The next morning, we ate with the dawn, and prepared to move out. When we had gathered our things, we made our way down to the dock, nodding to members of the militia as we passed. Captain Sweetling had volunteered the fishing boat to take us back across the lake, which would cut a good amount of time from our travel.

This was good, because, unlike the rough path to the mine, which had been used up until the Necromancer Lord’s forces took it, the Temple had not seen visitors since shortly after it was sealed, a hundred years ago. There were no paths to the temple, and we would have to be picking our way through the forest. All the while keeping a close eye out for anyone who might be hunting us.

And there would undoubtedly be someone hunting us. We knew, thanks to the Piper, that there was an assassin in their midst. That didn’t tell us much, unfortunately, since there were many types of classes that could call themselves assassins, even if they did not have the specialized class. Personally, I thought it unlikely that we would have one of the more specialized types after us, since they mostly worked in cities, which did not mesh well with the Malarite outlook on the world.

Whatever the case, all of us expected to be hunted as we moved through the woods. Especially after we had cleared out the mine, it would be foolish for them not to have the assassin lying in wait for us somewhere. They knew we were coming for them, after all, since we hadn’t bothered hiding our intentions.

The ride across the lake was easy enough. We relaxed as the crew guided us across the waters. It was once we got into the trees that we expected danger, so this would be our last chance to rest easy for a while. Naturally, we took advantage of it while we could.

As we pulled up to the shore, I nodded to the crew, and Bessie Tanner, standing there with her bow, smiled back at us. “Well, I know you lot are looking to finish things, so I won’t keep you. But come back safe, yes? Not supposed to let it slip, but Captain Sweetling and Umphrey are planning a feast in your honor when you get back.”

I raised an eyebrow at that. “But I thought supplies were running low? I doubt that you’ve been able to suddenly take in everything from the outlying farms, or make up for the lack of game caused by the wolves acting out.”

Bessie shook her head. “No, but we have been saving up some of our trade goods, since there wasn’t much else to do for those of us who couldn’t join the militia. Wagon went out, soon as you gave word that the wolves had been pushed back, heading to Chantresville. They’ll get enough provisions and necessaries to get us through the winter, at least.”

She winked, and continued, “We know that you all were paid by the Temple of Selune in Northport, but it didn’t sit right that we were getting so much without paying our share. We don’t have tons of gold, or fancy magic to spread around, but a feast? That much we can do.”

I nodded once. “That will be fine. A feast to celebrate the triumph, then. Tell the Captain and the Blacksmith that we’ll be looking forward to it!”

And, on that cheery note, we turned away from the docks, and began stalking into the forest. The jovial mood only lasted until we were out of sight of the dock, and the swiftly retreating fishing boat. We may not have been working together long, but we all knew how to get serious, when the situation called for it.

We did not speak as we tracked through the woods, not wanting to risk the sound. There was little point in us trying to hide from sight, since Vestele and I had no skill for sneaking, and Frostmane’s coat stood out against the greens of the wood. But we did try to keep the noise down, since noise would carry further through the trees than a sentinel on the lookout could see us.

For hours, we moved in silence, as the sun rose higher above the boughs. We were all of us practiced at moving through the trees by now, and knew, at least, how to minimize the amount of noise we made as we walked through the underbrush. Still, the going was slow, as we picked our way through the trackless wood, and we had not gone far by the time the midday sun shone down on us through the trees.

Frostmane slowed, and then stopped as we approached a small hill hidden in the trees. Instantly, we tensed, our eyes seeking out unseen threats in the wood. Slowly, I moved up next to Frostmane, and knelt by his side.

Speaking softly (since whispering carried further than soft speech for reasons I did not understand), I asked, “What is it?”

The white wolf shook his head, and responded in a low voice as well. “Two scents, out of place with the other creatures of the forest. Both smell of demons. But I cannot track them. I run across their scent, but I cannot follow it, and they leave no visible trail to follow.”

I nodded slowly. “So, either we have some very talented woodsmen who just happen to be demons, or we’ve got the assassin and a partner out there, waiting for us. And if you can’t track them, then they’re either very good, or using magic to cover their trail. Or both.”

“Right.”

We continued on, spreading out so we couldn’t get caught in a single trap. If there was a woodsman out here, then there was a chance that they could have prepared traps and snares to tilt the odds in their favor. It is what I would do if I was expecting someone to come after me in the woods, and I had the time to prepare things.

The air pulsed. There was no other way to describe it. Magic was in the air, and it was growing in power. I was no mage, but even I could sense that something was about to boil over.

“Do you feel that?”

I looked at the others, and saw them each nodding their heads nervously. This wasn’t something that just happened. Oh, there were times when magic could surge in the wild, and there were legends about the wonders and horrors that came about when one of those happened, but this? No, this was too focused for a ‘natural’ surge.

Looking in the direction the surge was coming from, I sighed. “And, of course, it is coming from the temple. Just our luck, it seems. I guess that the Hunt Lord was not willing to wait the few days for the barrier to fall on its own, given how we’d carved through his forces.”

Siora chuckled. “Well, think of it like this, Melinda. There’s no chance that we’ll get lost in the woods now. They might as well have put out road signs and a town crier for us to follow.”

Vestele shook her head, but she couldn’t help smiling at her sister’s joke. “Oh, sure. Laugh it up, but this is some serious magic they’re using, here. They can’t have just thrown something like this together on a whim. They have to have planned on this, just in case the other plans failed.”

Frostmane growled softly. “That is not good. Any hunter who plans snares within snares, so that even escaping one just leads you into the next is not one to be taken lightly. I don’t like where this is going at all.”

I nodded once. “Then I think we can agree. We can’t play it safe, like we had planned. We have to hurry, and get to the Temple before it is too late.”

Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.

Unknown’s attack (Vestele): 1d20+18 = 30 (Hit)

Damage: 2d6+5 = 14 (Piercing)

Fire Damage: 1d6 = 2 (Fire) (Fire Resist 5)

Unknown’s attack (Vestele): 1d20+18 = 27 (Hit)

Damage: 2d6+5 = 7 (Piercing)

Fire Damage: 1d6 = 1 (Fire) (Fire Resist 5)

Unknown’s attack (Vestele): 1d20+18 = 20 (Hit)

Damage: 2d6+5 = 13 (Piercing)

Fire Damage: 1d6 = 1 (Fire) (Fire Resist 5)

Unknown’s attack (Vestele): 1d20+18 = 26 (Hit)

Damage: 2d6+5 = 12 (Piercing)

Fire Damage: 1d6 = 5 (Fire) (Fire Resist 5)

Any reply the others might have given was brutally cut off by four arrows striking Vestele within a heartbeat of each other, and her anguished cry a moment later as she staggered under the assault. Each of the arrows found their mark, passing through armor and shield as though they were not even there.

Initiatives

Avice Shadowclaw

Siora

Frostmane

Vestele

Melinda

Grimhowl

Avice’s attack (Vestele): 1d20+18 = 32 (Hit)

Damage: 2d6+5 = 11 (Piercing)

Fire Damage: 1d6 = 5 (Fire) (Fire Resist 5) (Down)

Avice’s attack (Siora): 1d20+18 = 36 (Hit)

Damage: 2d6+5 = 11 (Piercing)

Fire Damage: 1d6 = 6 (Fire)

Avice’s attack (Siora): 1d20+18 = 34 (Hit)

Damage: 2d6+5 = 11 (Piercing)

Fire Damage: 1d6 = 3 (Fire)

Avice’s attack (Siora): 1d20+18 = 29 (Hit)

Damage: 2d6+5 = 8 (Piercing)

Fire Damage: 1d6 = 2 (Fire)

“AWOOOO!” A werewolf’s howl alerted us to our assailant, just as another arrow took Vestele in the chest, sending her sprawling to the ground, and three more hit Siora, leaving her gravely wounded. Through the trees, I could see a hulking demonic werewolf, in their hybrid form, bow in hand.

Siora’s Potion of Cure Serious Wounds (Vestele): 3d8+5 = 17

“Vestele, no!” Despite the pain of the arrows in her chest, Siora dove for her sister, pulling a potion from her magical bag as she did so. With frantic haste, she poured the healing potion down her sister’s throat, and was rewarded by Vestele’s eyes gaining more life to them as she let out a low moan of pain.

Frostmane growled, and said, “This is a trap. There were two scents, and one is clearly trying to draw our attention. Go, little bird. I’ll cover these two.” And, with that, he grabbed Vestele by her armor and drug her a little further to the side, so that he could then stand over the two sisters.

Vestele, still in shock from her close brush with death, said, “May the grace of Malcanthet go with you.” As she uttered the prayer, I could feel the Bless spell settling over us. Not much, but it would help, to be sure.

Melinda’s Concentration check: 1d20+16 = 33 (Success)

Melinda’s Attack roll (Avice): 1d20+20 = 36 (Touch) (Hit)

Avice’s Displacement: 1d100 = 34 (Fail)

Melinda’s CL Check: 1d20+14 = 29 (Success)

Avice’s Will Save (Bestow Curse): 1d20+9 = 21 (Fail)

Sensing that getting the archer out of the fight first was the most important thing, I flew forward, opening up to my full speed for the first time in what seemed like forever, and gathered the inky blackness of a curse around my hand. I was careful, and able to avoid drawing an attack with the curse’s activation. Reaching out, I managed to touch the werewolf, despite the shimmering in its outline, and felt the curse take effect.

I chose the curse of inaction to inflict on the werewolf. It was not a perfect choice, I knew. It was even odds at any given moment whether the werewolf would be able to act or not. But it offered us another option, if we won. If the wolf was, say, blind and deaf, then there would be nothing we could do without breaking the curse, except to kill the beast. But this way, we could perhaps interrogate them and get some information from someone who had to be one of the core members of the cult.

Grimhowl’s Attack (Frostmane): 1d20+18 = 33 (Hit)

Damage: 1d8+14 = 19 (Piercing)

Grimhowl’s Trip Attempt: 1d20+12 = 22

Frostmane’s STR check: 1d20+17 = 33 (Success)

A snarl was the only warning we had before a fiendish dire wolf appeared out of thin air next to Frostmane. The wolf’s jaws snapped down on Frostmane’s shoulder, and he jerked his head, trying to shake him to the ground. But Frostmane proved stronger, this time, and stood his ground.