Hours and buckets of sweat later, they spilled out into a field. The tall grass shifted from the tangled mass Vale had hacked through to a soft lush carpeting of green. This new grass only came up to Ian’s knees; the blades were of the deepest emerald but ended in tips of rich purple. It gave the field an unnatural sense of twilight. Several times their elven companion drifted out of sight coming back with what she called “water lilies.” The lilies were thick bluish-clear discs filled with water, the color of the Caribbean Sea.

Vale showed Ian how to drink them properly pinching the stem and snapping it off at the base to make an opening. Then he just had tilt it and his head back and water flowed out. The water inside them was cool and sweet having blended with the nectar of the flower to become something that was almost energizing. It kept them going as they marched across the endless field.

Vale, barely visible ahead of them, let out a shrill whistle of warning. She disappeared into the grass with Mal at her side. Roland and Ian came to an abrupt halt. They lowered Ban to the ground. The minotaur, despite his earlier protests, had been sleeping all day. Neither of them had the breath to speak. Despite his diminutive size Ban weighed over two hundred pounds, his body a solid block of muscle and sinew.

Vale came back soundlessly through the grass. She urgently mimed for them to pick the prone minotaur up. “We need to go south swiftly and quietly. Mal spotted a pack of Westa’nurr,” She reported in little more than a whisper.

Roland’s look became a dour frown and Ian’s eyebrow crept up in question once more.

“A what-now?” Ian asked.

“Humongous fangs, razor-sharp talons, bat-like wings, dangerous and very territorial. Let us hope we don’t meet them out in the open like this,” She replied altering their course. No one spoke for a time after that as Vale set a brisk pace to usher them around the threat.

Mal trailed behind Roland offering supporting nudges when the pace slowed too much.

The going got much easier after they broke through the grass and onto a hard-packed dirt road and when they crested the first hill, they saw the lights of houses down the other side. The quaint little town looked as if it had been pulled right out of a painting of an eighteenth-century English farming village. White fences surrounded sprawling pastures with a log ringed town at the end of the path and people milled about harvesting fields of corn-bushes, at least that’s what Ian mentally dubbed them, working by the light of the fading sun.

The fields had docile beasts grazing in them. Long, thick ram’s horns curled from the sides of the brown, white, and black-furred animals as they plodded about with vacant black eyes. Their fur patterns were more akin to a zebra than cow with thick stripes of bright colors set against darker tones of the same. Though the most notable difference was the fact that they boasted six legs to a cows four.

They moved along as fast as their tired limbs would take them. Ian’s arms were on fire and Roland hadn’t said a word in over two hours. Both men were become sweat; bringer of thirst and harbinger of ache. With the town in sight they pressed on. The wall of logs stood upright in a tight ring, bands of iron locking them together. A menacing spiked tip capped each one. Guards were lounging by the gate playing a game of cards by crystal light. Behind the parapet wall, archers looked on far more alert than their grounded counterparts.

One of the gate guards kicked off from the wall where he’d been leaning and walked forward to meet them. He was chewing on a stem of long grass but still managed to have a slacking gape to his jaw. The guard’s eyes drifted over Ban, still fast asleep, then over to Valethalassa and Mal. The guard settled on Roland as the man in charge.

“Good’ay. What business ‘ave you in Heatrin?” He drawled with practiced disinterest. The guard’s accent sounded almost comically hickish to Ian.

Roland was in no shape to talk. His face was dripping with sweat and his body was shaking, particularly his hands. Ian guessed withdrawal and strain were playing havoc on the man; he hadn't seen the mage take a single drink all day. Ian saw the snide remark building on Roland’s lips knowing death would claim the mage before he gave up the chance to needle someone’s nerves.

“Our friend was attacked by the Westa’nurr out in the plains and we need to get him to a healer," Vale said, thankfully, stepping in before Roland got his breath, “If you have one in residence, please grant us entry to see him or her.” Her voice was softer and more demure than Ian had ever heard; she was playing the man.

The guard scratched his chin and walked over to get a closer look at Ban. Ian couldn’t blame him for checking seeing as how they were an armed group of strangers. Ban groaned restlessly at the right time to sell his very injured body. The timing was so perfect Ian was positive Ban was awake and hamming it up for the ignorant guard.

“There’s a healer inside who’ll see to yer friend,” The guard said moving back toward the gate, satisfied, “Yer welcome to stay in town though you’ll have to leave those weapons at the gate. And please be mindful of your wolf. No rule sayin’ he has to wait outside but we won’t hesitate to put down a savage beast.” The archers above relaxed as he waved them through.

Vale turned back towards the others with a questioning look on her face. Another groan from Ban with some fevered thrashing settled the matter. Apparently, he hadn’t been faking as Ian thought. Their friend needed help, now. They walked over towards the gatehouse and set down the stretcher as gently as possible. Roland let out a groan of his own and Ian sighed in relief.

“They’ll take your friend. I can see y'all are at yer limits,” The guard said, motioning the other two guards over.

“Thank you for your kindness, Sir…?” Roland questioned pulling the carrying strap from his shoulder.

“Gareth. Just Gareth, I’m no knight. The other two are Jaymes and Rath,” Gareth replied.

“Thank you, Gareth, Jaymes, Rath,” Vale said in that same demure tone nodding at each in turn.

Gareth directed them over to a table beside a small gatehouse. Roland laid his staff down along with Ban’s hammer glad to be rid of the weight.

Vale stepped up to the table. After removing her bow and quiver she reached behind her back and pulled her long, curved knives from their crisscrossed sheaths. She bent down and produced a thin stiletto from her boot, then two long metal pins were removed from her golden hair, and three throwing knives were shaken out of her shirt sleeves. A glass sphere appeared in her hands from parts unknown and she placed it down next to the growing pile. Almost as an afterthought, she removed one of her earrings and set it on top like a cherry on a cake. She bent down and pulled the Star Chart from her quiver and passed it to Roland. Gareth arched an eyebrow at Vale.

“It is his record scroll. He asked me to carry it while he helped carry our friend,” Vale said with a disarming smile. Gareth’s face changed from suspicion to understanding and he waved them on.

Ian let out a low whistle as he took in the sight of Vale’s armory. He debated whether he should surrender his gun or not. He doubted they would have any idea what it was but also worried that if they took it they might accidentally fire it. I’ll risk it.

Don’t worry, they’ll be here for you when you leave in the same condition. We’re good honest people here,” Rath said, with a less accented but amicable tone. He and Jaymes set off into town carrying Ban between them. The others fell into step behind them.