CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

*~~~**~~~*

Wicket

*~~~**~~~*

23rd of Decepter, 935 PC

“Ya ain’t gotta do this, Cammie,” Wicket said. He and Camila Sampson were standing at the back of a cart full of armor and shields.

“Of course I don’t have to do it, but wouldn’t you feel much better in chainmail than that dismal leather vest you’re wearing?”

He ran his hands down the brown vest of armor he’d been wearing for over a year. He could picture the hole over his shoulder blade from where the Hound had shot him in Blue Lakes. She has a point.

“I reckon I would, but don’t ya think ya should save your magic for when we really need it?”

She turned to him. “It’s my magic, Wicket, and I deem new armor for all of us quite necessary.” She gave him something that resembled a smile but it didn’t make him feel much like a smile should have made him feel. Just like her father.

Camila picked up a metal shield with three points standing sharp at the tops of two curvatures. The bottom curved to a single point. He could see the strain in her muscles as she handed it to him. Understandably so, it was hefty, sturdy. Made of wood and bronze. This has gotta cost more than I’ve had on me in years. She wasn’t done there though. She tossed him some glistening chainmail and chausses for his legs.

“Cammie.” He tilted his head.

“Move along, Wicket.” She looked over his shoulder at Lace Patterson, the thick Physicalist she was growing fond of. She smiled at him and beckoned him to her.

Wicket walked away with a mixture of emotions. He couldn’t deny the new armor was the nicest he’d ever have, but his voice was anything but authoritative. She walked all over me. But she was just trying to do somethin’ nice for everyone. She’ll listen when it matters. Hopefully. He had hoped as they traveled along the Serellian Trade Route his role as the leader of the group would slowly become more comfortable and easier but it was no less daunting than when he had been sitting in Alaric’s room with him and King.

The merchant approached Camila at the back of the wagon, leaving his guards in a group by the horses. Big men they were, but nothing the Purists couldn’t handle if it came down to it he reckoned.

“Sure ya got enough money for all this?” the merchant asked.

If Camila was offended, which he was sure she was, she didn’t show it. “More than enough, good sir.”

“If you’re sure.” He shuffled some of the shields around looking for one that might fit Ashe Patterson, the key to their success.

Wicket had not yet spent any time with the blonde Naturalist but from what he had gathered to this point, the young man was anything but a fighter. Wonder if he even understands how a shield works. He had heard Ashe throw around the word pacifist. He hadn’t a clue what it meant until Lace explained that his brother refused to kill anyone for any reason. All it really meant to Wicket was that Ashe was going to be making his job harder.

He watched as Camila sat her backpack on the edge of the cart. It hit with a thud, the Leos jingled inside like the bag was full of instruments. What life would be like if I could just make counterfeit Leos with my magic. Instead, I got me some charm that I ain’t even fond of.

“This enough?” she asked.

The merchant strolled around the end of the cart with his curiosity piqued. He took a single glance into the backpack, looked at Camila, and nodded.

“Wonderful. All I need is a bag to replace my own.”

*~~~**~~~*

Wicket crouched behind a tree across an old dirt trail from an abandoned roadside inn. Which in truth, was probably a kinder description of the inn than it deserved. But the inn looked like a palace after hours of riding east on a dusty trail so forgotten none of them knew its name. Not even Yormir, the finest tracker in the empire as he referred to himself. However, as a good leader should, Wicket had not allowed them to wander straight into the building. If that ain’t the prettiest sight I’ve laid eyes on I dunno what is but there ain’t no sense in coming all this way just to die in an ambush before I ever get to wear my new gear. Tall trees stood in the inn’s backdrop, tucked nice and close. Plenty close enough to allow Lotus or Hounds or even just some ambitious scoundrels to sneak up on them. But this was the place Narah had set as their first stop on their way to Northcrest, and if Alaric trusted the woman so dearly, he reckoned he should too.

“The perfect end to a perfect day,” Ashe Patterson whispered from his place behind the tree next to Wicket. The walk had revealed that the young man was as optimistic as he was strange looking. Both he and his brother, Lace, had tan skin, but from there Ashe became an oddity. There were streaks of pastel colors scattered haphazardly around his body, seemingly baked into his skin. Soft yellow on his cheeks, blue and green on his hands and forearms. A multitude of colors covered his legs. He looked like a walking canvas.

“You weren’t walkin’ with us then,” Yormir said, his voice raspy. Wicket knew his long-time friend wasn’t exactly old, but crouching beside the fit blonde, he looked like a stiff, overweight old man. That was no truer anywhere than in the man’s wincing face. A black beard reached the top of his growing stomach and two small braids hung on either side that had been tied in red string. Beneath the bear was a scar across his neck from where an old nemesis had tried to slit his throat. According to Yormir the pathetic twat had not buried the blade deep enough to end him. To Wicket, any blade across the neck seemed deadly enough but there the man was, alive and well. Scared shitless of letting anyone get behind him, but definitely alive.

“Sure I was. You were delightful company.” Ashe looked at Wicket with an infectious smile. “What’s the plan, Captain Wicket?”

Wicket cringed at the words. I ain’t your captain, kid.

“Aye, what’s the plan captain?” Wicket sneered at him from over Ashe’s shoulder. His wolf, Snowflake, stood by him proudly, her tongue hanging, drool dripping.

Suddenly, he realized he hadn’t actually considered what they were going to do once they got in the coverage of the trees. What would Elgar have us do? Reckon Shade and Diedro would be sent in first. Garth if he was with us. Those boys can spot damn near any threat and kill whatever it is. Yormir can spot ‘em with his nose. Lace can kill ‘em with his… well… his sword I reckon. Lords know they ain’t gonna be killin’ Lace either. Sounds like a plan.

“Lace and Yormir will go in first. Yormir, smell it out first.” He spun around on the balls of his feet, still crouching. “Lace. Kill anything that looks dangerous.”

Lace nodded. The brown-haired man was well over six feet tall and looked like a Physicalist should; legs that stretched the straps of his boots, arms fit for wielding the bastard sword on his hip, and his new chain mail revealed no bulge of his belly like Wicket’s and Yormir’s. The shield Camila had bought him was strapped to his back and laid atop a brown fur that fell past his knees.

What would me and Elgar me doin? Bows I reckon. “Camila and me will keep eyes on ya from here.” He looked at the gorgeous redhead. “Bows out darlin’.” She nodded and pulled the bow from her back. The limbs were dark green with ornamental swirls of gold, the grip was a crimson red. Her quiver matched beautifully.

“What do I do, captain?” Ashe asked.

“Still got the blade I gave ya?”

“Right here.” Ashe patted his waist then looked at Wicket with a sudden surge of panic. “Uh oh.” He dropped from his crouching position to his knees and patted the other side of his belt. Relief washed over him. “There it is.”

“And what did I tell ya?” Wicket asked.

“Those who watch, don’t watch for long.” He tapped his temple with his pointer finger and grinned. It was a saying Wicket’s mother used to say to him while she trained him to defend himself as a child. Look at you, passing on knowledge.

“Right. So get your dagger out.”

“Of course.” He pulled the dagger from his belt and dropped it in the dirt. Wicket shook his head. Ain’t gonna need it anyway, is he?

Yormir was standing now, approaching Wicket. “Let’s get this over with, captain. Come on kid.” His lips barely visible beneath his thick facial hair. Lace stood and approached them. Yormir made sure to let the younger man go ahead of him. He tipped his head back and sniffed the air before following Lace. He drew his crossbow as he walked. Snowflake followed.

Camila swung out wide to get a different angle on the building. Ashe stuck close to Wicket’s side, which was more burdensome than reassuring, but where else was the pacifist to go? Camila dropped to a knee right after Wicket. They both scanned the inn as the two men walked down the stone path. Even as empty and abandoned as the inn appeared, broken windows, disheveled shingles, a sign that’s paint had faded years before, Wicket still couldn’t help but expect something terrible to pounce from within. Paranoia was nothing new. He had been running from Iris for years now, watching over his shoulder nervously, keeping a wall between him and strangers.

He found himself wrapped up in his concern as Lace and Yormir approached the door of the inn. I reckon Lace is the real leader of this group. Hand the reins over now so no one dies. He shook his head. No. I can do this.

When the men arrived at the front door Yormir began sniffing the air like a wild animal. His head moved left and right as his magical senses tried to spot any sign of life inside the building. Snowflake mimicked his movement. The look Yormir gave Wicket when he was done sniffing told him all he needed to know. Lords be, what’s in there? He asked, but he had a strong feeling he knew.

Untrained with weapons but apparently quite perceptive, Ashe whispered, “Lotus?”

“Could be, but I think it might be somethin’ worse.” He gave Yormir and Lace the nod to go ahead into the inn.

“What could be worse?”

Wicket didn’t answer. He didn’t want to say it out loud.

It looked as though the door may fall off its hinges as Lace pushed it open gently. A haunting groan crept into the dark inn. Lace’s bastard sword was drawn and ready to strike as he stepped into the shadows. Yormir and Snowflake followed, each still sniffing their surroundings.

*~~~**~~~*

Wicket had scowled at the smell of the inn when he entered but he nearly gagged when he walked into the guest room Wicket and Lace were standing in. The smell confirmed what he had assumed outside.

“Looks like we stumbled on a harvesthouse,” Yormir said as he turned to Wicket.

Alchemy instruments were strewn all over the floor, sitting on the stand, laying on the bed. He had seen plenty of them before. Many were intact, some were shattered. She was here and something pissed her off.

The rank smell was coming from the bed. A body lay there, dead and decomposing. Its chest ripped open, the rotten organs and flesh blackened and hideous. He turned his head and looked at the others as he finally broke down and covered his nose.

“Iris,” Wicket said. “Do ya recognize this one?”

“Don’t think so,” Yormir said. “Kind of hard to tell. Been dead for a while.” Snowflake was sniffing the corpse.

“They took her magic,” Lace whispered, clearly shocked by what they were looking at.

“First time seeing a harvest?” Yormir asked. Lace nodded. “Ain’t a pretty sight.”

“How do they do it?” Lace asked.

“Not sure, nobody’s really sure,” Wicket replied. He looked at Yormir. “Did ya look in the other rooms?”

“Not yet.”

Suddenly, there was a commotion in the hallway, then a shriek of pain and a loud thud. Lace was first out of the room, followed closely by Wicket, when he stopped abruptly in the narrow hallway, Wicket slammed into his back, his cheek rubbing the soft fur of his pelt cloak. He looked around the warrior to see Ashe laying on the floor, grabbing at the last inch of a crossbow bolt that was sticking out of his leg.

“Lace! Help me!” he said to his brother.

Ashe was laying in front of an open door. Camila’s high-pitched grunts and shrieks could be heard from within the room. Lace blew past his ailing brother to help Camila. Yormir followed, his crossbow raised, his wolf close behind. Wicket crouched beside Ashe and pulled the young man’s hands away from the bolt in his thigh. There was little blood. The bolt’s blocking the wound. Gonne be hard to get that out.

Glass shattered in the nearby room. Snowflake was growling loudly.

“Am I going to die?” Ashe asked. Tears in his eyes.

Wicket wanted to tell him everything would be fine, that the bolt missed all the important arteries, but he had no clue. “I dunno kid. I dunno.”

*~~~**~~~*

Wicket took first watch. He sat by the fireplace in the lobby, an old candle dimly lit the area around him, but little more. Moonlight crept through the handful of windows but only thin strips of the floor and the edges of the pelt rug were illuminated by the light. He was full of guilt and concern for Ashe. What was a Hound of Haldar doin’ in here alone? The question had barely left his mind since he saw the armor-clad mercenary lying dead in the middle of the room. I should have been more careful, helped clear the rooms before getting caught up with Iris’ savagery. I’m lucky no one else got hurt. Lucky. He scoffed. I let the only person that matters on this damn trip get shot with a bolt. I was supposed to keep him safe. He’s never leaving my side now if he survives.

He glanced at the shadows around the room as he tried to shake the weight of his guilt. The inn looked as though it had been a nice place to stay at some point in time. Short, hefty tables filled the lobby, comfortable looking chairs sat and laid next to them. Large ceramic pots stood in the corners of the room, their flowers long dead, but still full of soil. A banner hung on the wall across from him. The words were too faded to read in the shadows that covered it. Two plain-looking swords were hanging on the wall beneath the black banner. Crossed like they were clashing in battle.

There were footsteps on the staircase in the corner of the room. Lace carried his own candle on a saucer in front of him, it burned beneath his face like a bard telling a story around a campfire. His footsteps were light for a man his size.

“Might have been nice back in the day,” Lace said as he sat down in the chair beside Wicket. The arched fireplace sat between them. There were black ashes and charred logs in it.

“Just thinking that myself,” Wicket said. He made no effort to hide his sadness. “Then it became a home to nightmarish horrors.”

“Makes ya want to kill her doesn’t it?”

Wicket scoffed. “Among other things.”

The rain picked up outside. Thunder grumbled lightly above them.

“How’s he doing?” Wicket asked when he realized Lace wasn’t going to offer up information willingly.

“Cammie thinks he’ll live, but walking’ll be tough for a bit.”

“Coulda been worse.”

“You’re not wrong,” Lace said. “I should have been watching him. I know he can’t-”

“No,” Wicket said. “I should have. He’s the key to gettin’ into the Deep Frost and I just let him wander around a dangerous inn.”

“Ah. Don’t beat yourself up over it. If he’d learn how to protect himself maybe he wouldn’t be such a burden.”

“Aye. Reckon that ain’t wrong. Who in the three hells made him into a pacifier anyway?”

Lace chuckled. “A pacifist,” he said. Wicket chuckled now. “And nobody. Ma and pop sure didn’t. They’d kill a Lotus sure as look at ‘em. But Ashe has always marched to a different beat. Ma always said that. It drove dad crazy knowing Ashe couldn’t fight worth a lick. Told him every night at dinner that he had to stop pussyfooting around like a fool and learn to protect himself now that the Lotus were coming for us.”

“Take it he never got through to the boy.”

Lace just shook his head.

“Maybe ya should take one of those.” Wicket pointed to the dull swords under the banner across the room.

Lace said, “I’ll grab one before we head out in the morning.”

There was more thunder. This time louder. Wait. That’s not thunder.

“Cloudcruiser!” Wicket said. Lace looked at him nervously. “Candles!” The room was pitch black a moment later. “Get the others. Quick!”

Wicket darted across the room and crouched at a broken window on the western wall. He could hear Lace bumping into things as he raced toward the stairs. He couldn’t see much of anything in the wall of black outside, only the outlines of the tall trees all around the inn. Tension built with each thunderous flap of the ship's wings. It’ll pass. It has to pass. Then the first beams of alchemical light appeared from their mounts beneath the ship. They grew bright and came closer, scanning every inch of the old trail and the trees and land around it. He could see the heavy rain in the streaks of light as they darted around.

Slowly, the shape of the ship appeared as it dropped out of the dark clouds high in the sky and lowered itself to a height not so far off the ground. When it stopped moving completely his heart sank, past his stomach and straight into his boots. Ah, shit. He watched as figures loaded onto the retrieval plank. A few were standing, a few were laying down. Captured Purists. The crane lowered the plank slowly. His fear grew with every inch. When it finally hovered just a few feet above the earth the Lotus began unloading the captives that were laying on the plank. They were stood up and directed toward the inn. Three hells. Is she with them? Is she out on her rounds?

He stayed there, planted to the floor as he watched the group of Lotus and Purists walk through the heavy rain. He knew he should be rushing the others from the inn but he couldn’t pry his eyes from the Lotus. He had to know if Iris was with them.

A thud behind him made him jump. He spun around. Yormir had tossed his heavy bag of gear over the railing. He looked at Wicket.

“Is she with ‘em?” he asked.

“I dunno.” But he did. Somehow he did. That was his luck. His fate. There was no other way it would go down. Not for him.