parted with a sound like fabric ripping as the first boat settled into the shore line. The rowers dropped their oars and splashed into the murky green water. They began to drag the craft past the tide line, feet slipping and digging short trenches as they grunted and groaned. More boats began to dig into the shore, a platoon of tanned and weary rowers creating a commotion as they all worked on dragging the wooden beasts up the beach with whipped looks in their eyes. Ropes were sorted, untangled, drawn tight and fastened to large iron weights which were dropped further up the beach, being carried by ten men each. A fresh, salt scented breeze swept down through the bay and ruffled the red imperial banners flying from each boat. The rowers began to mingle into smaller groups, unloading crates and barrels and piles of lumber and stacking them accordingly in the large grass clearing that crowned the beachhead.
A man in a long red coat, lined with gold and black trim stood with feet on either side of the bow of the center ship. He lifted a hand and shouted out orders to the rowers, directing their actions from his pointedly superior position. The hand that was not drawing paths and singling out slackers laid softly on the hilt of a sword, reminding them all that disobedience carries a heavy penalty. As the work continued in a surprisingly orderly fashion, the commander took a long gaze at his surroundings. A green bay sat surrounded on two sides by tall, lush mountains and cliffs, funneling the breeze from the sea up the beach and into the trees past the clearing. He could hear the distant leaves rustle, limbs waving in slow, steady thrums. Even with the midday sun high above their heads, the forest in front of them lay so thick that it seemed not even the boldest drop of light could shimmer against the floor of dead leaves. He smiled and took a quick glance at the position of the sun and turned around, hopped to the deck of the boat and ran a hand through his salt soaked hair as he wandered towards the back. A group of men sat reclined against the hull, most with metal helmets pulled down over their eyes, a soft snore trailing out from under them.
“Wake up, men,” the man in the coat said. Helmets flew up and eyes darted to him, feet starting to find purchase on the wooden deck. “Pennysworth, you see to the rowers. Make sure they don’t drop any of the damn oil and have them push that tree line back. We’ll need all the room we can. Daryl, Richard, go get the others up and ready. Put my tent up and then make sure the others get theirs in order as well. Marmoth, you get a latrine dug, grab one or two of the peons to help you. Throw it as far back as you can.”
The group of men saluted and began to pile over the sides, armor and leather clanging and creaking with every movement. The beach was awash with activity as the man in the red coat resumed his watch from atop the bow of the boat, a hand stroking at his graying sideburns, and his piercing gaze tracking the movements like an eagle watching fish.
Smoldering campfires sent long trails of smoke up into the foggy morning air. The smoke rose and was soon lost in the low gray sky. A horn blew loudly across the clearing and sounds of rowers, soldiers and help arose from the village of tents. Groans and coughs ran through all their throats, and soon the latrine line was full of bubbling activity. Fires were stoked and soon after small groups were huddled around them for their first meal of the day in the muddied grass. Runners poured out of the large, canopied tent in the center of the clearing and began making their way along, dispensing orders handed down from Commander Siegfried. A tall boy who looked as if he should still be tied to his mother’s apron strings delivered a neatly folded letter to Pennysworth and the small group that had been in the commander’s boat. Pennysworth took it in his grubby, scarred hands and began to read from it silently, eyes flickering across the single sentence scrawled in a flowing, not yet dry script. The blonde runner looked around the camp with a bewildered smile, the fog cutting away the view of the mountains. Pennysworth grunted and tussled his graying hair. He slapped the letter to the boy’s chest. “Alright, off with y’now.”
Daryl looked up from his seat on the ground. “So what has the good Commander decided today?”
“Tighten up y’boots. We’re going for a walk.”
“Yessah, sergeant! For the good of the Kingdom, sah!” Daryl chortled and gave a mock salute as he stuffed the rest of his breakfast into his mouth. Pennysworth gave him a soft jab to the ribs with his foot and began to walk off into the center of the camp. “Where you going now?”
“To get the doctor. He’ll be coming along with us.”
Daryl choked slightly before Richard came out of the tent and slapped him on the back. They both watched Pennysworth’s back as it sauntered away from them and disappeared around the corner.
“That creep gives me the chills,” Daryl said under his breath, flicking the crumbs from his fingers.
“He’s just one of those brainy types. Teach a man to slice another man open and they get all uppity,” Richard mused, spitting on the ground as he did so, “Ach, you and I know how to do that and you don’t see us giving everyone the bumps.”
They booth looked over their shoulders as Marmoth swept his tent flap aside and strode out, a large hammer propped across his broad shoulders, hands dangling from each end, and that bright grin of his spread across his darkened face.
“Well good morning, Petunia” said Daryl, his teeth showing between his lips.
Marmoth’s grin began to fade. He gazed at the two ragged soldiers and cocked his head to the side before speaking. “Go get the other four. Then get a group of rowers. Find enough machetes, rope, water, and some dried beef. Back here within the hour, that clear?”
Daryl and Richard’s heads began to bob furiously.
“Then go.”
Their feet began to pound the ground. Marmoth watched them run off, and turned back to the fire shaking his head. The grin spread across his face again as he began to whistle and walk the direction Pennysworth had left. The soft creaking of his leather armor began to bounce slightly as a gentle skip worked its way into every fourth or fifth step.
The group gathered the edge of the tree line, the gray fog persisting still even as the soft glow of the sun began to make its way up behind the oppressive film. Straps on rucksacks were tightened, and the rowers huddled together, far enough away from the man in the long white coat but close enough to still make out the shapes of the soldiers. Small drops of conversation flooded in between them in random spurts, mostly about the weather and how good the porridge was that morning. The group of soldiers gathered around Pennysworth, their collective mood bringing a small sense of ease to the rowers who were still keeping a wary eye on the doctor.
“So, what’re we doin today, Sarge?”
“Well, as directed by th’Commander himself, in the manner of Royal Authority granted to him, and as laid out in his daily decrees, ‘find me that damn mountain’ seems t’be the current objective” said Pennysworth as he adjusted his pack.
“Why do we have to find the mountain?” asked Daryl, his daily whining starting off strong as ever.
Marmoth cleared his throat, every head in the area, and some beyond the veil of the fog whipped around to stare in his direction. “Good vantage point of the island. Would let us see what all she has in store for us. Gets the smell of you out from the tents for a while. That should about do it.”
Pennysworth nodded and slapped a hand on Marmoth’s broad back. “Right you are, boy-oh. Now c’mon, let’s be on our way.”
The undergrowth of the forest began to shake and titter as it was trampled under their feet. They moved along slowly, idle chatter filling the space in between ripping stray vines from their path and admiring the strange luminescence of the forest, fog settling in every nook and cranny yet a soft glow creeped in through the leaves high above them.
“So if we’re just looking for a path to that main spire, why do we need him?” Daryl softly asked Richard as he nodded to the doctor. As if on cue, the doctor’s head whipped around, his eyes bright and wild, shining with the greens and browns of the surrounding area.
“Why? Because I do not only participate in the study of a human’s anatomy, but that of flora and fauna as well! Perhaps there is a new type of creature on which I could operate and inspect and catalog for the library back at the capital! All the endless possibilities! Did you know that there’s a flower in the fields of Marchizan that can swallow a man whole? Great, large petals mimic the shape of a female and use a symbiotic parasite to squeal a high pitched song and then snap! It begins to digest them, flesh and bone and all! It’s quite a marvel to watch, really.” The doctor smiled, his rosy red cheeks supporting his cheerful eyes.
Daryl and Richard gave one another a wide eyed look of horror. They began working faster on clearing the path. Pennysworth chuckled from behind them and shouted out to the following rowers.
“Make sure you n’yours are marking every tree. We don’t want to be wandering around in here forever. Got that?”
“Yes, Sergeant” came a less than enthusiastic response from each of the rowers as their machetes looped around and carved a little deeper into each tree they passed, skinning chunks of bark off. Familiar sights glimpsed out at them through the fog; large trees reaching up into the air, tall orange and white mushrooms sprouting from a fallen log here and there, and the musty smell of moss draping over boulders. They crossed streams bubbling with fresh water, Pennysworth marking their location on a rough map he had sketched while they circled the island on the Grace, days before they set out in the rowboats. He tucked the charcoal stick behind his ear after every note, the soot rubbing into his hair. They broke for lunch in a small valley, the trees opening for a moment and pouring a view of golden and purple wildflowers into their eyes. The fog had long since cleared and the sharp midday sun bore down on their sweaty faces. Each finding a stump or rock or fallen trunk that had not yet rotted through, they sat and tore away at the dried beef from their sacks, the caps of their canteens thumping against the hide exteriors. The soldiers and rowers began to talk freely as the doctor moved further into the tall grass below, snipping flowers buds with his long, thin knife. Pennysworth and Marmoth stood aside and took in the scenery, hushed words flowing between the two with a shared grin cropping up here and there.
“So what’s your name, eh’?” asked Daryl of a rower.
“I ‘ave been called ‘Surly’, sir.”
“Shirley?”
“Surly.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because the last man to make that joke landed on his ‘ead.”
“Feisty lil’ bugger ain’tcha? Where’s that accent from? Uldar?”
“Rig’t you are. Was taken as a slave about six years ago.”
“Slave? You’re not a slave. You’re a rower!”
“Against my own will, yes. No room for advancement, no room for glory, though.”
“Getting to see the world, given clothing and shelter, contributing to the advancement of the Imperial cause is what you’re doing! I’d say that’s plenty fair for not being mowed down. Rowing’s not bad work after all.”
“Is t’at rig’t? You can ‘ave my spot on the way back t’en,” Surly smiled briefly and took a bite of his food, speaking around it as he chewed, “you do the working and I’ll do the lazing about.”
Daryl shook his head, smiling. “You’ll have to pardon me if I don’t accept. See, I’ve got a special talent for lazing about. Do what you’re good at, right?”
“You’ve got that right,” interrupted Pennysworth, strolling over to the group, tucking his charcoal pencil behind his ear again, “time for a little more exercise though. Should be at the spire in three more hours. Go get the doctor Daryl, and let’s be off.”
Daryl hopped to his feet and slung his canteen back over his shoulder and began grumbling about insanity and long knives as he waded into the grass to find the doctor. He returned shortly after, white coated figure in tow, and clutching his cheek.
“You must forgive me. I do get excitable amidst such newfound discoveries. How was I to know that you were not some carnivorous plant looking to swallow me whole?”
“Shouting out for you for a bit didn’t clue you in?
“Oh, there’s that but, um,” the doctor said as he shook himself slightly, “oh, but do let me see to that cut. Quite a lil mark that one will make if you don’t let me fix you up. Here, I’ve got some needle and thread. Ah, there we go, do come here.” He beckoned to Daryl, needle and thread trembling in his hands, the veins in his bony fingers showing through. His eyes were wide and his bottom lip was sucked in under his teeth. Daryl shrunk away, hands out in front of him as if trying to ward off a demon.
“No that won’t be necessary. We have to get going anyways; time is a wastin’, as Sarge always says, so here we go!” He took off almost at a dead run to get to the front of the line that was already carving through the grass and wildflowers. Pennysworth whistled a long, falling note as he watched Daryl flew past him.
“Maybe we should keep the doctor around a bit more often, eh Marmoth?”
“Might be an idea. I doubt it would get approval, however.”
“We’ll see what they have to say after this.”
They continued to march onwards, stirring up a small herd of deer as they reentered the forest on the opposite side of the valley. One giant buck stood as the others fled and gazed at the passing travelers, letting them interrupt his feast of mushrooms for only a moment.
“Fancy that, a deer that doesn’t fear dying,” Richard said. “Think he’s the thick one of the family?”
“Probably. Just like you,” chirped Daryl.
“Oy, shuttup you. Least I’m not the runt. Say, what’s that on its leg?”
Pennysworth stopped and turned his attention back to the deer. The buck’s head shot up and he began to bound off, but not before Pennysworth had a chance to see the long lines of a brand burned neatly into its rump. They all watched it as it sped through the forest. They could barely see its outline when it dropped onto its side and slid across the dead leaves. Pennysworth’s hand shot up and the rowers dropped to the ground. The doctor clutched a glass vial to his chest and began to slink away from the group. He rushed around a large tree and curled up at the foot of it, his hand stroking calmness into the jar as his eyes searched his surroundings. The soldiers lowered their rucksacks onto the ground and began to spread out, following Pennysworth as he quietly made his way towards the carcass of the beast. As they drew closer a figure draped with hides stepped into view and knelt before the dead buck. A slender, tan hand slid out from underneath the furs and, bracing itself with its foot, grabbed the arrow that was stuck in the deer’s chest. As the arrow freed itself, the figure stumbled backwards. The hood of its cloak fell back, revealing a soft face bordered with dark red hair. The long line of soldiers stirred with silent motion as signals flew back and forth between them, most ranging on par with what is expected after three months on a ship with an all male crew. Pennysworth caught Daryl’s eye with a disapproving look and nodded his head towards the woman, making a smug ‘after-you’ gesture. Daryl smiled back and began to creep upon the woman who was now beginning to work on the deer with a knife. Sighing softly Pennysworth motioned to the others to circle up while Daryl began to cautiously close the distance.
“Pardon me, Madam, would you happen to know if there’s a good pub in the area?”
The woman spun immediately, tossing a bit of intestine into Daryl’s face before she charged in, bearing him to the ground. His hands fought for a grip on her arms as she began to twist away and raised the knife. He paused internally for a moment and began to reflect on the situation. “That mouth of yours will get you into trouble one of these days,” his mother had warned. The knife began to descend just as a large dark hand wrapped around hers, pulling her off of the screaming soldier and the ground itself. The woman began to kick and punch with her free hand, trying to break Marmoth’s hold on her, but to no avail. As Marmoth’s eyes twinkled from the sight of Daryl squirming on the ground, mixing in dead leaves and dirt as he tried to scrape the blood and gore from his face to the sight of the woman dangling from his arm she became still, her face becoming a stone of anger and her eyes locked onto the ground.
After all sharp objects on her person were confiscated and her arms and legs bound, they gathered around Pennysworth and the fallen buck.
“So it’s a brand? Who’s fast enough to brand a deer?” asked one of the soldiers.
“Who’d want to?” asked another.
“Quiet now boys,” Pennyworth commanded as he began to skin the brand off, “looks a bit Uldarish, don’tcha think? Surly, come on over, tell me whatcha think.”
Surly jogged over and looked at the piece of skin for a moment. “It looks like our word for ‘man’, sir.”
“Bit odd. Is that how you Uldarians mark your cattle?”
“I’m not sure we have cattle to mark anymore, sir,” Surly said, biting off each word.
“Enough of that. Alright, let’s get this turned around. We might be able to make camp by nightfall.”
“Didn’t Commander Siegfried want us to get to the spire though?” asked Daryl, blood and dirt drying on his face.
“I’m sure he’d much rather keep such fine and excellent soldiers alive than risk us running into more like her,” said Pennysworth, clapping Daryl on the shoulder. “Besides, I’d rather not have to write home to your mum and tell her some other wild lady managed to do what your sisters surely tried.”
“Yessir?” asked Surly.
“Surely,” said Pennysworth.
“It’s Surly, sir.”
“Right you are. Get moving.”
As they made their way back, the fog slowly started to reappear and the sun began to set. The group lit their torches off of the flint and steel Richard had smartly packed away. They marched faster as a small chill drew into the forest, accentuating the dampness in their feet from the streams they had crossed carelessly. They lost their way once where the rowers had taken a break from marking the trees in favor of passing around a bottle of smuggled spirits. Pennysworth ranted and raved as they continued to plow ahead blindly, coming across an outcropping of four tall stones, each standing as tall and as thick as two men, with carvings etched into their surfaces. Surly was called forward yet again in hope of translating their meanings.
“Well, t’at one looks like ‘burn’ and rig’t below it is ‘dog’ I think,” he said as his fingers traced the patterns in the rock.
“And that one?” Pennysworth said, pointing at the second pillar.
“Could be ‘reach’ or ‘arm’. And t’at one is ‘water’ rig’t after t’ose.” Surly lightly traced each carving with his outstretched hand as he went along.”
Pennysworth’s charcoal pen scratched along his makeshift map. “Uh-huh, and what else?”
“ ‘Curved’, ‘metal’, and ‘thunder’ … not sure what t’e second one on t’is is. Looks like someone’s come along and smas’ed t’at bit out.”
The charcoal pencil ground against Pennysworth’s ear and his lips tightened. “Alright, let’s get moving. We can’t be too far off the path.”
They were not. An hour after the sun had settled beyond the veil of the fog they were wandering into the torchlight of the camp, patrolling soldiers calling out warily as they approached. The rowers and the doctor parted as the soldiers made their way through the throng of tents and bright campfires. An extra tent was erected and a post dug into the ground in the center of it. Their feisty companion was silently tied to the post and Pennysworth dismissed the rest. Kneeling in front of the woman, sharing a cold stare with her as the tent flap swung shut, he began to speak in a low, calm voice.
“You’ve grown quite a bit.”
She smiled. “A lot can change in five years, Penny.”
“How’s your father?”
“He’s almost ready. The bird arrived a week before your ship was in sight.”
“Should still be a week from advancing, I would say.”
“We’re ready as soon as needed. I see Marmoth has came back with you. Has he found a wife yet?”
“Seems not too much has changed.”
She blushed slightly and shook her head, smiling all the while. He ruffled her hair and began to stand as Daryl poked his head through the tent flap.
“Ey’ Sarge, figured you’d want the Commander to know, so we just sent a runner to go fetch him. Oh, hello lady, remember me?”
A look flashed over Pennysworth’s eyes as he swung a fist into Daryl’s temple.
“You damned fool! You told him she’s here? How stupid are you?”
Daryl tumbled out of the tent and began to crawl backwards as Pennysworth stepped out of the entrance.
“I f-figured he’d want to see what she knew about the island! I think you broke something!”
Pennysworth pulled Daryl up by his collar. “Do you not have ears? Don’t you know what he did when they took Uldar? His prisoners?” Another fist crossed over Daryl’s face, snapping his head back. “Why would the king send a full rank like him on an expedition you idiot?” he hissed. He let go of Daryl’s coat, the soldier dropped to his knees and clutched his jaw.
“Sorry, sir. What happened?”
Pennysworth motioned across the way to Marmoth, then gave a warning glance to the few onlookers who had gathered around. The small crowd dissipated quickly, leaving the two by their campfire. Marmoth passed them and ducked into the tent as Pennysworth began to speak.
“Surly’s damn lucky to be alive today. Had he been a woman, or even slightly prettier…well, you get the idea. Now go clean your equipment, boy.”
Pennysworth turned and ducked in through the tent opening as Daryl began to pick himself up off the ground, stumbling as he passed back through the small path between the tents.
Pennysworth stood in his private tent, an ornate rug covering the grass underneath. A small lantern illuminated the three figures inside. Marmoth sat on a small stool in the corner while the lady reclined on a bedroll, chewing slowly on a piece of dried meat.
“We’ve got about five more,” he said, “have you finished marking that map?”
“Yes Penny, I told you that a moment ago. Not much changes here.”
“Well I just didn’t know if they’d burned through their last home yet. Had to make sure. You sure it’s going to be tonight?”
“That slave of yours activated the runes, so it won’t be long.”
“Rower,” said Marmoth.
“Rower, slave, it’s all the same to the King.”
“He won’t be one much longer. Make note of him. It’s time to go.”
Pennysworth nodded to the two as Marmoth swung a large hooded cloak over the lady’s hides and they exited the tent, heading towards the western tree line. Pennysworth stood alone in the tent looking at his map, waiting for the inevitable sounds. They came shortly, Siegfried’s booming voice demanding his presence outside of the tent. As he calmly strode out he smirked at Siegfried fumbling with his belt.
“Where is she?”
“Escaped sir, I’ve sent Marmoth and the others to track her down.”
“Escaped? Right out from under us?”
“I’m afraid so sir, she seemed very crafty for a savage. She even managed to get an upper hand on one of the privates when we found her.”
“This is inexcusable! The King said this was an uninhabited island! If there are enemies here, other nation’s filth on what is rightfully his, it is our sworn duty to interrogate and eliminate the problem. You will pay for this, Sergeant Pennysworth. Jorg, whip him, then send the cook to my tent.”
Pennysworth turned, eying the gathering crowd. Daryl’s puzzled face popped out with him, and his jaw set as a steely gaze was exchanged. Shortly after, the doctor came to his tent to close his wounds. Pennysworth gritted his teeth each time the needle dug through his skin, but smiled at the possibilities that the future held.
“Quite a waste of good skin, this is,” the doctor commented, “but I can see this has not been the first time.”
“Keep stitching.”
Small flickers of orange light dotted the darkness below the trees after the camp had settled in for the night, only sentries and odd rower or two awake. A few stopped to stare, their boots slipping slightly in the already well worn ruts circling the tents. The well learned ones briefly made out the advancing shapes of tooth and nail. The others were lucky enough not to see creatures that clamped their jaws around their throats. It was a silent, bloody moment for all. The large pack of wolves, numbering in the hundreds began to make its way past the tents of the rowers, sniffing the ground silently as they ran, searching. The camp erupted in noise as the wolves made their way to the inner circles, tents caving in under their weight, screams bubbling from torn throats. Swords and spears and knives rattled together as men awoke and horns blared. Cries from both man and wolf called out their deaths, from either the steel tip of a pike parting the thick white fur of a neck or of a windpipe being savaged and torn free. Tents began to catch fire, filling the clearing with a thick black smoke as the fat used guard against water began to smolder and billow up into the night. Outside of the Commander’s tent, the personal guards were coated in blood and bits of fur, swinging long spears towards the circling menace. One soldier charged, screaming defiance into the snarling maw of the pack. He skewered one to the ground, twisting his lance as it whimpered and shuddered. Two more filled its spot, teeth sinking into his arms before he could withdraw, and dragged him off his feet away from the safety of his group. His legs kicked frantically as his shouting form disappeared from sight.
A long, low tone sounded in the distance, calling the attention of man and beast alike. The wolves began to back out slowly, weary and tired soldiers following them every step of the way. Groups were cornered and slaughtered, tooth and nail no longer a match for forged steel. The ones that made it past the rower’s tents turned and ran quickly back into the forest. Once all were gone or dead, the camp laid quiet save for the cries of the wounded. Most of the tents were in shambles, and the rowers were roused and kicked into helping reassemble them. Siegfried peeked out of his tent, surveying the scene. His lips were set in a snarl as he called for the doctor. He paced a short rut in front of his tent as he waited. The doctor came jostling down the pathway, white coat smudged with dirt and blood and an odd smile on his face.
“How bad is it?”
“Oh quite bad, quite bad, sir. Seems like we have lost nearly forty men, and twice that wounded.”
The commander spat on the ground and kicked the nearest corpse he could find. “Don’t waste your time counting rowers. I want to know how many good men were hurt.”
“Oh well, that’s just it you see,” the doctor said, his eyes blinking rapidly as his grin widened, “the rower’s tents are all in order, aside from the few that caught on fire.”
“So, one hundred-twenty dead or wounded? Only soldiers?”
“Correct, sir.”
“Take a few hands with you, get them patched up now.”
“There may be a slight problem with that as well, sir. Those who were wounded, well, they’re not bleeding. It’s like the wounds have been burnt. There’s really no need for me to waste any thread, aside from idle fancy really, but if you insist…” He cut off quickly. The commander was already walking back inside of his tent, followed shortly by a blonde runner. The doctor grinned widely at the guards left standing. They shifted uneasily and started to back away.
“And you’re sure this is where their den is, Pennysworth?”
“Yes Commander, all the blood and tracks led there. Good half a day’s walk to the rim of mountains to the west. Quite a wide cave.”
“Organize your unit with my guard. Get some rowers and the oil. We’re going to deal with these pests.”
“As you wish.”
The rowers struggled to carry the casks of oil towards the mouth of the cave. They glanced around nervously at each other, lowering their eyes as not to catch the Commander’s notice.
Siegfried turned and whispered commands to his guard, standing with a hand propped on his hip, a triumphant smile emblazoned on his face. Wicks were stuffed into freshly drilled holes, and fire set to each. On a silent count of three, the guards kicked the casks into the cave. They disappeared into the dark, leaving small trails of burning oil as they tumbled out of sight. An explosion followed that caused the ground to quiver, and howls began to echo from the depths of the cave.
Richard huddled next to Daryl and gave him a worried look. The long spear trembled in his hands.
“Do those rocks look kinda black to you?”
“Aye, I dunno,” Daryl answered, his eyes set on the cave.
“Almost like charcoal or the stuff we saw from the burning mountains when we enlisted.”
The company stood and watched as the darkness of the cave began to change into a bright, orange glow, the howls subsiding and soon growing silent. The Commander began to clap and laugh to himself.
“Well done gentlemen, well done. I suppose their price has been paid.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, Commander Siegfried,” a voice called out to him from above. Necks craned to look at the rocky ledge above the cave as a tall man stepped out from behind the scrubs littering the mountainside. His hair was slightly matted and gray, trailing down into his braided beard. He sat down on the ledge and let his feet dangle off of it, smiling as the large, curved axe in his hands came to rest across his knees. Siegfried’s face flushed.
“And just who are you and what are you doing on this island? I demand your answer in the name of the King!”
“My name’s not important. But yours on the other hand. Quite important to have reached so far. I must say it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, if only for this short little while.”
“So you know my name, do you? What are you then, an Uldar rebel? Who are your people? I can’t quite place your accent.”
“That’s because you’re looking for one, dearest Commander. All I can say, as not to spoil our fun, is that you should probably start running.”
With that he brought a horn to his lips and blew a long, low tone. Siegfried began shouting at his guard, ordering them to bring the man down from the rocks. The men began to advance, climbing back over the boulders towards the mouth of the cave. The glow that it held within began to grow brighter and brighter, changing from orange to a flickering blue. A lone wolf emerged from the cave, its white fur shining as small flickers of blue danced down its back and tail. It began to walk towards the advancing soldiers. Its paws began to sink into the rocks with small puffs of yellow smoke as it swayed towards them, tongue lolling out to the side. It was soon followed by many more, the heat from their gathering mass radiating down to the group at the base of the rocks which had begun to smoke. The howls began again, hot air visibly flowing up and out of their mouths. Siegfried had barely choked out an order for retreat before he realized his troops had already taken the initiative. As they entered the forest again they heard the same long, low note vibrate the trees around them.
“Get in the damn boat and get me back to the Grace now!”
“But Commander, shouldn’t we load your thin-”
“I said row!”
The camp began to wilt as tents were dismantled at the sight of the Commander tearing through the pathways and trying to push a rowboat into the bay by himself. They had no orders, but did realize when the figure of power is crying and trying to get off the island, it would be best to do the same. Pennysworth and Marmoth walked around their tent, halfheartedly dismantling it as they watched the Commander’s boat speed towards the opening of the bay. Half of the other boats were loaded when the first sound of timber snapping echoed off of the water and up into the rock walls. Every eye trained on the water as large, green and black limbs flew up around the Commander’s boat like great pythons. They pummeled down onto the rowers, shattering the deck and flinging corpses out into the water. Screams erupted and resounded up to the shoreline. The Commander stood on the remains of the deck, sword drawn and slashing at the assailing tendrils. The other boats had stopped being loaded. The water around the shattered boat began to bubble and the tendrils sunk back into the deep, green water. Broken bodies of rowers began to disappear underneath the waves in small clouds of blood, leaving only the Commander standing on a raft of battered wood, sword drawn, coat ragged and soaked.
Daryl and Richard stood in the sand, their tent and rucksacks bundled in their arms, jaws slack and eyes wide. Cries from the man on the raft reached the shore, begging for help. Soldiers and rowers alike merely stood and stared. There was nothing to do but wait.
