He conquers who endures.

Pre-Fall Poet

Johanna woke up early and had to shake out Tom. Thankfully, her husband didn’t snore at all, a fact for which she was intensely grateful as all of her male relatives did so. They quickly freshened up, and went out, knocking on the door of Peter and Laura, in the exceedingly probable case they were still asleep.

This was confirmed as they made out their way down to the common room, where only two tables were filled. Johanna waved at the two former scavengers who were wolfing down their breakfast.

“Already up?”

“Yea. Days are still shrinking, and it takes almost all of the day to get back to White Meadows. And we have to pick some parcels and crates heading there before we go,” Coby said.

“Then good luck to you,” she said.

“You’re pushing east?”

“As soon as we can. Same as you said, days are getting short. At least the weather seems to be holding.”

“Good luck to you. Hope the Dakota suits you.”

“Depending on the conditions, we may winter there.”

Coby Hopkins shrugged.

“Good luck. I don’t think we’ll meet again. Unless you go through the Yellowstone… if you pass by Carbine Redoubt, then find the storekeeper there. If the sign says Hopkins… well, it’s either my cousin or his good-for-nothing daughter.”

Johanna’s eyebrow rose.

“Last year, she was 13 and starting to drive him insane. Just say you know Coby… from the “trip west”. He’ll know. Or won’t, if I don’t make it there.”

She rolled her eyes at the allusion, then joined Tom at a table. She didn’t even have time to order before she spotted Laura and Peter coming down the stairs, and she waved to them.

“Good to go?”

“The sooner the better,” Peter confirmed.

Four plates of bacon, eggs, and toast with mugs of hot tea later, the four felt ready. Tom and the other two went up to grab the backpacks while she confirmed with the innkeeper they were indeed heading out. She had paid in full yesterday.

Outside, in the early morning, with the sun not yet visible over the walls of Cattlemen Glory, she felt energized. Ten to fifteen days of travel, and they’d be out.

Out of home. Out of State. She, who had never traveled further than the Ancient ruins, three days from Valetta. She would have liked to imagine she’d have gone out at one point of her life, out of Montana. But she doubted she’d ever have found the occasion unless it was forced upon them.

“Forward, stalwart heroes,” she said.

Tom raised an eyebrow, and then smiled, and they started toward the gate of the town. The gate was westward, so once out, they followed the road south and then east, as it went around the palisades of the town.

“Morgan, they’re coming,” the small man said breathlessly as he reached their spot.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Of course, I am. They’ve just entered the forest, they’re following the road just as Miguel said.”

It was Morgan who spotted them yesterday, as they arrived at the inn, brought in by the new transporters from White Meadows. Nobody had bothered displaying the poster that arrived two weeks ago, but Morgan’s brother was working at the town hall, where said poster had ended up, and he’d shared the content with him for laughs.

He wasn’t sure at first, but the two men matched the description very well. A tall, solid guy, and a small wiry one, almost like a Dwarf. He did not think the blonde woman had such a squarish jaw like the drawing, but the two girls also roughly matched the description.

And, apparently, they were heading to the Dakota despite the late season and the lack of caravans for safe travel, meaning they had an imperative reason to do so, despite the risks of snowfall and Changed beasts. The odds of a random group of four people matching the descriptions, two men and women, running away from the Montana in this late fall was almost non-existent. Yet, some of his crew were still doubting that they could…

“You’re sure that’s the right ones?”

“Told you so,” he replied, irritated.

“They’re supposed to be Talented and dangerous. I mean, you’re neither a mage nor one of those super-heroes, Morgan…”

“Who needs to be some kind of super-mage? If you miss, you shoot again. Haven’t you practiced when you were looking to get that guard sinecure?”

“Armand is the only one who trained for the bow…”

“A crossbow is easy to use, Lucas. And they’re not going to be that dangerous. I mean, they ran away from the war. If they were that powerful, why didn’t they stay and wreck the tribes? It’s not like those trashy books...”

“Shhh!” Miguel said.

Morgan noticed a silhouette between the trees in the distance, around where the road was cutting across the forest. He made a downward gesture with his hands and the six of them pushed themselves against the ground, to stay as hidden as possible.

As the four figures neared, he recognized them. It would have been horrible to ambush some random travelers who had the misfortune to head that way at the same time. Travelers wouldn’t have a $50.000 bounty on their heads. Split six ways, that was over 8k for each of them. An enormous sum.

And if they were deserters, leaving the Marches of the Montana open to those savages from the North, well, they deserved their fates.

He waited until they were in the middle of his crew, and rose, aiming his crossbow, and shouting.

“GO!”

The big guy stopped in his tracks, taken by surprise, and one bolt stuck in his shoulder, while the other nicked his face as he made a gesture as if he wanted to catch it. The small man did a step of kind-of-dancing, and the arrow aimed his way passed him with an inch. The two women got hit, he thought, as he wasn’t paying much attention.

Then, before he could reload and fire, everything went wrong.

The brunette simply looked at the bolt sticking from her side and simply reached, pulling it off with a spray of blood that instantly cut. As if the wound in her gut had shut instantly, Morgan realized. Then her head whipped toward the big man – “Tom Milton” if the poster was to be trusted – and she vanished. Morgan blinked, disbelieving his own eyes before he realized she was now at Milton’s side. He could have sworn she hadn’t moved, yet she was there, reaching for the bolt sticking from the man’s shoulder.

The blonde, meanwhile, simply raised her hand, a flash of light appearing before a ball of fire splashed on a tree, and Armand yelled while jumping to the side. She moved her arm, another ball of fire launched, and Lucas gave a hellish howl as his left side burst in flames that looked terrifyingly hot.

He’d lost sight of the small man, and searched, not seeing him.

Where did he go? Where is he? He was there a second ago!

The brunette turned her head and looked at him. Her eyes looked cold, the eyes of a true, trained killer. He shivered, because she was the most terrifying thing he’d ever seen in his life, and his fingers almost slipped from the reloading crossbow as he froze in fear.

They’re supposed to be deserters fleeing a war? How can…

Armand managed to fire another arrow from a kneeling position, and then the large man reached him, having somehow covered dozens of yards in a blur. Morgan hadn’t seen him draw it, but he had what looked like a smithy hammer in hand, and he swung at Armand in a curve from low to high, twice in a short time. His best bowman – and oldest childhood friend – literally launched up and fell almost boneless.

The blonde was now turning to Miguel, and a new fireball launched, fire erupting at his feet and engulfing his legs. Miguel howled and fell to the ground, fire dissipating abruptly and leaving black legs, already hideously charred .

Where’s Theo? He’s supposed to get them from behind!

Morgan’s crossbow clacked, and he saw that, rather than having the pre-loaded spring pull the string correctly, the bowstring had ruptured. He immediately dropped the useless weapon, pulled his hunting knife, and rushed her. Morgan grabbed her, swinging his knife at her throat. She deflected it somehow with her hand, twisting, the knife impossibly sliding across her glove, but he still managed to draw blood.

Then she turned, looking at him with a disturbing intensity. She opened her mouth as if to emit a cry, but a grey blur came out, and his face burned, his vision misting, before he closed his eyes, pain hitting him. He felt himself grasping instinctively at his face, the knife forgotten. Blind, he was pushed aside by unseen hands.

Then the sensation of fire hit his chest and his thoughts clouded.

His last thought as sensation fled from him was that $50.000 was nowhere near enough. $100.000 wouldn’t be enough. Nothing would be…

The fight against the bandits had been short, and bloody. He had a nasty scare when he realized one of them had snuck on Johanna, although he immediately realized she wasn’t in real danger. The guy just nicked her, and she’d immediately breathed hot steam in the ruffian’s face, before finishing him with a fireball while Peter ambushed the last attacker that was fleeing.

And 12.000XP. 2400 for each, and of course, 2400 for him. He did not yet have the amount he had back after that dungeon, but then, the bandits were no match, threat-wise and experience-wise for the two Murids back there.