It took them four days to reach Sudwick. Four long days of intermittent rain. They’d managed to spend a couple of nights in travellers lodgings which had made things easier, and with the weather so poor, the roads had been quiet. Those travellers they did meet looked at them with nervous eyes until they’d proven themselves to be members of the Adventurers’ Guild. There were reports of attacks to the south—bandits had pillaged traders and raided homes. At least for now, Sudwick had been spared a visit. Instead, the small farming village faced a different blight.

“We’ve got no choice but to burn the field,” Dylan said. The farm owner had showed them to the affected area and now stood angrily beside them.

“We’re not idiots,” he growled. “We tried that. Blasted pests won’t let us close, and the put out any fire we start.”

“I’ll be able to help with that,” Hump said. Wordlessly, he summoned a small flame over his hand. “So long as you permit it, I’ll burn it down.”

The farmer frowned at him, sadness in his eyes. He looked back at the field and sighed. It said enough—winters were hard enough already. “Might as well. Sheep are already dead.”

“I’m so sorry about this,” Bud said.

The farmer shrugged. “Not the first farmer for this to happen to, won’t be the last. Just get it done.”

Frostbite spiders were nasty creatures, especially when it came to winter. They grew as big as rats, and not the small kind. Waves of webs blanketed grass fields, crops, and trees, shimmering like ice in the winter sun. Everything within their claimed realm was turned to ice, leaving a field of frosted grass blades. They got their name from their venom, which froze the blood in your veins. A bite in the wrong place could stop a man’s heart; a few bites could kill even a Chosen.

The poor farmer that had raised the request had already lost his entire herd of sheep. Hump could just about make out the bodies beneath the webs, frozen solid by the venom of the spiders, and preserve until their eggs hatched. Fortunately, the people of Sudwick had been able to keep the spiders contained to this one section of field by burning a large ring around it. There attempts to destroy the area already claimed hadn’t gone so well. The web of a frostbite spider was resistant to ordinary flame, and they fought to protect their territory with a deadly viciousness.

It was nasty work getting rid of them. Hump spent the day using Fire Blast while the others defended him from attacks. Every ten or so minutes he’d take a break, resting an hour by a roaring bonfire as he tried to get some heat back into him, before going back out again. The spiders came from their shelter by the dozen, but between his three companions, they made easy work of the creatures.

It left a bad taste in Hump’s mouth when he finally finished and collected the Adventurers’ Guild token from the farmer. There had been nothing they could do to salvage the area. The sheep were gone, and only ashes remained. Still, he thanked them kindly and the local innkeeper offered them rooms for the night without charge.

They were having dinner at the inn when a man approached them. He was fairly well dressed, his clothes less worn then most of the people Hump had seen in Sudwick.

“Good evening to you, friends,” the man said. “Forgive my intrusion, but I was wondering if you’re heading Milton way.”

The four of them shared a glance before Bud said. “Indeed we are. Is there something wrong?”

The man smiled. “Ah, well, I’m sure you’ve heard of the bandit attacks in the area. My name is Deacon Lines, and I’m a tradesman. I’ve got six wagons of supplies destined for Milton but we’ve been too afraid to make the trip. We’ve been waiting here for three days in the hopes that adventurers might show up, and thank the Light you did. Might we travel with you?”

In the end, Deacon offered them a silver coin each and a hot meal each night to travel with their caravan. It was a good deal, and little extra effort for them. If anything, perhaps the caravan might be the bait they needed to lure the bandits out. Deacon ended up being a well of information on the situation. Milton hadn’t been attacked directly as of yet, but a number of the surrounding hamlets had been raided, and trade had all been cut off. For the most part, the bandits only took food and items, but at least a dozen dead had been confirmed already.

“And that’s not just rumours,” Deacon said. “I spoke long and hard with the captain of the guard here.”

“Gods mercy,” Bud said.

“It gets worse.” Deacon leant in. “They say he has a spear that glows like lightning, and when he strikes, thunder booms. It’s when the rain comes and you hear thunder but see no lightning that you need to be afraid. That’s when they strike.” Deacon laughed, but there was a nervous edge to it. “Just rumours, I’m sure. But we’d appreciate your company on the trip nonetheless.”

He bought them a round of drinks before he left them, and left the four of them to discuss the matter.

“What do you make of it?” Bud asked. “He can’t possibly be Chosen. No god would stand for a bandit.”

“You’d be surprised,” Hump said. “What about the Forest Ranger. He’s supposed to be a Chosen.”

“That’s just a story,” Bud said. “And besides, he stole from only those that could do without, and gave to those in need.”

“Still a bandit,” Hump said. “This is probably just a rumour anyway. Not often you find bandits this remote with a practitioner amongst them, let alone a Chosen.”

“We should still be prepared for a proper fight either way,” Dylan said. “If there’s one, there might be more. And if there’s none—well, nobody ever died from being overprepared.”

Celaine had a frown on her face.

“What is it?” Hump asked.

“You don’t suppose Ricard knew about this already when he sent us, do you?”

Bud shook his head. “He’d have told us, Celaine. He’d have no reason not to.”

She shrugged. “Just odd. Maybe though.”

They set out the following day at first light. It had been eleven days since they’d left Sheercliff, and Hump was more than a little road weary, and now that they were travelling with wagons they had to have an air of professionalism about them. They rode together at the rear of the six wagons, keeping an eye on the thick woodland right along the roadside.

Hump had developed a system on their travels. He found if he only focused on the practice that came easiest to him like his earth and fire spells, he put off everything else. So instead, usually he and Celaine would practice together in the morning. She would train in the internal technique Vivienne had given to her, while Hump worked on his shaping exercises. With that done, he took a few hours to rest, then spent the rest of the morning doing what he really didn’t want to do. Water Missiles.

If he was going to figure out an earth affinity version of the spell, he had no choice but to understand the actual spell first. But it was a Tier 2 water spell, and water magic had never been an area he was strong. It was frustrating, especially trying to work the spell well on horseback, but he had to admit, he felt a little proud of himself for pushing through with it. Before his master had died, he’d avoided doing the hard training. Now, something had clicked in him and he could do what was necessary. It wasn’t just training. It wasn’t even just his life. He had a party counting on him to get stronger, and an unhatched dragon egg that needed a keeper worthy of it.

The spell exploded in a showering splatter of frigid water, coating Hump’s head and running down his neck.

Celaine laughed. She and the others had quickly learned to keep their distance from him when he was practicing, escaping the splash zone.

Hump groaned. “I’ve almost got it.”

“Sure looks that way,” Celaine said.

Hump glared back at her and she smiled sweetly from atop her horse.

“If you’re finished for the morning,” Dylan said, “I think it would be a good time to talk about what’s coming up.”

They all looked at him.

“What do you mean?” Bud asked.

“Well, we’ve not discussed it since we left, but we’re going to be hunting people. And very likely, we’re going to need to kill. I think it would be good to air out any concerns before our lives, or the lives of those travelling with us, depend on it.”

“We have a saying back home,” Celaine said. “The pack comes first. I’ll do what I have to.”

Hump grinned at her. “You think of us as a pack? That’s so nice.”

She nodded seriously, either missing or ignoring his joke. “We’re a pack. If it’s us or them, we look out for ourselves. If they mean us harm, or the lives of innocents, I’ll feel no guilt over their deaths.”

"I’ll cheers to that,” Bud said, holding up his flask and taking a swig of water.

“You’re fine with it then?” Dylan asked him.

“Absolutely,” Bud said confidently. “I won’t lie. I’m afraid to kill—I hate the idea. But the word of the gods is absolute, and those that go against it, stealing and murdering, should receive their judgement.”

“Maybe,” Dylan said, though his voice was uncertain.

“You don’t agree?” Bud asked. If someone is a danger to others, or truly, irredeemably evil, I see no other choice.”

“I’m just not so sure you can judge someone that simply. A psychotic murderer must be stopped, you’ll have no argument from me there. But what of a man that kills out of desperation? Surely they deserve a chance.”

“There are always other ways,” Bud said. “The gods gave life to us, and to take that from anyone is the ultimate crime. I’m confident I’ll recognise evil when I see it. When that happens, I’ll do what needs to be done.”

Dylan sighed. “I never really thought of this when I left my home with Master Vivienne. I was a child, swept away by the prospect of gods and powers. It just doesn’t sit right with me, even if I can see the need. We’re not executioners, and things aren’t always black and white.”

“I don’t think it’s supposed to be easy,” Bud said. “If it was easy, we’d be no better than them. But it’s the responsibility of the Chosen to do what others cannot. It is to the innocent lives that we hold a duty, not to those that take it.”

Hump scowled at him—he never liked it when Bud got into his zealot mood.

“Everyone has their price,” Hump said. “Most in the business of adventuring end up killers eventually, and I guarantee you, not everyone killed deserves it. It’s hypocritical to think you’re in the right just because some god or law tells you. What do you do when it’s the weak killing the weak because they’ve got nothing to eat?”

“I stand by what I said,” Bud said. “There is always another way. Hunt, fish, find other work. There is always an out. Being hungry is no excuse to break the law and make others suffer in your stead.”

“Says the knight that’s never had to work for a meal in his life,” Hump said. “Tell me, lordling, what do you do when your lord owns the game, when the fish have swum off, and when nobody else has food either? I’ve seen so many bounties on men for poaching the king’s deer. Do you think they deserve to die? Because the law certainly does. At the end of the day, people should be able to tell what’s right without any high power to show them the way. Try walking a little in their shoes before you judge them.”

“You sound like you’re defending murderers,” Bud scoffed.

Hump stared at him and frowned, probably more worked up than he should be. “I’m not. There are definitely evil people out there. People that anyone with a bit of sense knows needs to go. All I’m saying is that most of the time, they’re just hungry. And hungry people will do a lot for a bite to eat.”