They passed through a southern exit to the wall and stuck to the woods as they moved along the road. For a long time, neither of them said anything at all. Faynel’s violet eyes were puffy, and she moved sluggishly in a way Mason hadn’t suspected was in her nature, but they had made it out alive.

And it seemed like they weren’t the only ones. Scouting out the road revealed fairly obvious indicators of what was basically a mass exodus. There were signs of fighting close to the city, but they didn’t extend far, so whoever made it a ways down the road was probably safe. Plenty of people had made it to the road, too, and it looked worn in a way that the Roving Bands and supply groups had never been able to emulate.

It was a small solace, but it made it easier to keep moving through their fatigue. Perhaps in time they’d grow so used to only short bursts of rest that neither would need a full night’s sleep, but at the moment, they could hardly ask for more.

Their steps continued to slow further as they began to feel safer, and inevitably they warred with indecision. The mass of the survivors couldn’t be more than a few hours ahead of them, and moving in such a large group was bound to slow them down. Also, Valree’s band might not be that far behind, and another run in with them was sure to be deadly.

But weariness often made the sound decision a hard one. They kept moving, but slower with time, until they were sitting and taking breaks almost more often than they were moving.

Finally, Mason had enough. “We’ve got to stop and get some real rest. It’s warm out and the area should be safe, let’s just set up camp.”

Faynel looked for all the life of her like she wanted to protest. Likely she didn’t even know why she was against it, only that stopping seemed against her nature and she wanted to be consistent if she was too tired to be wise. But she took a long look at Mason, and a long look back at the road behind them, and quietly nodded.

Of course, setting up camp tended to include something like a tent, a fire, possibly a pot or stove. All they had were some traveller’s blankets and preserved food, so they found a copse of trees that was mostly concealed, spent some mana to ward them from sight, and plopped down on the ground together under the blankets. They leaned against each other and the wide bough of a tree, long over the pretense of being uncomfortable with one another, and chewed cheerlessly at their food.

“How far do you think we’ve come? How much further to the Biord?”

“Several hours? And a few days,” Faynel replied in a dry tone.

“Are you okay? I mean, of course not, but- Are you?”

With a dispirited look, she rolled her eyes at him. “I’m alright, Mason. I just… It feels like when we first arrived here, you know? And Valree. How could she think that this was a time for infighting? Don’t we have enough enemies? Can’t we put our hate aside while literally standing in the ruins of our home?”

“Well, I don’t want to be the one to defend someone who wanted to murder me in cold blood, but I can’t really blame her. I showed up, broke a bunch of laws, stirred the shit, and then things went to hell. She already didn’t like me, but I just made such an easy target. Grief is a bitch.”

Faynel shook her head and began to laugh quietly, leaning her head on Mason’s shoulder. “I get it but I don’t. But it’s not about that, not really. It’s about this world. How many goblins have I killed in the past few days? How many Corrosi? I wanted to be a dancer when I was a kid. I wanted to be a hero when I came here…”

“But you feel like a killer, instead.” Mason pursed his lips and looked to the dark sky above.

She looked like she wanted to be outraged, but she slumped further down and nodded. “Yeah.”

“I get it. I do. I’m more shocked that I don’t feel guilty about the shit I’ve done here but I just don’t. Maybe I just haven’t had time. I almost envy you that good cry you had earlier.”

“I don’t either.”

“What?” He looked at her, and she seemed small. She was methodical on the battlefield, confident in front of strangers, a coward in front of her grandmother- but in her sadness she just seemed shrunken.

“I don’t feel guilty. Source, I even enjoy it. You think I didn’t see a bit of myself in you when you got all possessed by your staff? You fought three Corrosi on your own and made it look effortless. I was jealous, and worse I was impressed.”

Mason slipped his arm into hers, “It was pretty awesome.”

She ripped her arm out of his and pushed him, but she was smiling. “I should have let Valree take your head. I’d have a whole band to protect me right now instead of one scrawny human. I could actually get some sleep.”

Laughing now, he shrugged. “I would have gotten out of it somehow. I’m like a cockroach you know. Can’t be killed?”

She squinted at him, “Cockroach?”

“One of the closest things my world had to monsters. Ate trash, bred like crazy, and could survive just about anything somehow. They’re a kind of bug with armor plating.”

It was her turn to shiver, “Sounds awful. I hope your humans don’t bring those with you to The Trials.”

~~

They didn’t rest for long. Neither of them wanted to sleep without any way to know whether there were enemies nearby, and they also couldn’t stand the thought of falling further behind the survivors. At the least, they weren’t stumbling as they walked any longer, but their pace was barely quicker than it was, and paled compared to how Faynel moved when she was at her best.

When the two came into sight of the entrance to the hive, they stalled behind the tree line. A figure stood on top of the hill, rotating slowly as it surveyed the area. Mason couldn’t make out any details that would help him figure out what he was seeing, but Faynel’s heightened Mana Sight was enough for her.

She swore and stepped out, calling, “Eldran, what could you possibly be doing up there? Don’t you have any idea what you’re standing on?”

The figure stopped and focused back on her, and smiled broadly. “Lady Faynel! What a magnificent pleasure. Here I was told my only company would be this mound of corpses, but instead I’m treated to your splendid figure. You even seem whole and unmarred!”

Mason could see the hesitation in Faynel as she moved toward him. She gave every impression of a person walking into their third consecutive double-shift while they were behind on rent. Mason simply followed agreeably.

Once they got closer to the base of the hill, Faynel called back up, “You didn’t answer my question, Eldran. And would you cut the pleasantries? We’re not friends.”

“Your grandmother and my grandfather were definitely friends. That makes us a dynasty of sorts, from my perspective. Please, my dear, there’s no need for bad blood.”

“There’s no dynasty and no bad blood. I just can’t stand you and I don’t have the energy to pretend I can.” Faynel hardly looked at him as she talked, but as she got close, she began to climb the hill.

“Then why didn’t you continue sneaking among the trees? You were so discreet I would surely have had to let you go by. Of course, the pest with you would have to die.” Eldran vanished and suddenly appeared just above Mason, and in half a heartbeat the human felt something tight and magical wrap around one of his wrists and jerk it.

Having lost his grip on the handhold, Mason began to slip against the surface of the hill, but he kicked out at it and pulled against the whip to drag himself up. He summited gracelessly at Eldran’s feet, but scrambled and rolled past him to gain a footing. It was only when he drew his blade that he realized his wrist was still bound by the whip, and both Faynel and Eldran watched him impassively.

Apparently defeated, Mason sighed, “Are we fighting or…?”

Faynel shook her head, but Eldran just turned a smug grin her way, “Your pet speaks, but he doesn’t seem to know his place. Would you believe a great many people are saying he led the attack on New Marra? Of course, one look at him would be enough for anyone with an ounce of pride to disregard him as a threat, but you cannot expect much from the simple folk.”

“Man, people like you make it really hard not to assume Marrans are just a hateful race. Will you let go of me if we’re not going to fight?”

Eldran’s smile only grew more malicious. He snapped the whip and Mason’s wrist jerked to the sky so hard he thought his shoulder would dislocate. Then the glowing golden whip coiled in the air in front of Eldran, spiraling on itself in a way that would have been impossible with a physical device. Mason rolled his eyes at the display.

Everything about this new Marran screamed aristocrat in a way that felt painfully cliche. While most of the Marrans he met wore armour or simple cloth and leather, his clothing was white and gold with an expensive-looking trim and way too many details for the buttons and pockets to be practical. But for all that and the cruel look on his face, he didn’t seem truly hostile.

That, interestingly, was something Mason had just then discovered he could identify accurately. The thugs on the streets were clearly out for blood. Valree blamed him for everything wrong in the world and established a vendetta for it. This pompous princely figure made no overtures of aggression even as he used his whip against Mason, and that juxtaposition spoke volumes.

Eldran had caught Mason in his whip without even noticeably moving at all. If it came to violence, perhaps even Torysen would struggle to outmatch him, and so he had no need for intimidation or aggression. If he decided Mason was going to fall, Mason would fall. At least, that was what his demeanor said. Mason had other ideas of how the fight might turn out.

“I’d heard that you’d been fraternizing with the human, Faynel, but I thought, ‘No way, she’d never do something so foolish.’ Then I heard that even the great Lady Sorynel was offering him her teachings, and I knew I wanted to meet him myself to see what the fuss was about.” Eldran looked Mason up and down, and began walking slowly around him. All the while his whip zipped and danced through the air, licking close to Mason but never quite touching him. “I wouldn’t let him polish my boots. They’re a very dirty people, aren’t they?”

“I see you’re as charming as ever, Eldran. His name is Mason, and if you harm him, I will break your wrists and string you up for the Corrosi.”

Eldran rolled his eyes as Mason scowled at him, and when the two locked stares, Mason reconsidered his impression that the aristocrat lacked aggression.

“Then why are you here, my good Lady? If it wasn’t for my company, and it wasn’t so that I could kill your pest for you, what pleasure can I deliver to your lovely hands?” He stopped his pacing then, and walked up to Faynel. He had a good few inches on her, but the closer they got, the more similar they looked. It was something in their narrow faces. Perhaps they were cousins.

“We got trapped underground during the battle and lost contact with anyone with sense. I need information. Do we know what led the attack? How many survived? How far ahead are the rest of the survivors?” Faynel stepped up to Eldran as she spoke, and if he hid his aggression well, she wore it on her sleeve. Even with her weapon sheathed, she seemed a heartbeat away from striking him.

Eldran just waved a hand in the air and put in a great deal of effort to look nonchalant. “I’m not a scout, my Lady. I volunteered to stay back this far because the rest of the sorry peasants were too afraid a big bad goblin would club them in the face, and someone needed to point the stragglers in the right direction. They’re that way, for that matter,” he pointed vaguely down the path, “And perhaps a half-day ahead? I doubt even that much. Apparently despite all their hurry to get out of the city, walking at more than a snail’s pace was just too much to ask.”

Faynel’s eyes narrowed and she looked ready to scream, “Do you take nothing seriously?”

“I take you seriously, my Lady.”

“Faynel do you want-” Mason started, but before he had taken two steps toward Eldran a whip lashed down at his feet.

Mason dodged the attack and immediately drew his sword, but Faynel shouted for him to stop. “We’ve got bigger issues that to fight amongst ourselves. Mason, let’s go. Eldran can enjoy his little hill by his lonesome.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, my Lady,” Eldran said as he grabbed one of Faynel’s wrists. “If you’re absolutely certain you don’t want me to kill the human for you, then I insist that I escort you to the caravan. It would not be honorable to leave you alone with him-”

“-What do you know of honor-”

“-and it’s fairly likely he’ll be attacked on sight before and when he encounters any of our people. Again, he is not popular.”

Faynel threw Mason a look, and he just shook his head and shrugged saying, “Maybe it’s a bad idea for me to go at all, Faynel. I can split off and try to find my old campsite, and you can regroup with Torysen and the band to figure out our next steps.”

“Mason you are not leaving my side and you absolutely are not going to be bullied by my idiot people.”

“Now you sound like me, my Lady,” Eldran chimed in cheerily.

“Anyways, the Biord still have need of you. Or did you forget that most of their city is still sealed off? You can remember that too, Eldran. If Mason gets injured, none of us will have anywhere to go,” Faynel jerked her wrist free of his grip, and walked close to Mason, looking off the hill and down the path they were to follow.

“You form strange alliances, Lady Faynel. First you join that brutish Torysen, now you befriend this human. Nevertheless, a gentleman does not go back on his word. I will escort you both safely to our new home, and all I ask is for your affection in return,” he said with a wink.

“Fuck off.”