Gase woke up lying on his side with the soft light of dawn illuminating the sky. He sat up slowly, his right arm feeling numb. He clenched his fist a couple of times, at least he tried to, as the lingering weakness of sleep denied any real strength to his fingers.

Drawing in the crisp morning air, he looked around as the sensation of needles prickling his arm started. Luckily they were in the middle of a warm spell, or sleeping on the riverbank in only a leather shirt and trousers would probably not have ended well for him or the others. Not that he had much of a choice.

A few of the other people were already awake. He could see a few guards patrolling the edges of the camp, keeping an eye out for anything looking for an easy meal. On the far side of the camp, he spotted a caravan he had not noticed yesterday, though looking at it now, he wondered how he had missed it.

Its sides were covered in symbols that swirled and merged in some kind of ordered chaos. On the coach seat of the caravan, he saw a young woman with her nose buried in a hefty tome. He couldn’t make out the details from this distance, but he was sure she was the assistant of the mage that had brought him here.

So they made it.

Gase wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He was glad they were still alive, not to mention, the mage might be able to help him with his memories. On top of that, the man had made it clear that he wanted to see him again.

But at the same time, he was leery of actually pursuing that course. The man had obviously taken great pride in the success of his spell. A spell that he did not mind practising on others to develop, even if it killed them. A spell that had failed.

Gase put the thoughts of the mage from his mind and spent the next while simply watching the camp slowly come to life as people woke up. He saw fires being lit and small groups of hunters heading out, armed with bows and spears.

How long would it be before they started walking again? He looked over at Hadi and Enmon. They were still sleeping. For a moment, he thought about waking them and seeing if they could find something to eat in the surrounding forest. Was it too much to hope for a ripe patch of berries?

Probably.

Gase sighed and stood up, heeding the call of nature. He picked up the sword lying next to him and made for the edge of the camp. Who knew, maybe he would get lucky and stumble over some mushrooms?

He snorted at the thought, making his way past the perimeter of the camp and into the forest. It was not easy going as he stepped over roots and around bushes, but eventually, he managed to put a few trees between him and the camp. Unfortunately, nothing he passed seemed remotely edible.

Gase quickly relieved himself. Constantly having to look over his shoulder for any sign of danger while taking a shit made for a very uncomfortable experience. After he had done what he needed, he began walking back.

He stopped as the camp came into sight between the trees. He looked back over his shoulder into the forest. The birds seemed to have awoken with the morning as their songs rang out high in the branches overhead. The sounds mixed with that of the river running nearby.

For a moment, he almost forgot about the beasts. Then the image of the horde flashed through his mind. His grip tightened around the hilt of the sword.

He looked down at his hand as he squeezed the grip of the sword. It felt… reassuring. He had had the weapon for barely more than a day, and already the habit was building.

On a whim, he held the sword in front of him in a simple stance with his feet spread, then raised the sword up before slashing down.

Horrible.

He couldn’t help but grimace. The blow felt awkward. Weak. He raised the sword again and thought for a moment. Tentatively, he moved his right leg further back and stepped forward as he brought down the sword. Better. Still not right though.

He tried again with his legs further apart. Worse. He repeated the overhead slash a few more times, sometimes moving his hands a bit, other times his feet or posture. His thin and sinewy arms, gained from living on the streets started burning as he continued, unused to the sustained exercise. But even so, he could feel he was getting closer to… something.

It was strange. Whenever he threw a cut, he felt a sense of, almost, disappointment. He felt his frustration rise as continued. He didn’t know what but he could tell he was doing something wrong. He kept making subtle changes the feeling sometimes lessening and sometimes worsening.

His breath grew ragged, and he stopped once it became clear that his movements were getting sloppier. Gase blinked as he noticed his shirt sticking to him, wet with sweat. He closed his eyes and forced himself to take deep breaths.

A soft chuckle bubbled up from his throat. He opened his eyes and looked down at the sword. He had thought previously that some of the knowledge of his old life, other than the odd memory, might still be with him. Now he was sure of it. Though, perhaps knowledge was the wrong term for it. It was more like an… instinctive sense. Either way, it was the best news he had in a while.

He looked around, happy to note that he hadn’t been here long. The morning was still just finding its feet. He turned around and was just nearing the camp when a shout reached his ears.

“You there! Stop!”

Gase paused and looked to the side to see one of the black-armoured knights walking his way.

“Where did you come from?” The man questioned, a hand resting on his sword as he watched Gase with suspicion.

Gase frowned and pointed over his shoulder with a thumb. “If you must know, I went to take a shit. Why?”

“Rules of camp. If you want to relieve yourself you have to go in groups of at least two,” the man said with distaste.

“You go in groups?” Gase asked incredulously. Seeing the man’s eyes narrow, he quickly continued. “I didn’t know. I just arrived here last night with the new group.”

Why would they go in groups?

“Night!” The Blackguard swore and rubbed his temple. “I can already feel the headache coming on form having to travel with you lot,” – He sighed. – “Just get back, and don’t wander- “

The man stopped as his gaze landed on the sword Gase carried.

“Where did you get that?” The man asked, his voice suddenly dropping low. The exasperation that was there a moment ago had disappeared completely. In its place, there was a hint of steel as his hand strayed to his scabbard. “That’s one of ours.”

Gase felt his heart begin to speed up. What could he do? Give the sword back say he was returning it? A part of him baulked against the idea. He doubted the man would believe him anyway. In fact, he already seemed on the verge of attacking.

Gase’s mind raced. His palms felt sweaty as he forced his eyes to stay on the man. Looking around might actually give the knight the excuse he seemed to be searching for.

He had his sword in his hand, and the knight’s was still sheathed. But the knight was also armoured in plate and, in all likelihood, far better with that sword than he was. He dismissed the half-formed idea, taking the man on in a straight-up fight would be foolish.

Could he use the man’s advantages against him? The armour would slow him down some, if Gase could get around him, he could probably make it to the camp before the knight could. Surely the man wouldn’t attack him in front of others?

Gase mentally readied himself as he opened his mouth to speak. “I-“

“Is it?” A familiar voice interrupted.

Both he and the knight spun towards the sound to see a man leaning against a tree a just few feet away. How neither of them had heard him approach was beyond Gase.

Holin.

Gase recalled the name of the beastblighted hunter with a bit of apprehension.

The man relaxed against the tree, his eyes focused on the small knife he was fiddling with. An easy-going smile stretched across his face as he looked up, a smile that didn’t seem to reach his eyes. His focus centred on the knight, causing the man to take a step backwards as his red eyes made themselves known.

“Doesn’t look like one of your swords to me,” Holin continued. “Must be a trick of the light.”

The Blackguard’s eyes darted around for support but found no one. Hesitantly he started to repeat himself.

“Camp rules-“

“Require people to go out in groups, yes? Does the two of us not count as a group?”

“You weren’t here-“

“Now how would you know that? You didn’t seem to notice me earlier,” The smile on face stretched a bit further. He twirled the knife between his fingers, causing the knight’s face to drain of colour.

Holin waved the knife in a shooing gesture. The Blackguard hesitated for only a moment longer before turning and retreating at a fast pace.

“…Thank you,” Gase said after a moment, though his sense of danger had barely lessened. He was at least reasonably sure he could escape the guard. Getting away from the hunter however… “I didn’t know they had such rules.”

“Hmm?”

Holin turned his attention towards him. He pointed towards the sword Gase held and motioned for him to bring it over.

Gase hesitated for a moment. The man did just help him out. Didn’t he? He slowly walked forward and took the blade of the sword, holding out the hilt. The man took the sword and held it out in front of him, examining it.

“It’s quite common actually,” he said, “the rule that is. It’s a preventative measure against supplanters, creatures that steal a person’s form and takes their place. They rarely travel in groups though, hence the rule. Of course, the measure is far from perfect, but its obvious flaws haven’t made it any less popular.”

Holin stepped away from the tree, rolled his wrist to get a feel for the blade, then launched into a series of lightning-fast cuts and thrusts. Gase lost himself in the display. The difference between what he saw now and the practice he had done earlier was night and day. The blade even sounded different as it parted the air. Each cut was accompanied by a sharp whistle, a far cry from the whooshing sounds of his own strikes.

“The point of balance is a bit too close to the guard for my liking,” Holin said as he stopped. “Takes away a bit on the cut. Does make the blade more agile though which I suppose is good for a bastard sword. A good blade.”

“Wait,” Gase said as his mind caught up with the hunter’s earlier statement. “There are actually beasts that can take human form?”

“They’re not actually beasts, but yes, they do exist. What did you think those fancy rune arrays on city gates were for? Certainly not for some citylord’s vanity. Although… those of Theer did seem quite a bit larger than others.”

“So now we have to worry about monsters posing as people,” Gase said and dragged a hand across his face. Just when he thought the creatures were bad enough, they somehow seemed to get worse. “Wonderful.”

Holin snorted. “You have more important things to worry about, I’d wager.”

“The horde?” Gase asked.

“No,” Holin said, shaking his head. “Given the losses they had and the abundance of ‘food’ in the city, it’ll take a while for the horde to reform. Another half-cycle if we’re lucky.

No, believe it or not, the existence of the horde is actually what gave you a chance to escape. The reason there have been no attacks so far is that all the beasts in the surroundings joined the horde. That’ll change in a few days when we exit the pull.”

Gase wasn’t sure what the man meant by the pull, but if what he said was true…

He felt chill on his back. Looking at the hunter, he asked the question that had been gnawing at his mind. “Can we make it to Lok?”

The man chuckled. “Avoiding the beasts? No. Depending on how far the pull reaches, we might get halfway before we start coming across beasts again.”

The man’s casual tone threw him off, and he looked blankly at the hunter. Something must have shown on his face. For a moment, Gase could have sworn he saw a look of pity enter the man’s eyes. Pity and something else. Disappointment maybe?

“You think Lok will end your trouble?” Holin asked mockingly. “Cities have limited space. Only those who have something to offer get space behind the walls. You should know that. That city that just fell was similar in that regard. Most are, in fact.”

Gase did know. Y’rid had lived it most of his life. He nodded.

“Well,” Holin continued. “Then know that Lok is much older, and age has always been a good an indicator of a city’s safety. Generations upon generations have spent time improving that cesspool, and there are always more people looking to find their way in.” – He a hand towards the camp – “You think a city like that has room for a couple thousand more people?”

Gase felt his stomach sink. He remembered Y’rid being thrown out of Riversedge’s walls more than once. Beggars and homeless didn’t pay taxes to support the walls, hunters and guards that kept them safe. They didn’t offer anything to a city at all, so why should the city offer anything to them.

“So, they’ll just turn these people away once we get there?”

“Not at first,” Holin said with a wry smile, and he stepped closer. “They’ll let them in, maybe even relax the guard for a day or two. Then they’ll come knocking. The lucky ones would be those who can find lodgings at one of the inns, they’ll have as long as their coin lasts to prove their worth. The ones on the street will have to offer bribes to passing guards to be overlooked, slowly being bled dry.

In the end, a few might even make it. The nobles, of course, and the wealthier families and merchants. Maybe even a few enterprising individuals, clawing their way to the top through strength of will, and all that shit. But by the end of the dozen days, I can assure you, most of these people will have found their way into the slums outside of the city.”

“If the horde decides to swing that way, they’ll die there. If not, they’ll join the rest of Lok’s parasites.” Holin continued, his smile dropping away as all emotion faded from expression. “Living off of scraps and taking any and all jobs until, eventually, the previous citylord of Riversedge or some other noble decides to make a play for the fallen city. But to do that they’ll need a lot of bodies to drive out any beasts in the area and protect the city while it is secured. A lot cheaper to hire ten slum dwellers than one hunter or mercenary, more effective too.

So, a few cycles from now most of these people will either be dead or find themselves facing down some beast with nothing but a spear in their hands and hopelessness in the gut. All for the chance of gaining, a small piece of what was once theirs in the first place.”

Silence fell between them as Holin’s words faded away. Gase swallowed his immediate retort. The certainty with which the man spoke gave him pause. Throughout, the man watched him as if looking for something. For what, Gase did not know.

“So that’s it?” Gase asked. “Most of us will die on the road, and those that won’t get fucked over later?”

The hunter thrust the sword forward, pressing it against Gase’s chest.

“My advice would be to get as familiar with this as you can,” His words were low, and he held Gase’s eyes for a moment, the red orbs seeming to drill into him. Then he suddenly shrugged and stepped away, the easy-going smile back on his face. “Or sell it. A nice, steel sword like that? It would fetch a fine price.”

The man turned around and started walking away while whistling a tune.

“Wait!” Gase called out after him.

The man stopped and looked over his shoulder.

“You said I could make a good swordsman, back when we met?”

“Pretty sure I said passible.”

“Show me how.”

The man blinked and tilted his head to the side.

“Show me how,” Gase repeated.

“You want me to train you?” The man asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

Silence reigned for a moment before the man burst out laughing. His laughter grew until be doubled over clutching his stomach.

Gase waited for the man to calm down. He slowly grew annoyed as Holin only seemed to laugh harder. “You said I could be passible with training.”

“I didn’t mean training from me,” Holin said between breaths.

“Why not? Do you have anything better to do?”

“I’m sure I can find something.”

“You and the others saved a lot of people from Riversedge. Why do so if you’re just going to leave us to die?”

The man slowly straightened and wiped a tear from his eye. “We simply gave you a chance. The Order of Thal is an order of hunters. We kill beasts. Simple.”

“And that’s what I want to learn,” Gase said.

“Everyone wants to be able to kill beasts. Few actually want to face them.”

“I do.”

Holin looked at him for a moment before he grinned. “Well, at least you’ve got some spine. Sure, why not? We’ll see how long that carries you.”

The man turned and left with a chuckle.

Gase watched until the man disappeared between the trees then let out a breath. The tension drained from his shoulders even as a weight sank into the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t help but wonder what he just got himself into.

He thought of the horde back at Riversedge, of the scene of Hadi shaking his father’s corpse. Finally, his thoughts turned to the little girl and the raven-haired Lae from his memories.

I won’t die here.

He thought. Not without a fight.

Holin walked through the forest thinking of the young man he just agreed to train. He had found the man swinging his sword past the perimeter of the camp. His form was terrible. But he improved quickly. Scarily quickly.

During his talk with the man, he had studied him closely. Seeing if he could pinpoint that sense of danger he had felt when he first saw him. But to no avail.

If Holin were someone else, he might have discarded the feeling from his mind. But he had long since lost count of how many times his instincts had saved him. He wasn’t about to start doubting them now.

Still, to think the man would actually ask for training from one of the so-called ‘beastblighted’. In the north people looked upon the Order of Thal with reverence, but here? He chuckled. The man reminded him of himself.

The soft scurrying of some small animal reached his ears. He tilted his head. Four limbs sounding in rhythm. Tiny claws striking bark.

He smiled and drew a throwing knife from his belt, flipped it over and caught the tip.

It seemed breakfast decided to come to him.