Chapter 3


NOW

Getting into the tower was the easy part. I'd flashed Zesyyr's signet ring to her waiting guards — my only answer a hushed "she's ready to move?" — and stepped right in, Valen and Nathyrra at my back.

Waiting for the current Matron and her loyal guardsmen to be summoned was harder; skin itching for the impending fight. Drow guards lined the walls of the room, and I wondered if they would join the fray or watch it pan out. Their eyes darted between the three of us. They were probably wondering the very same thing.

I would need to make this quick.

Matron Myrune, her hair yellowed from age, and a single guard, Captain Tebimar — based on the giant scythe he bore — marched into the room. The woman's face was tight and scornful as she took us in. She turned to the large drow beside her.

"Who is this surfacer, Tebimar. Why did your guards let her in?"

She tilted her head, eyes calculating as she took me in.

I stepped forward calmly — and stabbed her in the chest.

Then?

Utter. Fucking. Chaos.

I abandoned the blade and pivoted to the side. A flash of silver as the scythe's blade fell.

Missed.

I backed away, mindful of the guards all around.

None of them moved.

Valen charged to intercept another slash of the scythe, letting out an animalistic roar.

Nathyrra rushed to position herself at the Captain's flank, short sword in hand.

I hissed a curse at my lack of forethought; I didn't have my quiver of arrows.

Valen swung. The Captain raised his scythe above his head, catching the chain of Valen's flail and diverting his attack.

Nathyrra screamed with the force of her quick attack, as she slashed at his unprotected back. Her sword caught in his armour and the full force of the hit was diverted. The Captain didn't flinch.

I drew a knife.

Valen tugged his flail back with a snarl, unhooking the chain and almost tearing the scythe free of the Captain's desperate grip.

I heard Enserric shout out for blood and blocked the magical longsword from my mind. There was no way I was going to get through the Captain's defenses in close quarters with that beast of a weapon in his hand.

I attempted to line up a shot with my knife.

"Shit," I hissed.

Valen's back blocked most of my view.

I risked a glance at the guards. They all stared straight ahead, weapons undrawn for now. I knew how quickly their loyalty could waver.

Valen raised his flail again, but the chain slackened as he lost momentum. He roared as the Captain cut deep into his underarm, bypassing the tiefling's emerald armour with practiced ease.

I saw the blood instantly.

I held my knife in a white-knuckled grip, shifting my weight from foot to foot. Don't risk it; don't go running in.

Nathyrra used the opportunity the slice through the back of the Captain's knees with her sword in one slash. With a snarl, she flicked the blade into a defensive position, blood flying. She jumped back into the room's shadows.

The Captain dropped his huge weapon, falling forward onto his knees, whites all around his red iris'.

I bounced on the balls of my feet.

My stomach flipped as Valen raised a hand to his side, stemming the rapid flow of blood. His flail hit the stone floor with a solid thud.

The Captain snarled, eyes flashing red as he reached for his belt. He curled his finger around the pommel of a dagger. The blade glowed with green acidic magic.

Shit.

I darted towards the kneeling drow.

When my knife cut through his throat, it met no resistance.

Unused to such close fighting, my heart skipped a beat. A clean cut, or a near miss?

My back was exposed.

I spun.

The Captain was dead before he hit the ground,

Valen's flail near the drow's splayed arm.

Blood from the drow's throat had already begun pooling around his head like a macabre halo.

The guards, silent sentries since we'd entered the room, sprang to life all around us.

The unarmed tiefling turned sluggishly at the commotion. He held a bloodied hand to his side, backing up against Nathyrra. He bared his teeth in a feral snarl.

I drew another knife, counting heads.

Thankfully, the guards paid no attention to us, leaving the room in an eerily orderly fashion.

A moment, and it was all over. The three of us were alone with the slain Matron Mother and her loyal Captain.

Valen, hand still stemming the flow of blood, swayed unsteadily.

Nathyrra turned and steadied him with a hand on his lower arm, brows downturned in concern. She helped him to the edge of the room, where he could lean his full weight against the wall.

"He needs healing," she stated plainly, face a calm mask. "the Seer can help him."

I dropped my pack to the floor and pulled out my herbal kit, bypassing the healing potions. Too valuable, we'll use them when we're desperate. I glanced up; the Captain's scythe didn't look magically enhanced. I lent towards it, checking the blade for poison. Nothing.

Nathyrra raised an eyebrow at my actions.

"Do you plan on carrying him down the stairs?" I pressed. "We'll need to stabilise him if we're going to get him to the Seer."

I carried the kit to Valen's side, easing him to the ground with Nathyrra's assistance. I unwound the bundle with practiced ease. He lent his head back against the wall with a deep controlled breath, eyes closed and sweat beading on his forehead.

"Valen," I started gently. He lifted his chin slightly in acknowledgment. "I'm going to need you to remove your hand."

I started at the heat radiating from his fingers, as I gently pried his hand away from the wound. I immediately replaced the pressure with a cloth, wedging it in the narrow gap between his underarm and his armour.

The Captain had been skilled, to exploit this weakness so quickly.

"Hold this," I instructed Nathyrra.

She quickly replaced me, applying pressure to the wound. She kept a curious eye on my kit as I went about grabbing all of the appropriate ingredients, grinding them into a rough healing paste, which I slathered onto a fresh pad.

Ready, I replaced her hand and inspected the wound quickly. More blood ebbed out at the removal of pressure. I wedged the pad in place.

Valen hissed, opening a cloudy blue eye. We held each other's gaze for a moment before he turned his head back to the ceiling with a grimace.

"Sorry," I offered, hands still on the cloth.

"A little more warning next time," Valen uttered to the ceiling through gritted teeth. "Especially if I'm to take the brunt of every fight." Irritation dripped from every word.

The paste was working quickly, each of Valen's words gaining strength.

"Can't let that killer flail go to waste," I joked, biting my lip at his assessment of the fight.

He hummed in reply, tilting his head back and opening his — now clear — blue eyes. He assessed the room with a critical eye. Nathyrra waited with her back to us, facing the door.

I hadn't made a good impression; rushing in and then letting them both deal with the chaos as I waited from the sidelines.

It will be better once we're in a more open area and I have my arrows. I bit my lip harder.

Valen's much warmer fingers shocked me out of my musings, replacing my hand on the cloth carefully. He nodded in what I think was thanks, and then slowly edged himself up to the wall.

In silence, we gathered our discarded belongings, and the massive Scythe — likely to fetch a good price. Using it as a crutch, with one of us on each side, Valen was already gaining strength. With a nod of thanks, we left the dead drow in the tower and made our way to report to the Seer, side by side.


THEN

It turned out that Emma's estimate of 'three days' walk wasn't 'more like three hours', as I'd hoped.

It didn't take long for me to start falling behind. Really far behind. I was becoming impossibly grateful for the tall walking stick she had offered me earlier. It was helping keep the bulk of my weight off my sore, bare feet.

But it could only work so well.

Emma would walk ahead, seemingly unhindered by the cold winds, and then — just as she would be about to disappear from my sight completely — she would pause to examine some low-hanging tree branch or overgrown ground cover. Sometimes she'd pull a notebook out of her pack and quickly assess a page, occasionally pausing long enough to sketch something within. But she only ever paused long enough for me to almost catch up, and then she would start her merciless pace all over again.

Each time it took me a little bit longer to catch up, and the growing reliance I was having on the walking stick wasn't easy to hide.

As the sun started its slow descent, a couple of hours and half of my remaining battery life later, I stopped with a hissed curse. I lent a hand against a tree trunk by the path, bark catching on my skin. Suddenly angry — at the walking, at the pain, at the situation — I tossed the stick aside with a huff.

Once I'd caught my breath, I tilted the heel of a foot up for examination.

Yuck…

As expected, my skin was blistered and red, fresh flesh peeking out from amongst the dirt. I gently rubbed aside some small pebbles with the back of my fingers, hissing in pain. They caught in my raw skin and came away with fresh trails of blood. I stared at my foot with a frown, not sure if I could continue walking like this.

Looks worse than the morning after wearing new high-heels...

I heard Emma approaching before I saw her. "Sit down and let me have a look," she admonished, no room for argument.

"I hope you have one hell of a Band-Aid," I managed to use an even tone.

Resting the heel of my foot carefully back on the path, I used the support of the tree trunk to lower myself to the ground. I closed the distance faster than anticipated, and my arse hit the ground with an in-elegant thump.

I stretched my legs out in front of me with a groan, my muscles aching from all the walking. I hit the back of my head against the tree to distract from the sudden sting of the breeze on the raw skin of my feet.

Emma squatted down in one fluid movement — no bones popping in protest, I noted with an admittedly petty sneer — in front of my feet. There was a small frown on her face.

She placed her pack on the ground beside her and undid the knots holding it all in place. She soon found what she was after; a rolled up leather bundle, held together by some string. She placed it by her side.

Next, she pulled out a small timber bowl — small enough to hold in one palm. Resting in it was what appeared to be a crudely crafted timber pestle. This went on the path by her side, too.

Well, I'll be damned my curiosity was peaked.

With dextrous fingers she untied the leather bundle, unrolling it flat in front of her and revealing the items within. There were some thin glass vials with cork-like stoppers, held in place by thongs of woven leather. Below them were thick pouches, held shut by a coiled string. There were some clippers and a timber pair of tweezers, too — slotted carefully into the leather.

Most of the thin vials were empty, but some contained bright pops of colour.

It was one of the green-filled vials that Emma pulled out now. She uncorked it and — using the tweezers — carefully removed the contents.

She lowered the spongy mass of lime green moss into the small wooden bowl. Next was a vial I'd initially thought empty; filled with what appeared to be water.

This was getting ridiculous. I needed a bandage and a car. Not a Harry Potter potion's kit.

"Woundbind poultice," she explained matter-of-factly — as if it wasn't just a made up jumble of sounds — as she poured the water into the bowl with the moss.

"I really don't need your hippy-dippy poultice, honestly," I insisted.

I bit my tongue and watched her face for insult. It was getting late and we hadn't passed a single other person on the walking track — so I couldn't risk her leaving me because I'd let my anger get the better of me.

I closed my eyes and breathed through my frustration. And my pain.

When I'd calmed enough to open my eyes again, I instantly noticed her lips quirked up in a small smirk.

She replaced both vials with practiced ease, and then placed the — apparently absorbent — moss into the water. Pretty soon it began forming a fibrous paste.

Almost as an afterthought, she grabbed a pinch of something from one of the pouches and ground that in too.

"Honestly," I insisted. "I really don't need your seven secret herbs and spices. Give me five and I'll be ready to go again."

"Rubbish," She replied, waving a free hand.

I suddenly felt like a child being chastised by her mother.

Well, at least her concoction couldn't make it any worse.

Seemingly happy with the outcome of the green slop, she placed the bowl on the path beside her and began rummaging through her pack again. A few seconds later she seemed to give up, pursing her lips. I jolted when she clicked her fingers at me, as a thought suddenly occurred to her. She began unwinding the binding on her right arm, a small smile on her lips.

Once it was free, she tore it in two with her front teeth, laying it out carefully in two long lengths. Using the pestle, she nudged the green sponge-y mess onto one length of cotton, and then the other, covering as much of the makeshift bandage as possible.

I rolled when she grabbed my ankle with long strong fingers, and then pressed the sticky side of the bandage into the bottom of my foot.

Holyfuckingshit It stung!

My eyes shot open, and I tried to pull my foot away from her in surprise. She held my ankle firmly in place, obviously anticipating my reaction.

"Shit," I shouted. I forced my voice into a more reasonable volume, the shock of the pain already subsiding. "What was in that?" If the sting was anything to go by, the water was almost definitely vodka.

"Tanglemoss," she stated matter of factly, as she began carefully binding my foot and ankle. "Dried bloodstaunch and water."

"Okay…" Pick your battles. I peeked at her leather kit. "Got any paracetamol in there?" I pressed, already knowing the answer. "I'm fine with home-brand, honestly."

She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing — carefully placing my wrapped foot on the ground, immediately starting on the other.

I was ready this time, and only hissed when she started wrapping my other foot.

She gave a curt nod once they were both in place, before standing with hands on her hips — seemingly admiring her work.

Then, she started unbinding her shoes.

"Oh," I started, shocked. "You really don't have to do that. This should help. Really." I nodded to my bound feet.

God, some warm shoes would be nice though…

She frowned for a moment, before looking between her feet and my own. Then, realisation seemed to dawn on her, and she chuckled warmly. She kicked off a boot, revealing a thick knitted grey sock.

"Oh no," she said through a chuckle. "You're not getting my boots." She shook her head again. "But I've got to protect my good work, somehow." She gave me a wink, green eyes sparkling.

She kicked off her other shoe before sliding her socks off and passing them to me.

Grateful, I carefully pulled them over the bandages, suddenly feeling very silly — even when she was the one that wouldn't let up this damn roleplaying persona. The unfamiliar feeling of being the butt of a joke I hadn't instigated quickly passed. Her shoes were already snug and rebound once I was ready.

She passed me my fallen walking staff without comment and then, with one hand in hers, and one on the stick; I pulled myself to my feet.

I tested them out, and with some surprise found that the brunt of the stinging was already gone. With reluctant appreciation, I realised that the extra padding from the socks went a long way to protect the sensitive soles from the uneven path.

I motioned ahead with a raised eyebrow, and then we started walking again. For another three hours. In total silence. I was in hell.

This thought brought a wry smirk to my lips. I wonder if they've created a Cania, to roleplay Hordes of the Underdark. Snow-machine and all…

I chuckled as I pictured fully grown men in Devil's onesies.

My thoughts drifted along that path for the remainder of our silent trek.

Only once the sky started changing colour did she slow and turn to me. I caught up to her, a careful hobble to each of my steps.

She tilted her head to the side, motioning off the path, and then disappeared amongst the pine-like trees.

I guess we're camping in the woods. With all of the bugs and spiders.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

At least it seems to be too cold for snakes to be out and about. I think…

I shivered — for once, not due to the crisp evening air —vearing off the path where the trees allowed me to walk without brushing against too many low hanging branches.

I was careful of my lightly covered feet, dry twigs snapping underfoot. Branches snagged on my borrowed cloak, hindering my progression, and I glared at Emma's back at her apparent ease. I took solace in the fact that her silent pace was finally one I could match. Apparently, just with less grace.

And far more swearing.

About ten minutes from the road, Emma stopped — turning in a full circle before catching my eye with a smile. She nodded her head, before placing her pack carefully against the trunk of a tree.

Definitely less space than I'd usually claim for a campsite, but she seems confident enough…

She hadn't chosen a clearing or a grassy section. There was no stream or markers — I honestly couldn't identify what it was about this area that had made her decide on it.

Birds jumped from tree to tree, high above us — singing of the approaching night. The hawk from earlier — a constant dot in the sky as we'd walked through the day — was nowhere to be seen.

Curiosity got the better of me.

"So," I leaned against a tree trunk, looking up at what little of the darkening sky I can see through the ancient tree-tops. "Why here?"

She smiled, pointing an index finger to the sky — and tilting her head as if to say listen.

I did. I couldn't hear anything over the birds.

She smiled at my shrug.

"The birds seem to believe this is a safe spot to sleep — and they see more than we can," she explained. "No predators in the area."

And here I'd been worried about spiders and snakes. What predators did we have to worry about?

"Okay," I nodded as if it was a completely obvious concern. "Cool, cool, cool." I rubbed a hand up and down my arm, fighting off the goosebumps.

She offered me one final glance, before squatting before her bag. "Did you want to grab some kindling and branches for the fire, whilst I set us up for the night?" she queried. She remained focused on a large roll of material attached to the base of her pack.

"Easy," I replied quickly, propping my walking stick against the tree. "That I can do."

It didn't take long to find dry kindling on the ground — all within eyesight of our impromptu campsite, thankfully — I didn't trust my sense of direction enough to find my way back.

Each trip in, with a new branch in tow, Emma seemed to have completed another task. A space cleared of all flammables for the fire. A slight ditch dug out with a heel, with my kindling teepeed in place. One single bedroll carefully placed a meter away from our designated fire-spot — the top cover of the bedroll propped up by a branch and held in place by a length of rope tied to a nearby tree.

No tent.

With a sigh of defeat, I dropped the last branch — a big one I'd dragged behind me, almost a meter long — by Emma's side. She sat by the kindling, her legs crossed — unfastening a small leather pouch.

I observed the bedroll with a raised eyebrow, taking in the thin canvas with concern. There was a slightly oily sheen to it — perhaps it was waterproof. Definitely not warm, though.

I don't know what I'd been expecting; her pack obviously wasn't big enough for an entire tent.

Emma seemed to sense my discomfort and chuckled. "Jane, go ahead and bunk in there until we part ways at Hilltop. I don't mind," she insisted. "I've been spoilt the last week in Silverymoon — rented a room for the entire week!" She smiled wistfully. "The beds were the softest I've ever been in." She shrugged. "But time to get back to the basics."

She seemed as if she was about to say something more and then shook her head, thinking the better of it. Instead, she motioned for me to come closer with her free hand. I knelt on the ground, and then — in a very unladylike manner, plonked down into a comfortable sit.

"Have you ever seen one of these?" She asked, opening the contents of yet another leather pouch.

I frowned, not sure what to make of the mismatched items. There was a small metal object — shaped almost like a squashed horseshoe, two angled bits of grey rock, and a small pile of dirty-looking black cloth. I shook my head.

"It's flint and steel," she explained, with a smile. "Something else I've been spoilt with, after my trip to Silverymoon." She chuckled. "All the locals swear by them," she shook her head. "Bit lazy, if you ask me. But after all the trouble I've been having with all this damp timber, I'm happy I indulged."

I'd read about these, but never seen them before. I mean, any sane person would just pack a lighter or a creme brulee-style blowtorch. But I shouldn't be surprised by Emma, by now.

"Want to see?" She pressed excitement at showing off her new toy clear on her face.

With some surprise, I found I actually was a little curious and silently observed as she pulled a small piece of the black cloth free, placing it on top of the grey rock. Then, she picked up the steel horseshoe and hit it in a downward angle against the flint.

Once, twice.

Sparks flew the second time and she went to gently blow on the black material. It sprung to life, glowing a bright orange. She carefully placed it below her teepee of kindling, shifting a few small sticks over the top.

It didn't take long before the smaller slivers of timber caught alight.

"That's actually pretty cool," I admitted.

For the remainder of the evening, we didn't speak much. I sat on the bedroll, the covers pulled up over my legs, staring into the flames. Emma was propped up — somehow managing to look comfortable — against a nearby tree. She was cleaning under her nails with the end of a knife.

Once night fell — and the birds were finally silent and asleep — Emma tossed me a few strips of dried meat and a small piece of flatbread. I gave the meat a sniff and then took a few tentative bites. A few nibbles in, and no closer to identifying the meat, I realised I was famished and devoured the rest — to Emma's apparent amusement.

"Got dessert?" I joked once it was gone and Emma was done with hers.

She reached into a pocket and carefully tossed me something small and round. I managed to catch it in an open palm and carefully held the small green ball between index finger and thumb, giving it a once over. It was some kind of fruit; that much was obvious.

I looked past it to Emma, raising an eyebrow in question. She threw one in the air and effortlessly caught it in her mouth. She gave a few chews, smiled at me, and then repeated the process.

With a shrug, I gave it a go.

I smiled as I crunched into it. It was like a thick-skinned grape, but just as sweet and juicy on the inside. It was the first nice thing I'd experienced since I'd woken up this morning. I savoured the taste of it, but it was gone too quickly.

She threw me another.

It was still fairly early when I curled up in the bedroll with a simple good night to the other woman. I gave the emergency services a final go on my mobile, turned my morning alarm on — just in case it made it through the night on power saving mode — and pulled the bedroll cover up to my chin.

I didn't plan on falling asleep straight away. I didn't even remember having fallen asleep, but I must have because next thing I knew there was a hand over my mouth.

I opened my eyes with a start and tried to pull away — only to find that my legs were trapped. I was tangled in my bedding, and my shout only came out low and muffled.

I froze. "Hush," a voice whispered gently by my ear.


NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

The neat handwriting of Emma takes up half a page.

Woundbind Poultice

Benefit: Will staunch bleeding, cleanse wounds and dull pain. If bound over a wound, promotes quick healing.

Expires: 24 hours, keep fresh ingredients on hand

Ingredients: Cloth, 1 part purified water, 2 parts fresh tanglemoss, 1 part dried bloodstaunch.

Bottle of Bravery

Benefit: Reduced fear

Expires: NA

Ingredients: Asarabacca root steeped in urine (the more powerful the urine's owner, the less fear the user will experience)

Duration: 1 hour

Sky-top Salve

Benefit: Clears infections

Expires: 24 hours, keep dried ingredients on hand

Ingredients: Cloth, 2 parts dried and ground sky-top mushroom, 1 part purified water