Cleo slowly turned, taking a peek at the surrounding forest. A group of riders, dressed in either white inquisitor cloaks or heavy armour suddenly rode past, their dogs sniffing the air as they went. Watching as they slowly rode away, deeper into the sparse forest, she sighed, slowly moving away from her vantage point.

“Well?” asked Dzerimo, fearfully looking around. he sat on a spotted spaniel, an unconscious Pietre in front of him.

“It seems Manguid was able to draw them away,” Cleo answered with a relieved sigh, approaching her own spaniel. Kosian sat slumped next to the saddle. She was surprised he didn’t fall off the moment they stopped.

“What do we do now though? We can’t go back to camp, they’ll be swarming the place,” Dzerimo said, scratching his short beard.

“We do as Manguid instructed. We’ll ride north, where the hills become more… cliffy. It’ll be easier to lose any pursuers there. After we escape, we meet up with the rest of the band in the village of Hugeno, like Wymond said,” Cleo said, trying to sound as calm as she could. As she said it though, she realized how insane it sounded. The Marrel Hills stretched for at least a few hundred helosai, meaning that if they exited them from the north, it would take at least two days to reach the village. That if they galloped the entire time. Still, it is what they had to do since they had the ones the Faith was after. Jumping into the saddle, Cleo urged her spaniel forward. “Let’s go. Manguid said he’ll find us a bit after sundown. We have to find a place to rest before that.”

Dzerimo nodded, though once again he looked at both Pietre and Kosian with disgust. Cleo even heard him murmur: “Why must I risk my neck for these two heretics…”

“Oh shut it with that!” Cleo snapped, turning to him, before urging her dog to a trot. Still, she understood where he came from. Knowing that Pietre was a slave, that Kosian had saved him… well, it just made chills run down her spine thinking about it. She didn’t have much devotion to the Faith. If she remembered correctly, she had only entered a church once, when she still lived in the slums of Vepari. They were holding a service for St. Baltromius day. The moment one of the attendees saw her, he immediately ran her out, screaming: ‘Demon! Demon! Urian kin!’ Trying not to think about those times, she slowly rode out of the small alcove of trees, careful so as to not make any noise. Looking around, Cleo readied to draw her machett if need be. Thankfully, there was no one in sight. Nodding to Dzerimo, she let her spaniel run at full speed, heading north. They had to cover as much distance as possible before sunset.

As they rode, Cleo couldn’t help but think of what happened today. She never thought she would be riding on the same horse as a heretic. Well, at least it explained why the Faith was after them. But what had stuck in her mind the most was the image of that merchant’s son, standing in front of an entire platoon of Faithmen and having the boldness of talking down to them. At first, she really did take him for a spoiled city boy. That fight with him made her think he was some brash and undisciplined idiot. But this… well, this changed things. Quickly glancing back, she saw him slumped on her back. Strangely, his hands held onto the end of the saddle as if they were vices. ‘I have to beat him,’ she thought, almost giddy about at the mere idea of it, ‘I have to beat him and also prove to him that I’m even better than he is!’ Thinking about it made her feel refreshed. Dueling Wymond every other day had grown old for a while now. As she thought of this, she felt a part of her boil in anger. She wasn’t an elf?! She was human. HUMAN! Those ears of hers didn’t mean a damn thing. Why was she getting excited over getting to fight somebody?! That’s just wrong! Sure, fighting was her profession, but she didn’t enjoy fighting. That was just the elf part of her talking. The one that everybody shunned and hated…

Suddenly, Cleo heard Dzerimo exclaim as something heavy fell to the ground. Looking, she felt her eyes widen as she saw Kosian lying on the ground, the bolts that had pierced his body broken. Besides the injury in his shoulder and hand, he also had a bolt which had pierced straight through his right leg, just above the heel which he had gotten while they were riding away from the inquisitors. It baffled her how he was still breathing. This much blood loss would kill any man, let alone some merchant boy. Turning her dog around, she trotted up next to Kosian. Getting down, she carefully threw him over her shoulder. Just as she started standing, Cleo heard something else fall to the ground. Turning, she noticed Pietre, lying unconscious on the ground, blood running from his forehead. Looking slightly up, she suddenly noticed a spear in front of her neck. Her gaze fell upon Dzerimo. He seemed as nervous as ever, but those eyes of his burned with anger.

“Drop him, Cleo,” he said, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible.

“…What are you doing, Dzerimo. Get down and get Pietre back in the saddle.”

“I said drop him, lordsdamnit!” Dzerimo said angrily, not even trying to hide the fear in his voice. “This is their problem! We have nothing to do with it! If we leave them here and go, the Faithmen will stop following us! We can calmly meet up with the rest of the band!”

Cleo stood silent, watching him. Dzerimo looked at her with hopeful eyes for a moment, probably hoping to see agreement.

“Tch. Why should we risk our necks for a pair of urian-born?! The moment they came to us, everything has gone to complete shit! Haven’t you noticed that?! It’s their fault!” he quickly pointed to Kosian, slightly tapping him with the spear. “This one,” he pointed at Pietre “Is a slave of God! He was born under the Unlucky star! They are bringers of bad luck and chaos! IF we don’t give him back at least, our band may as well be considered done for! You can’t just…”

“Are you done?” Cleo snapped, cutting him off. “I don’t care who or what they are and you shouldn’t either! We were ordered to get them back! Soldiers obey orders, even if it means we die in the process! Now get off your damn dog and get Pietre back in the saddle!”

Turning from him, Cleo slowly walked over to her spaniel, throwing Kosian over its back.

“I knew it from the start. You were nothing more than damned Urian-kin!” Dzerimo whispered angrily.

Suddenly, the sound of whistling pierced the air, followed by gurgling and then another crash to the grassy ground. Turning, Cleo saw Dzerimo, his neck pierced by a javelin. Snorting, she spat on his face, before kneeling and grabbing his bag and spear. As she stood, Manguid emerged from behind some nearby trees. The qasqariam was bloodied a bit, but his wounds didn’t seem to bother him at all. Turning to him, Cleo nodded. As she threw Kosian back onto the saddle, Manguid picked Pietre up by one arm and pulled out his javelin from Dzerimos neck.

“Come,” he said, throwing Pietre onto Dzerimo’s spaniel and grabbing its reins. “I’ve found a place where we could hide.”

“…How do you redirect those dogs so easily? The inquisitors seemed to have been riding Gualish spaniels. Don’t those things have some of the best noses in Evea?”

Manguid chuckled as he picked up Dzerimo’s body, moving it to a small outcrop of boulders. “First of all, Muzan black hounds have the best noses. Secondly, unlike me, those mutts can’t ignore the smell of the finest delicacies in the world.”

Cleo felt her mouth dry up. “Wyvern guts?” she asked.

“Wyvern guts,” Manguid nodded as he threw Dzerimo’s body into the outcrop, hiding it behind the large white rocks. “Now come on. We haven’t time to waste.”

Manguid led them to a small cave situated next to a small creek at the bottom of one of the hillsides, hidden well by the surrounding boulders and thick trunked trees. Leading her spaniel down the rocky entrance, Cleo found a fire already crackling, smoke slowly piling up onto the ceiling of the cave. It was strangely spacious, with patches of grass and moss growing on old stones, the ceiling dripping water from short and tiny stalactites. She even noticed that a small and narrow path led deeper into the cave. Quickly letting Dzerimos spaniel go, Manguid laid Pietre on a mossy stone, taking a look at his injuries quickly, before surmising that there was nothing to worry about. Without pause, he helped Cleo get Kosian off, lying him down next to his brother. Looking at his wounds, the large wolfman cursed in his native tongue.

“Go get some water from that creek. We’ll need water,” he said, still looking at the wounds, checking his pulse and body heat. Cleo nodded and stood. Looking around, she only now noticed that they didn’t even have a bucket. But they did have waterskins. ‘It’ll have to do,’ she thought grabbing hers, the one she snatched from Dzerimo and Manguids, quickly climbing to the surface. Walking up to the creek, she hurriedly plunged all three skins into the water. As she waited, she kept looking around. the sun had already set, and the Band was in full view, shining down a vibrant red. That didn’t bother her though. What did was the feeling that she was watched. It felt as if she was surrounded by eyes, all of them fixated on her. Instinctively, she grabbed the hilt of her dagger. Suddenly turning, she pulled it out, looking around. The only thing that greeted her was a slight wind. Feeling a bit embarrassed, Cleo quickly grabbed the skins and ran back to the cave.

Returning, Cleo found a scene straight from a veteran’s nightmare. Blood everywhere, screaming, clamouring, grunting, shouting.

“Get that water here! And grab the bandages from my bag! Hurry!!!” Manguid shouted, trying to hold Kosian down. Searching through the bag, Cleo watched the scene. It didn’t seem like Kosian was awake. His pupils had gone into his head, leaving only white in his eyes, as he screamed and pushed Mnaguid, who was trying desperately to snap off the bolt in his leg. Finally finding the tightly wrapped pieces of cloth, Cleo ran up to him.

“Ack! Spirits damn you, Kosian, stay still! You get ready to hold him down!” Manguid said through clenched canines, as Kosian kept flailing about. Doing as instructed, Cleo held Kosian down by his shoulders, sitting on him so he couldn’t move as much. As she held him, the sound of wood snapping echoed in the cave. “I’m going to try and remove the bolt and cauterize the wound. Make sure you hold him down.”

“What do you think I’m doing?!” Cleo answered, trying to hold the man’s flailing arms in place. “By the Holy Spirit, how does he have the energy to do this?! A man his age with such wounds would be drawing his last breath by now!”

“Well, be happy he isn’t… NOW!”

The gruesome sound of steel pushing through muscle and flesh reached Cleo’s ears, as did a loud howl of pain from Kosian. Throwing the shaft farther away, Manguid quickly grabbed one of his javelins which he had thrown into the fire. Quickly, he placed the white-hot iron onto the wound which was followed by another heart-wrenching scream from Kosian. Holding the iron in place for a few more seconds, Manguid threw the javelin away. Cleo watched as the ground on the edge of her vision was slowly getting dyed in blood. She heard Manguid curse, as he tore a part of the bandage, unwrapping the one already soaked with blood and tying another.

After about five minutes, Kosian was lying still, his chest barely rising, his face pale and his forehead covered by a wet cloth for his rising temperature. Bandages covered the injuries on his leg, hand and shoulder, while all of his clothes besides his tunic and undergarments were lying in a pile next to him, soaked in blood, along with a good length of bandages. Checking his pulse, Manguid twitched his whiskers.

“We’ve taken care of the bolts and cauterized the wounds. The bleeding has mostly stopped. Still, it’ll be a miracle if he survives the next hour,” he said, sighing and throwing a sheet over him. Cleo nodded grimly. She saw the wounds. Besides the fact that he’ll have a hard time walking for at least a few months and barely being able to hold anything in his right hand, the left arm was completely and utterly ruined. A pierced shoulder blade, muscle tears, swelling, pulled apart bones. She was honestly surprised it was still intact. “In all honesty, it would be better to just cut it off. Less pain that way,” Manguid remarked, before standing up and finally moving on to Pietre. Cleo joined him. Unlike his brother, the boy only had a minor scrape on his forehead, gotten when Dzerimo threw him to the ground. As Manguid bandaged the wound Cleo looked at Pietre. It was hard to believe that this boy was cursed. Wait… was he cursed? Or was he really just some way of getting back at his father. Scooting closer, Cleo felt his hand. And involuntarily yelped.

“What?” Manguid asked, immediately turning to her.

“He’s… ice-cold,” Cleo remarked. He was. Touching his hand, it almost felt as if she was touching a corpse. Manguid looked at her, quickly checking for himself. His whiskers twitched again. Without a second thought, he picked the boy up and laid him down right next to the fire, packing him tight in his sheets.

“…It’ll have to do,” Manguid sighed and slumped down next to the fire himself. Cleo did the same, almost falling down from buckling knees. The day had been exhausting. “Tomorrow, we have to get to the edge of the Marel Hills. Otherwise, we won’t… make it… in time,” Manguid said through a loud yawn as he leaned onto a wide and clean piece of rock. Cleo watched as he immediately fell asleep, his large nose making a strange whistling sound as he slept. Lying down on the stone-cold ground, her rug sack for a pillow, she felt exhausted. Looking up at the cave's ceiling, she saw thousands of small lights flicker from the light of the fire, reminding her of stars.

“I hope they’re alright,” she thought out loud, feeling her eyelids becoming heavier and heavier. Before her mind completely faded, she thought she saw someone creeping towards them from the crack that led further into the cave. She must’ve been dreaming about the time she got the chance to speak to a centaur…

“Captain, stop! You’re going too fast!”

“Captain…”

“Wymond, stop!”

Rearing his Springer Spaniel, Wymond turned to look at his entourage. Havl, Loen, Jokrin and Boven were all right beside him, their pointers and hounds panting heavily. The others lagged behind or to the sides as scouts. The men looked dishevelled, some clutching new wounds, others looking around in alarm. Each barely wore any armour and the spears or axes in their hands shook slightly. The last one in the column was Eliza, her stout hound loaded with a few sacks of food and cooking utensils. Strangely, it was the only dog out of the bunch who didn’t seem tired. Unlike her hound though, Eliza did, her shoulders sagging. Trotting up to Wymond, Eliza pushed a finger into the cracks between his scales, embedding it into his chest.

“I told you we should’ve just let them go!” she started angrily, her usual deep voice turning squeakier than normal. “I told you, nothing good would’ve come out of this! That brat probably doesn’t even have any money! I had Eron check! He was leading us by the nose! All we needed to do was go up to their camp with him and his brother tied and gagged, and we would’ve come out of it rich! What in the honour of the Saints were you thinking?!”

Wymond stared at her with impartial eyes for a moment.

“Men, I need to speak with the dox. Privately…” he said, grinding his teeth. The men looked at each other with surprise, before nodding hurriedly, scattering in every direction. Making sure they were far enough away, Wymond turned back to Eliza. Her sand coloured eyes and light bronze skin slightly shone in the setting sun. Taking a deep breath, he suddenly exploded:

“God’amit, woman! Y’know A can’t just let’em go like that!”

“And why not?!” Eliza asked, the fury in her voice even stronger than before. “You didn’t seem to have a problem when we did it to that group of young knights who were wanted for murder and rape!?”

“That’s different. Them boys were real criminals! And, ye forget somthing, Eliza. Unlike ye and the rest of the boys, A don’t give miself over to blindly followin the Faith. I watched those two. They havn’t done anething wrong!”

“Wrong?! Oh, they’ve done plenty wrong! The younger ones a Slave of God! He was cursed from the day he was born! And his brother’s even worse, stealing him from the Faith and then having the gall to say that a Grandfather took him to settle some grudge! You know what that means, Wymond!”

Wymond groaned as he listened to her words. This wasn’t like Eliza at all! Sure, she was devout, but for her, the lives of people, especially children, came first before anything! But he did see the doubt in her face. ‘Something's wrong here,’ he thought.

“Fine,” he said finally. “Fine! If ya don’t want to ‘elp, go’ahead and fack off! Go grovel in front of that massive bastard and ‘is mihty blue cock! While you do that, I’ll go and find our Cleo, who, mind you, is an ELF, and get her, Manguid, and ‘ose boys outta’ere!”

With those words, he reined in his spaniel and urged him to trot forward. Eliza and the men could say what they wanted, but he knew them. Every single one of them truly felt sorry for the boys, even if they were friends with that shitstain Dzerimo. It was the same as it was when they first met Cleo. At first, everyone objected. ‘Oh, she’s Urian born… A knife ear… She’ll bring nothing but trouble…’ It just took time for people to accept something that they alienated their entire lives. He was like that too, once…

Riding forward, he finally heard paws and panting behind him. Turning, he saw the men return into the column, Eliza just behind him, biting on her lip as she looked at the forest floor. He knew she would bug him again with this, just like how she used to bug him about Cleo. He sighed at the thought. He didn’t like fighting with her. Being an Iberi, she was more headstrong than a Pikish merchant. Especially when it came to the topic of the Faith. Just thinking back on the thousands of times he had to listen to her sermons about this and that made his head hurt.

But now wasn’t the time to think about that. They had a job to do. Manguid and Cleo had most likely already found the boys and were hopefully heading in the direction he instructed. While they did that, he needed to find as many of his men as possible. There was also the problem of that masked bastard. Just thinking about him, Wymond felt his hand tremble slightly. He was honestly surprised his sword had survived the blow. Seeing that man, he now really did believe the Putrelis knights were taught to wrestle bears. He’ll need to prepare for the next time they meet. Maybe a pair of throwing knives in those eyeholes of his would do the trick?

Still, he could understand the men’s frustration. After Cher and her troupe left them in Baye, then all of this. Most of their supply wagons were probably being ransacked for anything of use by those Faithmen. The only thing he was thankful for was that they didn’t have a large entourage of camp followers like most mercenary groups. Maybe it was good that Cher and her troupe left them. He doubted whores would’ve been spared by a bunch of zealots. Still, all of it was definitely bringing some on the edge of actual desertion. Still, Wymond knew his boys. Most weren’t dumb enough to not understand that they’ll be slaughtered the moment they try to surrender. The best way for them to survive now was to follow him or disappear into the shadows, hoping the inquisitors won’t pick up on their scent. ‘I can immediately discard Gambino and Yudeo. Those two must already be halfway to the Pyrean Mountains. That means that Chile, Hugo and Murhen might still be lurking around. And if they’re there, then so are their men. Klyman isn’t an idiot, but his devotion may as well run deeper than a tree’s roots, and Kozer… well, that old bag always knows how to appear unannounced.’

Suddenly, Wymond stopped, urging his spaniel to ride up to the gentle hill in front of him. Standing at its top, he took a deep breath and let his ‘sight’ take over. Instantly, the forest which lay in front of him neatly sorted itself in his head. He could tell each tree apart, even if by the slightest difference, each hill or crevice no matter how hidden under the canopy. And he could also see the things that disturbed them – animals, insects, humans.

“Gotcha,” he said, accidentally allowing his accent to slip out as he spotted a group of four riding at full gallop. Turning to the others, who still waited at the base of the hill, he waved and let his spaniel fly. Watching the group of riders frantically rush through the forest, he also noticed other groups, wearing cloaks of white or carrying enormous swords. A cheeky smile bloomed on his face. ‘Nothing like a good fight to calm the nerves!’ Wymond thought, as the blade of his sword sunk deep into the neck of the nearest inquisitor.