“I can’t believe you volunteered me for this, boy,” Maypor growled at him as the wagon staggered over a loose stone on the already worn road.

“You would go stir-crazy being cooped up inside those walls and you know it. I did you a favour, old croon,” Jace’ retort ended in a whisper. He smirked at the grouchy old woman’s back.

He was in the bed of wagon checking over his gear. Maypor had thankfully kept his bow and quiver. Though he noticed that his axe was now missing.

Might be at the pool by the waterfall?

Now he had, a small dagger in a belt sheath behind his back. A gift from Joanna. His bow and arrows. His ‘Magi’ brush case—though he had no idea how to even begin using it. Something I’ll have to get Joanna to teach me, I’m sure.

He had managed to escape Trager village before Joanna could bring up the Shaw women with him. He knew she was curious about his involvement with them.

Honestly Jace was rather surprised by how attached to him they were.

He’d left the journal back in Joanna house. The mender wanting to study its contents more. He wasn’t exactly sure how more blatantly obvious the journal could get. Tormund Yasgaes had gone mad, before his change. But had also documented the first events of the new Eclipse Cycle, since the last one three hundred years ago.

Jace patted the brush case, now in the breast pocket of his shirt. Taking comfort from its oddly reassuring presence. All of the clothing the village had charitably given him today when they’d learned where he was going. Were a few sizes too big.

So Jace had done the smart thing, and simply wore all of it. He now had on two shirts, and a long sleeve nightshirt under them. Over the shirts he shucked a thick jacket with padding on the insides. Around his waist was a simple leather belt, and another he had wrapped another his chest.

The two pairs of breeches he wore, were of different sizes. The outer layer baggier than the inner one, that clung to Jace like a second skin.

His feet were so wrapped up so tight that he actually had trouble feeling them. The three pairs of socks and fur lined boots definitely made it seem so.

His hands were bare due to the lack of gloves in the village.

Last but not least—and honestly something he had completely forgotten about—was his wooden and steel vambrace. Apparently it was attached to him now. He hadn’t been able to remove it since putting it on. Not that he had remembered about it enough to even try.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” Maypor called over her shoulder at him. Putting the dagger back in its sheath, he realised how stupid he would’ve been. Sliding the dagger beneath the vambrace. Knowing my luck, I’ll accidentally slash my wrist open. Might as well stick a knife in a toaster. Huh? ugh, whatever.

“About what?” he breathed and swiped a drop sweat from his forehead. The air he exhaled misting as it left him.

“That armguard or yours.”

“Vambrace,” he immediately corrected her. “Armguards are generally used for archery. Vambraces are plate armour used to protect the forearm.”

“Good to know,” Maypor retorted dryly. “What I wanted to ask you was. Where the hell did you found something like that. Never seen it’s like before.”

“It was a gift.”

“A gift from who, woodland elves? They generally use wooden armour. Though they’re disgusted by metal work.”

“I can’t say who. Sorry,” Jace sighed and shook his head.

“That’s fine, boy.”

“It’s meant to do something, I think,” he said finally after a long moment had passed between them. The wagon jarring and rocking as they trundled along the road. The Shaw’s lot wasn’t all that far from Trager village. It was a five hour walk there and back apparently. By wagon the journey was cut by an hour.

They had left the village an hour ago. The early afternoon chilled by the first signs of wintery frost.

“Do what?”

“I have no idea. Worse salesmen’s ever. Didn’t even give me a manual,” he groused to the air.

“You have no idea?”

“Nope.”

“Then you should find out, boy.”

Time swept by quickly. The monotonous drone of the wagon’s wheels creaking and the swaying motions, lulled Jace into a nap.

“We’re here, boy.” A voice woke him, startling awake he looked around. They had stopped in front of the wide-open gap in the Shaw’s fence. Jace saw that the wagon that had been wedged through the gap was gone. No longer there.

He could already see the damage of the place from where he stood. Dropping off the wagon beds, Jace slung his bow over shoulder and silently crept up to the fence. Maypor pulling a long spear out from under the drivers’ bench.

She and Marit prowled over to him, glanced around the corner and then darted inside the grounds.

Jace swept in after them, his hand already pinching and twisting an arrow loose from the quiver. Less than a heartbeat later he’d placed his arrow on the string but didn’t draw.

The thatch houses were completely demolished. The well was layered thickly in copious amounts of blood and viscera. “They’ve contaminated the well,” he murmured to Maypor and saw the old woman nod slightly from the corner of his eye.

Jace eyed the small barn. It was only building on the lot still standing. He jerked his head in its direction and all three of them crept over. Marit immediately let out a soft growl. Maypor patted and fluffing his raised hackles idly as they moved over.

Maypor sidled over to the barn door, positioning herself on the right side. Jace nodded at the old-woman. An instance later she gripped the door and slid it open as Jace drew and sighted on the creaking, and widening gap.

Nothing came out, or charged him. He was slightly disappointed. But Marits continuous low growl had him on edge.

Releasing his breath, Jace relaxed his draw. Maypor pacing wide over to him. “They’ve got to be in there alright,” she informed him.

“You sure?” Jace whispered back.

The older women nodded and jerked a thumb at Marit. The big hound was crouched low and that growl still rumbled out of him. “Only one other time have I’ve seen him do that.”

“At the house?”

“No,” she shook her white-haired head, “when we found you. Marit was exactly like this around that pool you had lured them to.”

“Alright. Let’s get the other door open, need some light to see in there.” Maypor ran to the other side and they repeated themselves. Jace drew and held. His bow strongly taut, his knuckle brushing against his cheek as he held steady.

Again, nothing came out. But what Jace did see this time was the less than hundred bodies curled up on the barn floor in a fetal position, like looked to be hibernating, or sleeping.

“Shit,” he breathed and once again relaxed his arm. “Maypor.” He waved the older woman away from the barn doors.

“What it is?” she asked as she came up beside him.

“They’re sleeping,” he whispered back to her. Shouldering his bow, Jace slowly crept to the edge of the barn. Making sure his shadow didn’t obscure any of the sleeping forms.

“This isn’t good,” Jace mumbled quietly under his breath.

“Burn them?” Maypor suggested.

“Maybe… Not sure we’ll get all of them though.” Looking back over the lot, Jace didn’t find what he was looking for. “Where is the wagon?”

“Whose? the Shaw’s? No idea.”

That didn’t at all make sense to him. “Maybe someone else has been here since?” he thought aloud.

“Then let us hurry this up, boy. My wrinkles deepen with each passing moment.”

“Ugh. That wasn’t gross at all. Thanks gran,” Jace muttered sarcastically.

Walking over to the remains of the Shaw’s house. Jace stepped over the debris of straw, wood, and stone. He didn’t see Douglas’ body at all. That worried him as well. Maybe his corpse is hibernating like the rest in the barn.

Finding the floor hatch, he pulled and tugged on the ring. It creaked loudly followed by a high winding squeak of hinges.

It hadn’t sounded this bad when Douglas helped Athena out, he thought. And noted that the hinges were rusted and damp. Looking pointedly ancient.

Gently laying the hatch door down, he peered inside. Douglas had mentioned it as more of a crawl space. What Jace saw instead was the dark pit of a basement. Possibly four or five feet deep.

“I’m going in. Keep an eye out on the barn while I’m down there,” he told Maypor. The old woman nodded, her expression souring as she glanced towards the barn.

Throwing his bow down first Jace lowered himself and dropped the five feet. The only light inside was that coming through the open hatch above. He squinted and stared at his surroundings.

“Aaaaa-nooom-aaaa-lyyy,” a voice drifted through the underground basement.

“Damn it,” he hissed and fumbling his bow off the ground, Jace drew his dagger from behind his back. A wretch lurched out of the shadows. It teeth clacking as its hands outstretched for Jace. He didn’t have to guess whether it wanted a hug or not. All zombies are truly white bunnies at heart. Shame I don’t have a holy hand grenade.

Growling Jace dodged aside and swung his bow over-head, catching it around the wretches neck with the string. He pulled towards himself and as the wretch stumbled forward, Jace dropped his bow, gripped its head and slammed his dagger through its temple.

It let out a death rattle and died. Then something impacted onto his back, and Jace jarred forward and rolled. Flipping himself and his piggyback rider onto the basement floor. He cursed and bit back a scream, as sharp pain shot through his right ear.

The pain worsened a millisecond later, as a cold spike of heat flared, and the top portion of his ear was bitten off. Throwing an elbow over his shoulder, he smashed the wretches nose in. Bucking his feet he managed to loosen its grip on him.

Rolling left and jumping to his feet, Jace scanned the floor for his dagger. Not finding it, he pulled and twisted an arrow out of his quiver.

The wretch stumbled to its feet. Jace now seeing that it was a women with her left arm missing. Leaving only the exposed bloody flesh and jagged bone. Through the dim light shining down from the hatch opening, he noticed how the female wretch had light blue skin.

Slightly azure dull scales lined its neck and face. The backs of its hand scaled and tipped with claws. The wretch wore little more than a loin cloth and wrap around its breasts.

Its visage was decided human, though its features were more-sharper. It’s nose almost non-existent with thin lines for nostrils.

It charged Jace, and he rolled to his right and impacted the wall there. Pushing off he dove across the floor. The wretch was fast, able to quickly change its course and keep up with him. Lightly springing to his feet, Jace whipped around and jumped kicked the wretch. Smashing his foot into the side of its face, sending it sprawling onto the floor.

Straddling its back, Jace eased his arrowhead through the back of its skull as it thrashed and bucked beneath him.

He was immediately met with resistance. Apparently whatever species this wretch had been. Had thick skulls. Jamming the arrow further in, he began to twist and corkscrew the shaft. He felt nauseous, the sensation of grinding bone trembling along the wooden arrow shaft.

Eventually he felt a crunch, and the pressure against the arrow head immediately lessened and thrusting the shaft forward he drove the arrow deep into its skull and scrambled its brain. The shaft snapping in his hand.

The wretch stopped thrashing after that. And Jace leaned heavily against its back. He was sweating fiercely, small salty droplets stinging his eyes and coating his brow.

Stumbling off the dead wretch Jace scanned the darkness around him. All he saw were shelves lines with small vials and potion bottles. Another filled with small baskets of different ingredients. Jace shuffled around and found his dagger against the far wall, beside a sack that clink as he nudged it.

Sheathing his dagger, he pulled the clinking sack out. It was a rather heavy and bulky sack. Marcia had only mentioned to him about gathering her ingredients, alchemy apparatuses, potions, and recipe tome.

Jace unwrapped the sack’s ties and blinked as saw a full set of iron armour. A kite shield of black and white corner squares, and a sheathed long sword.

Retying the sacks strings, he fastened them tight and dragged it across the floor. “May!” Jace called out. A few seconds the older woman’s face peered down at him.

“Trouble?” she asked him, seeing one of the wretch corpses.

“Almost…” he sighed and shook his head. Touching a hand to his ear, winced as another cold spike of heated pain shot through him and made his teeth clenched. “Can you lowered the tarp we brought.”

“Tarp?”

“Uh- the waterproof sheeting. The one Gerard gave us. Marcia said it’ll probably be best if we store everything together and hull it out of here. If something breaks- oh well.” He shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

The older woman stared at Jace for a long moment and then ducked away. I’ve been fucking bit. That means… the means my time is limited doesn’t it. “It might be best if I load up everything and send Maypor on her way,” he muttered.

He’d expected to feel something. Fear maybe. But his instincts seemed utterly unconcerned by the prospect of becoming one of them. The dull cold heat throbbed in his ear increased, and pain made his head twist to the side.

Eyes and teeth clenching tightly shut. He grimaced as the pain worsened. Then all of a sudden. It halted and he was left feeling numb and drained of energy, his stomach felt empty. And his ear itched like crazy.

Taking deep shallow breaths Jace felt at his ear, and found that it was completely whole again. “That,… isn’t meant to happen,” he breathed out slowly. His mind shooting back to when he woke up in Maypors hut.

How’d you.. fix my f-forearm?

Your arm? You fixed that yourself. Fastest healing I’ve ever seen on a Magi. I guess you were too depleted from your run and your fight in the pool, to dispel all the ailments of your body.

Holy fuck batman! he thought and shook his head in disbelief. “Maybe I should see Joanna, about this whole Magi- thing after all.”

Not long after that, Maypor returned and slung a thick corded bundle down to him. He caught it easily and spent the next minutes spreading it out across the basement floor.

Then he went back and forth, grabbing everything he could find and carry, Jace dropped them onto the center of the sheet.

He found Marcia’ recipe book. Flicking through it, he saw that almost every page in the large tome had an illustration, handwritten paragraphs and diagrams of what mixed well with what and their effects.

When he had packed as much as he could. He grabbed and unwound the cord, going to each corner of the sheet. He threaded a line through a small metallic eye-hole and tied them off. Throwing the line up through the open hatch, Maypor caught it and began to pull the massive bundle into the air.

Jace was surprised that the old-woman was strong enough to haul the heavy supplies up. A few minutes after that and that Jace jumped up, caught the ledge of the hatch and pulled himself up.

Dusting his hands he looked up to see the Maypor standing with her long spear pointed at him. “Bites?”

“None,” Jace replied and with his hands up he spun slowly.

“There is a lot of blood on the side of your head, boy.” The old woman informed him.

“It’s not mine.” You’ll just sound crazy telling her you healed the bite. On the matter of infected though… he mentally gave a shrug. Deciding to monitor himself closely over the next few hours. “There was a wretch down there. It was unlike any I’d seen so far.”

He described the reptilian female wretch. “A Dracokin. They usually live to the far south in tribal groups. The Haunted Lands is mostly hot and dry desert. They prefer their solitude. It does not surprise me one of them is a wretch.”

“Whys that?” he asked her and grabbing one of the cords he helped Maypor move the large bundle towards her wagon.

“The wretches retreated to the Haunted lands three hundred years ago, after the last eclipse. The southern kin tribes are a barrier between the wretches and the duchy of Primmar. If anyone was to be hit first it would be them.”

Jace nodded, it made a sort of sense. But if the Haunted lands are to south. And that’s where the Wretches fled to last time. How in the hell did they wide up in the far eastern territories? That’s got to be a wide scope of land to cover. All to attack a fort of rogue High Magi. He pondered this as they shuffled through the broken fence and to the wagon.

This could only mean that either they knew of the rogue Magi somehow. Or something here in this forest is extremely important to them. He scanned his eyes across the dense span of trees outside the Shaw’s lot. Clanging the supplies in the back he jumped on and sat down. Maypor taking her seat and reins.

A few seconds they were off.

~*~*~*~

“Smoke up ahead,” Maypor hissed back to him. Shuffling to his feet and swaying as the wagon halted, Jace looked to where the old woman pointed. He saw it. Even if she hadn’t pointed he would’ve seen it. Rising up over the far tree line before them.

The road ahead curved right, Jace remembering the narrow road and tall arching trees that darkened the path in shadows.

“What do you think?” he asked her.

“Well, last I checked wretches don’t light fires. So that’s either someone’s camp-” Maypor began. Jace focused on the smoke. It was a dark black smog, and was thicker than a simple camp fire. “-fire, or someone’s unfortunately set their house ablaze,” she finished.

Jace nodded, “do you know of anyone who lives along here. Because I don’t remember seeing that smoke on our way to the Shaw home.”

“Neither do I…” Maypor mused and trailed off. “It could be bandits.”

“Bandits? You have something like that here?” he asked her, looking as dumbfounded as he sounded.

“A few,” Maypor chuckled dryly. “Most are simply called bandits because they live deeper in the forest than most. There were rumours of a woodland elf settlement around here a number of years ago. A few researchers and a team of mercenaries travelled deeper east, and were never seen again.”

“Could this be woodland elves?” Jace asked.

“Doubtful. None around here have ever seen any. They’re a reclusive lot, the wood elf’s. And we’ve nothing they could possibly want.”

“So that leaves us with bandits being the likely option,” Jace sighed. “Stay here for two minutes. I’m going to flank out to our left and go around. I’ll try to meet back up with you on the road ahead.”

“Okay. Be careful, boy. I would hate to break the news to your women of your death.”

“Women? gran! I’ll have you know that my relationship with those three is purely platonic.”

“I may be old, boy. But my hearing is still sharp. The sounds Joanna made all of last night had most of that poor village up and rousing to kick down her door.”

“Uh…” he blushed, grinned stupidly and shrugged his shoulders. “See you a bit,” he chirped and jumping off the wagon he darted into the forest, Maypor’ dry laughter trailing behind him.

Moving swiftly through the woods, Jace unslung his bow and held it tight. He eased down his mental wall. Allowing his mind to fully take in his surroundings.

He breathed the earthy fresh scent. And tasted the acrid smoke on the air. He trained his hearing and listened out as he moved.

Homing in on a distant scraping noise, he sprinted ahead.

He found a small dried up gully, and sliding down its bank he looked right. Seeing the gullies ditch bent to the left and disappearing behind a hill. He saw the smoke more closely now. It wafted up, a thick column towering high into the air before him.

The scent was far stronger, and his nose twitched with the onset of a sneeze. Likely a cave or cut out of rock where the camp is. Looking back up the hill, Jace decided his course.

Crawling up the steep rise he came to the edge and peer down. Eight men in dirty leather armour sat around a large cook fire. On it, and slowly turning was a boar tied to a spit. The men chuckled and another carved slices off the boar with a knife. The boar wiggled uselessly, in its constrains. Its muffled squeals, dully travelled to his ears. Jace realised it wasn’t even dead yet. And they cutting slices and devouring the raw bloody flesh.

He swallowed and gagged reflexively. Some didn’t even take the time to shave off the fur, simply stuffing their mouths full. He heard a scream then and looking around he saw no one else down there. Then one of them barked something Jace didn’t understand, and throwing down his goblet he stood up and marched beneath the hill.

A small dark green-skinned man, walked out from the direction the other man had gone.

This small green figure, had a nest of dark orange hair atop its head, long hairy pointed ears, and a crooked nose. It was about four feet in height, and twirled a wickedly jagged bone dagger.

Another scream came and this time, Jace knew it was distinctly female. The former man returned dragging a young green-skinned girl in a light violet cotton dress. Her thick dark hair was almost purple and was clumped together as the man fist as he pulled her along the ground as she kicked and screamed. Her hands trying feebly to pried his own off of her.

Then another man stood up beside the fire, this one was rotund and ginger. Hung on his belt was a steel hammer. Jace eyed him and noted how the others stopped whatever they were doing and watched him carefully.

He walked over to the man who’d dragged the girl out and patted him harshly on the face. Then he spoke to the girl, more words Jace didn’t understand.

“Fuck you,” the girl replied, her words stunted by a thick accent. She spat on him, and cried out as his fist flashed and struck her hard in the face. She went limp in the other mans grasp. Her hands falling to flop at her sides.

The ginger man stood and started to fumbling with his pants. “This is fucked up,” Jace murmured. I’m not gonna sit here and watch this fucker rape that girl, he thought fuming. But instead of doing as Jace thought he would. The man began pissing on the young girls face. Splattering her dress wetly and darkening the light violet.

The girl woke up spluttering as the man finished. She gagged and tried not vomited over herself. The ginger waved the other man to drag her back under the hill.

“Now’s my chance,” he muttered, and creeping backwards slowly. Jace pulled himself away from the ledge and slid ass first back down the hill. The high ground the hill offered was a fine position. But gave him no coverage of beneath the hill.

If he started firing and they ran under, he’d loose his targets and have to waste time repositioning for another shot.

Following along the bed of the dried-up gully. Jace lowered onto his hands and knees as he came to the corner bend. Leaning out he saw the back of the man who was sat turning the spit with the live boar on it.

Unslinging his bow, Jace nocked an arrow. The slightly bent one he realised. He’d have to adjust his aim ever-so-slightly. But he should manage. Creeping across the gully to the opposite bank, he jumped up, caught the edge, pulled, and slid onto his belly.

He laid there in the dirt, mud and damp leaves. Staying completely still.

No shouts of alarm. Good.

Rolling to his right several times until he had a clear view of the heads of the men at the camp, he looked passed them. Homing his eyesight, he squinted and saw that the hill did in fact have a large alcove cut out of it. Within the alcove were two large cages and a wagon with a black barred cage.

Dirty and frightened people were huddled within.

As if the fucking undead and walking-talking squids weren’t enough. No, add slavers and kidnappers to the list. Growling loudly, Jace didn’t even think twice and standing to a knee he drew the string taut, exhaled a breath, and loosed.

The arrow sprouted through the spit turners back and slumped him over into the camp fire. The others froze and that gave Jace enough time to pinch, twist, nock, draw, and loose.

He took ginger through the throat. Standing fully, Jace drew again. Without even looking he somehow was aware that this was the second slightly bent arrow. Adjusting his aim, he released, and the arrow flew true impaling another through his thigh. The man screamed, grasped at his leg and fell to the floor yelling pain-filled howls. Two down. One injured. Five left. Eight arrows remaining.

He strung again, his bow twanging musically in his hands. Another arrow penetrated the mans leather and pierced his heart. He stopped grasping his leg and died. Three down. Jace twisted his aim, and drew. The sound a resonant sympathy as he sighted on the goblin running for the cages.

Forgot to include you. Correction: Five left. And one goblin.

He was aware of the other men rushing him.

Jace exhaled and released. The arrow propelled across the distance and sliced through the goblins Achilles heel. It went down skidding across the ground and into the cages where he clanged noisily. The hands of the people inside grasped the goblin as he screamed, they began to choke the life out of him.

Jace looked back the other men.

All five charging him at once. One of the men, wielding a nasty stained axe swiped at his head. Jace ducked under the strike, pinched and twisted an arrow free from his quiver. Then slammed it through the axe man’s left foot. The man gasped and stumbled past Jace, as he then tore the arrow out, spun it around his fingers, nocked, drew it taut, and loosed into the back of axe-man’s head.

Five arrows left.

Four men remaining.

Throwing his bow aside, Jace unsheathed his dagger but kept it concealed behind his thigh. “P-please don’t hurt me,” he cried out and began to slowly kneel on the floor. Shaking with false whimpering sobs.

The men shouted at Jace angrily, one of them stomping forward. He wielded a one-handed broadsword with a dark-steel basket hilt. He snarled something in his language at Jace, and marched over to stand within inches of him.

Jace smiled, and flickering his dagger around into a reverse grip, he swept out and buried the tip in the man’s left upper thigh.

He screamed bloody murder and collapsed towards Jace. His sword arm flailing wildly trying to slice him up. Rolling to his right Jace flicked his wrist and sent his dagger spinning into the next man’s gut at his three o’clock.

The man gasped and immediately slid Jace’s dagger free, and threw it to the ground. Idiot, Jace thought. Spinning around he ran away and kicked his bow up into the air. Catching it he ran further into the woods, away from the hill.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw two men easily keeping pace with him. While the third, the one with the gut wound panted as he lagged behind.

Jace weaved around trees and hopped over rocks. Twisting around he calmly withdrew an arrow from his quiver. Sighting the two men, he saw that they had parted. Each one moving to either side of him. Luckily that left his target.

Gut wound came into sight, and Jace drew the bow string taut. In a flash of speed the feather fletching of his arrow sprouted out of gut wound’s face. The arrow planted just beneath his right eye.

He flopped to the forest floor dead.

Spinning to his nine o’clock Jace bashed the man’s hand axe aside, followed by thrusting the end of his bow into the mans throat. The man heaved a gasp and stumbled backwards, his hand darting up instinctively to touch his throat.

Jace ducked as the second man on his six o’clock thrust a spear over his head. The tip burying through the gagging man’s left eye. Weaving back around Jace kicked the spearman in his groin. He heard a distinct pop, and the man yelled frightfully, fumbling and clutching at his burst sack as he fell to the ground.

Bending over the man with the spear through his eye, Jace wrenched it out and flicked the blood and juices off. Walking back over to nutless man, he shoved the spear point through the man’s neck. Making sure to go penetrate slowly.

The man squeaked and tried to pull away from the spear, but froze as it ease through his neck. His breathing became halted and haggard. Blood splayed from his lips as Jace twisted the spear and withdrew.

~*~*~*~

Walking back into the kidnappers camp, he found a bloody trail leading up to the cages at the back. He had noticed that the man with the basket-hilted broadsword, was no longer where he’d fallen. Jace walked over, dropped his load of weapons and leather armour onto the ground and waited before the cages.

“Vonu canarrish. Del- del’da lecky,” the man spat. The young green-skinned girl in his arms whimpered as Jace’ own dagger bit into her throat. She was the same one, he’d seen them drag out and piss on previously.

The man holding her grunted more gibberish at Jace. “Look,” Jace said and held up both of his hands. “I really don’t understand a fucking word you’re saying. Seriously. It’s literally all Klingon to me pal,” Jace shook his head.

At Jace’ words the man pressed his dagger even tighter against the girls throat. “Kapa dun hesh. Nal- nal,” the man swayed and practically clung to the girl more out of support now.

Blood pissed down his leg and pool on the floor. Jace had been certain in his precision. The man’s femoral artery was gushing overtime.

His head lulled and his grip loosened on the green-skinned girl. She started, and immediately ran off to the side. Walking over and shaking his head, Jace watched as the man collapsed to the ground. Jace’ dagger falling limp from his hand.

“Sorry, Worf. But thems the breaks,” and picking his dagger up Jace thrust it upwards from beneath the man’s chin. He gurgled and feebly tried to swipe his hand at Jace. A second he was finally dead. “Eh. Probably couldn’t let him bleed out. Now my arm is fucking soaked in his blood,” he groused and standing up he realised a few people were standing there. All of them staring at him.

For a second his mind did a double take and harkened back to few days ago. Waking up with no idea of who he really was—which hasn’t changed—and everyone staring at him like a choir of lost and frighten sheep.

These people—though all of them were decidedly not human—looked at him the same way.

“Hi, I’m Jace,” said Jace and turning around he went in search of more loot.

~*~*~*~

“What in Shre’s light did you do, boy?” Maypor’ eyes almost jumped out of her head at the sight of him. Or it might’ve been the fourteen other people following along behind him.

They were a sullen lot. He guessed them to be orcs or maybe even half-orcs. He had thought they were dryad’s at first, but each of the women—and all fourteen were women—had tiny little tusks that were only exposed when they open their mouths widely.

None of them had spoken to him either. Not even the small girlish one, and he knew she knew some of their language.

So he’d looted the camp, loaded them all up like pack mule, and left.

“What do you mean?” he asked her with false innocence.

“Why are a bunch of she-orcs trailing you?” Maypor reiterated and rubbed at her wrinkled brow.

“Calm down, granny. You’ll give yourself an aneurism if you don’t relax.”

“Annur-your-what?”

“Eh, never mind. I don’t even know myself anymore,” Jace sighed. “As for the she-orcs—I had no idea they were actually orcs—well, they were held captive by a group of slavers? Kidnapper? I’m not sure what they were.”

“Where are they now?” she asked him as Jace went around the back and set his load on the wagon. It was mainly weapons he had found and liked.

“Oh, they’re dead. Like no sequels nor undead comebacks for them. God damn what is wrong with me,” he muttered and rubbed at his head. After killing the slaver/kidnapper/bandits his head had started to ache. It pulsed and pounded, to the point that he was having trouble understanding what nonsense was spouting out of his mouth.

Not that that was anything new to him. The young girl walked over to stand beside the bench and thrust a hand up towards Maypor. The older woman frowned down at the green-skinned girl.

“It’ll take us hours at this point, boy.” Maypor sighed at him, ignoring the short she-orc.

“I know, May. What else could I do? Trust me I tried to shoo them away. But they just kept staring at me like I was bad owner, and was beating them. I felt like I was the Henderson’s telling Harry, “you got to back where you belong now.”” He winced as his head throbbed painfully.

“Master. The wrinkly-one will not help me up,” the short green-skinned girl pouted.

“Master?” Maypor and he said at the exact same time. Jace felt his eyebrows raise up in surprised.

“Of course. It is the way of our law. Our father was killed, and we were captured to be sold into slavery. Master saved us, from being sent to a Lord Dakic.”

“Shit!” Maypor hissed as soon as the girl finished.

“What’s wrong?” Jace asked the old woman.

“Lord Dakic, is the appointed official of Oedrin. Apparently he angered some nobleman who is close friends with Duke Barrendale. So the duke sent him here.”

“And for some unknown reason, he’s buying orc slaves.”

“We aren’t simple orcs, Master. We’re-” the girl interrupted.

“The goblin-races are already viewed distastefully by most in the kingdom. They generally are slaves. Viewed no better than elves and dwarves,” Maypor supplied.

“We’re the Saracae. Or as your people would say master, we are clan huntresses.” the short girl noted.

“Riiight…” Jace replied and shot a look at Maypor. The old woman smirked and turned to the young orc girl.

“Sorry dear. But your new master has little knowledge of this world.”

“May-” Jace started but the old woman waved him off.

“They will not betray you, boy. The Saracae are elite warriors in orcish tribe warfare. They’re usually the elite guard for a clan chief.”

“You know a fair bit of our ways wrinkly-one,” the young orc girl mused.

Jace shook his head and sighed. Why does shit keep getting more and more complicated. It was so much easier in Parkers Hold. Just ran around killing things. Looking to the orc women, Jace frowned. “All of you are Saracae?”

“Yes, Master,” the girl bowed her hair, and the other thirteen followed.

“And how am I your master?”

“Honour, Master. Our father was killed. We failed him. Then the Bidish captured us as we mourned. They revealed their plans. Boasted that this Lord Dakic, sent men and assassinated our father.” The more she spoke, the thicker her accent got.

“Then you killed them singlehandedly. You succeeded where fourteen failed. Our years ahead, would’ve been dreadful. Now we will devote our lives to you. To repay the debt of what could’ve been.”

Rubbing at his face and sighing, Jace whispered, “could’ve at least given me a pack of nymph girls instead.” No now he had fourteen warrior orc women, that needed clothing, food, weapons. Not even to mentioned where the hell they were going to stay in the village.

“I broke it. Might as well own up to it,” Jace mumbled as he waved the orc women onto the back of the wagon. “Let’s at least get moving. I do not want to be stuck here come nightfall”

Maypor helped the short orc girl up onto the bench beside her. Marit hopping into the back to nestle beside Jace on the already packed wagon bed. The orc women were strikingly beautiful, yet they had an expressionless stoic demeanour about them, and everything they did.

“Joanna, is going to love this,” he said and Maypor barked a chuckle.

“Joanna?” the girl orc asked curiously.

“She’s my…” he trailed off. what exactly? Girlfriend? Mate? Oh shit, could we be engaged or something. He didn’t know the customs of this world. In fact Jace didn’t know any customs or traditions. “…woman,” he finished blandly.

“Don’t forget the other two,” Maypor noted helpfully.

“Master has three mates?”

“No, I really don’t-”

“Yes, the boy does. The other two are mourning the loss of someone dear to them,” Maypor cut him off.

Jace’ eyes twitched. And once again he sighed. His headache pounding a roaring tempo. Badoom- badoom- badoom- he closed his eyes and wished for sleep to claim him.

Eventually it did. But sleep—as Jace was coming to realise—wouldn’t be wholly peaceful.

This novel is the work of Rhys Thomas. If you are reading this and it has not been published by Rhys Thomas, then this work has been stolen. Please report this to Amazon and me at email: [email protected]