Tegalie wrote:

En once said, that we should never seek for peace. That it can only ever be obtained from within, through growth and learning.

Yet now I fear that I may never know peace again in my life. In my arrogance, I forsook the path of wisdom, and was saved only by the heroics of complete strangers.

The battle was one for the ages. On the one side, the Goblin King and his army. On the other, a valiant captain, and his gallant companion; a noble priestess; an apprentice wizard; and one of the Royal Wardens. And I was caught in the middle. If not for the valorous captain and his friends, I would have been sacrificed to dark, malevolent gods.

But these courageous heroes prevailed, with our captain severing the head from the Goblin King’s body with one mighty swing. They persevered, despite the odds, because they held true.

I should say we held true because these saviours welcomed me into their hearts. I flung away the golden gossamer, a princess no more. Instead I became a simple woman-at-arms, and dressed as such. Our captain even endowed me with his spare sword, worn from use. I joined their number, the five becoming six, as we fled the rage of the remaining goblin horde.

Hot on our heels they were, as lightning and thunder clashed all around. And they would have caught us too, if not for the tricks of the wizard. He called down the lightning from the rain-soaked clouds. With a dazzling flash, and the roar of thunder, he smote the hillside causing the cave mouth to crumble and cave in, trapping the goblins within.

But that was not the only exit from the mines, and the wizard’s efforts only hindered their pursuit. Down the hill we ran, the rain drenching us. Our poor captain stumbling, left raddled by his epic defeat of the Goblin King. Yet there was no time to tend to him.

And to our waiting steeds we rushed, and away we rode. And ever were the horde upon us, dogging our steps as we hurried northward toward Caham, the home of the Warden. But for her diligence we would have become ensnared. With only two arrows left in her quiver, she led us into a Faerie Ring, a place of mushrooms and magic, and the goblins lost our trail.

A day and a half it has been now since we escaped, pushing our horses as much as we dared. Yet the presence of our hunters is constantly about us, and something more sinister. For it is no longer just goblins that pursue us, but an evil far worse. Something that has breached the gates of the Netherworld itself and wishes us all a vicious, violent end. I feel its menace approaching even now.

“Highness,” Lera called, “We must tend to you again.”

They rested in a glade, nestled in a valley of spruce trees. The clouds above glowed in shades of scarlet and peach, with evening fast approaching.

“I am fine,” Tegalie said handing the scroll and quill to Fahesha, who quickly packed both away. “Heric was more gravely injured.”

“Heric will be about shortly. He is resting, But the liquid you swallowed had an unholy stench about it. That must be purged before it can be allowed to take hold.”

“But I hate the taste, Holy Mother.”

“As do I, dear. But we must take our medicine, lest worse burst from our mouths.”

“Burst from our mouth?”

“Falduin has said the fluid was magical in origin, and foul in its purpose. It’s taint threatens our very souls.”

“How is Falduin?” Tegalie said, moving over to join Lera.

“Bruised and battered, but nothing broken, as far as I can tell,” Lera said as she poured out the elixir she had concocted. “Which is a blessing. He fell from a great height. Now drink.”

Tegalie raised the wooden cup to her lips, then closing her eyes, she drank. The effect was almost immediate. She purged, repeatedly. Her bile, thick and black, with a foul reek. Lera soon joined her in retching, the two of them kneeling over a hastily dug hole.

Meanwhile, Ifonsa spoke with Ganthe as she examined the horses,” We can’t keep driving them so hard.”

“We don’t have choice,” Ganthe said. “They’re close. I can almost feel them.”

Ifonsa eyed Ganthe, “You’re starting to sound like a Warden now,” she said, whimsically.

“I’ll try to do better. What do you recommend we do?”

“Ideally? A day’s rest.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Then we need to lead them. Rianio especially is a concerning. If he falls lame.... well, you know what goblins do to horses before they eat them.”

“Then we lead them,” Heric said emerging from behind the lines of drying cloaks and hoods strung between the trees. He wore his proper armour now: mail and steel breastplate, instead of the leather brigandine.

“You should be resting,” Ifonsa said.

“I’m fine. I have been tended by a true priestess.”

“And she said you needed to rest.”

“Any sign of pursuit?” Heric asked Ganthe.

Ganthe shook his head, “I haven’t seen anything, but I can feel them in my bones.”

Heric turned to Ifonsa, “That’s why I’m not resting.” Heric raised his voice, “Everyone. Gather your kit. We’re leaving. Take only what you can carry on your back. We’re leading the horses. We’re going to need them fresh.”

He met Ifonsa’s eye. She nodded, before turning away to prepare their mounts for the journey ahead.

Lera rose, wiping away the vomitus from her mouth, “You’re in no condition to walk.”

“Sister, I will rest much easier once The Princess is safe,” he told her.

“And what about this?” she asked pointing at the hole.

On the previous occasion after a purging, they had poured oil into the the spew hole, before setting it alight. Then they covered the ashes with dirt. While it was always a risk, their fire potentially attracting the notice of any nearby, Falduin had insisted it was necessary. By burning and burying it ensure the purge couldn't be used for incanting.

“Set it aflame,” Heric ordered. “We don’t have the luxury of burying it.” He turned to Tegalie, “I am sorry, Highness. We must depart.”

“I am here, Heric,” she said, amused. “I did just hear you speak and give orders and the like. I do wish you would stop treating me like a child.”

“My apologies, Highness. It was not my intention to treat you as a child, but as an honoured guest.”

“Then as an honoured guest I insist that you call me Teg.” She addressed the others as well. “You must all call me Teg, do you understand?”

“Yes, your Highness,” Heric, Lera, Ifonsa, and Ganthe all said as one.

Tegalie fumed.

Night had fallen by the time they were ready. The fire within the hole burned brightly. To the oil and retching they had added all the items they deemed unnecessary or too heavy to carry. All so that the goblins would find no use for them.

Even their bedrolls had been sacrificed. Lera had wanted to add the blanket to the pyre but, once again, Falduin offered to carry it - despite his injuries.

Much of the rest they carried on their backs, with Fahesha lugging Orwic’s former pack. A few items, like the bags of horse feed, were distributed amongst the horses, but apart from their harnesses they were kept as light as possible.

As they departed, the tremulous light from the fire made the trees appear menacing. Tegalie thought it looked like they were reaching out toward them with shadowy fingers.

Ifonsa led them up and out of the valley, before turning towards the north-east, large trees and jagged hills all around. They walked in a line, each leading their horses. Behind Ifonsa and Röá, Heric, Rianio and the pack horse walked. They were followed by Tegalie, Fahesha, and Tegalie’s horse, whom she had named Blossom. Then came Lera and Falduin, and their horses, and lastly Ganthe and his horse, Sunna. He refused to say why he had chosen that name for the mare.

“Why don’t they like me?” Tegalie whispered to Fahesha. She had tried to make conversation as they walked, but while they were always polite (too polite) they remained cold, aloof and very formal. It was different from the previous night and day, when their ride had been overwrought by fatigue and fear, but also more cordial.

“Smart girl, very dumb,” the little woman told her. “Look. You did. But you they not here. This one,” Fahesha pointed at Heric, “He wander long paths sell sword. This one,” she said pointing to Ifonsa,” Plucking eyes small goblin children.”

Ifonsa turned and gave Fahesha a dark look.

“This one,” Fahesha indicated Lera, “sweeping floors, cleaning walls. Him,” Fahesha pointed at Falduin, “Lost in desert or mountains dying.”

Lera and Falduin exchanged a look.

“And him,” Fahesha said indicating Ganthe, “You no wanna know. Much smell.”

“You’re saying because of me they’re in a better place?”

Fahesha cackled, “No. You made worse. This much worse. Hunted by evil.”

“I still want to know what you were hoping to achieve,” Lera said. “And how you thought consorting with goblins and bandits had any chance of realising it without your dying or worse.”

“There were no goblins or bandits at first,” Tegalie explained. “Just friends.”

“Pretending friends,” Fahesha interjected.

“You’d been at the mining camp for how long?” Lera asked, “Didn’t that seem even a little strange?”

“No,” Tagalie said. “It was all part of the prophecy.”

“Which you can barely remember. I’ve never once heard of this Matsu Prophecy, and we studied many auguries. The convent library was filled with them.”

“Who was this seer, you mentioned?” Heric asked.

Tegalie hesitated, then said, “He was a friend to my father. An old friend. The seer had known him as a boy.”

“Did he have a name?”

“He said he had many names, but none of them were important. No, he said required. None of the were required.”

Heric exchanged glances with Lera, Ifonsa, Falduin, and Ganthe.

“That all that was required that I fulfil my destiny.”

“Myn āletheder!” Lera exclaimed.

“What did he look like?” Heric asked.

“He looked like a priest,” Tegalie answered. “An old priest. Except he had a red, floppy hat.”