Megan awoke as someone knotted a hand in her hair and hauled her to her knees. She cried out and tried to grab onto her captor's fist, but that only made whoever it was wrench her head sharply to the side so hard it brought tears to her eyes.
"Let go!" she shouted through her teeth, but that only made the grip twist, tearing strands of hair out at the root.
"Did you really think you could interrupt the coming of the Woodsie Lord?"
It was a woman's voice that hissed in her ear, rough and reedy. Megan was overwhelmed by the smell of rotting leaves and stagnant water. The skin of the arm beside her head was wrinkled like bark and rough against her cheek. Another cold, long-nailed hand slipped under her chin and she gritted her teeth as the fingernails bit into the soft skin at her throat. "Pitiful girlflesh, you will suffer for this. You and your cowardly accomplice, when we catch him. You will wish you were dead long before the suffering ends."
Megan gripped the wrist of the hand under her chin, but it was like clutching a tree branch, and did nothing but allow her to take some of the weight off her hair. If she rolled her eyes up as high as they could go, she could make out the fuzzy hint of a green face looking down at her, though no other detail. Some distance from her, on the stone steps, she saw Daphne's crumpled body, and shivered at the smudge of blood on her friend's forehead.
Oh, god, Daphne… don't be dead! Please don't be dead!
Behind her and her captor, the fires rumbled, casting their sanguine light across the arena. The crowd stood in awed silence, transfixed on something out of her sight. Then she heard something that made her heart shiver in her chest: a low, grumbling chuckle that seemed to emanate from the rocks themselves. The ground trembled and the fires rose and crackled. A giant shadow swept across them, and with it, the heat of the fires at her back went chill and dead.
The grip at her throat slackened as Adrianna twisted to look behind at whatever it was casting that hideous, horned shadow across the entire stone platform. Megan gasped for air that didn't seem to make it all the way down into her lungs. Her stomach plunged as if she were falling into an abyss.
"I have awoken." The voice thundered in her ears, drowning out the sound of her own thoughts. It rumbled deep in her own chest, confusing the beat of her heart so that it skipped and stuttered like a snared fawn.
"Wakes Him, destroyer of mutilated earth,
Wakes Him, consumer of cities and city men,
Wakes Him, cleaver of flesh and bone,
Wakes Him, the Honeymaker, the Lord of Blood and Fly, the Leafy Destroyer."
The whole world seemed to resonate with the booming voice. She could hear beneath its rumble the hiss of dirt as it shivered on the ground, the shuddering whispers of the decorative branch work scattered about the arena. Night birds cried out when the voice spoke, filling the skies with their shrill calls and the rustling of their wings. The scent of grass and dirt and rain and thunder was so overpowering it seemed to crawl up her nostrils without aid of breath.
Adrianna had forgotten her. The hand in her hair slipped free and Megan dropped to her hands and knees on the stone. Her scalp throbbed, her cheek still bled, her temples pounded. With the last bit of energy she had in her, Megan began to crawl towards Daphne.
"Welcome, my Lord," she heard Adrianna say, her voice having lost the reedy undertones of rage.
The ground shuddered, and she heard the heavy clomp of large hooves stepping forward. The tremor of that step through the stone sent her head spinning with vertigo. Megan pressed herself flat to the ground as if she might somehow find herself falling upward into the sky. She didn't dare look behind her, didn't dare see what Adrianna was seeing.
Daphne! It was all she could let herself think about. She was so close—mere feet—and with a final push she lurched forward and clutched her friend's arm. "Daphne!"
Daphne's brow wrinkled, and Megan sighed with relief when she heard her groan. Still alive, then, though in what state of mind there was no telling. That was something she'd worry about later. She pulled Daphne upright, cradling her as gently as she could with their backs to the wall, but ready to drag her out by the arms if need be. Only then did she look back at Adrianna and the thing in the center of the stage.
She wished she hadn't.
Lit on all sides by the dancing fires stood a giant beast. Any resemblance to the noble Thornwick was long gone; the thing standing in his place was not human, even if it had a somewhat human face and torso. It had horns; its lower half was covered in matted hair and ended in two cloven hooves large enough to crush a human ribcage beneath them without the slightest effort. His upper body was tattooed with dark, blood-crusted runes; his skin was vaguely green; his fingertips ended in dagger-like claws; his teeth were sharp as he grinned down at the humans around him. Even Adrianna, so imposing before, seemed pitifully dwarfed by him.
"The world rejoices at your return, Master!" Adrianna said, her voice hushed with awe. "It is I, Adrianna. Your humble servant, your willing slave."
"I know of you," the beast said, and the air seemed to shiver with his words.
"Yes, Master. It was I who humbly coordinated your return."
In her arms, Daphne shifted, eyelids fluttering, and tensed suddenly. Megan felt her gasp and quickly pressed her hand over her friend's mouth. "Say nothing. Don't scream," she whispered. In silent reply, Daphne reached up and squeezed her arm, digging her fingernails—normal, human fingernails—into her.
"Betrayer," the beast said. "False ally. The worm of deception in the heart of the tree." He took a step towards her, and the tremor from it nearly shook the woodsie woman from her feet as he loomed over her, his matted knees level with her shoulders."You would trap the Trickster in your web of lies."
"No—Master, never, I—"
But he did not wait for her explanation. With a swipe like the branch of an oak tree, his arm came down and snatched her off the ground. She screamed and writhed, even as his booming voice declared, "Witness the fate of the false ally. Witness the fleshy torment of the betrayer of the Woodsie Lord."
Megan squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away, but couldn't block out the crunch of bone and flesh, the wet patter of limbs falling to the ground. In her grip, Daphne squealed and shoved back against her, clenched her arm so tight Megan swore she felt her fingernails cut the skin.
"Witness us the storm of thorns / Gives you the singing blood / Sees the world the setting sun…"
All around them, as the Trickster spoke, Megan saw the vines along the walls coil and shiver as if they grew inches each moment, reaching out to their master. A long, leafed tendril tangled itself around her ankle, and with a frantic yank, she tore it free. But others drew towards them from the wall, their stems leafing and flowering; the thorns, first supple and small, thickened and sharpened.
"Uproots the threshold of the Tricksie Man, the flesh of shadow and decay / Consume the mutilated earth hims covets…"
The entryway to the arena had become overgrown with writhing vines. Daphne jerked when one tried to wrap around her, and scrambled to her feet, backing away from the reaching fingers of the plants. She grabbed Megan's hand and pulled her to her feet. "Ohmigawd," she gasped. "Ohmigawd, ohmigawd, we have to get out of here."
"Let all the world drink of Man / Let all the world eat of Man / Let all the world witness the last days of Man."
The crowd of pagans had joined in, apparently knowing the words to the tuneless chant. Their faces were lit with a hungry, furious glee in the firelight; their eyes fixated on the enormity that was their Woodsie Lord. No one seemed to mind the decimated carcass of one of their high priestesses scattered across the stage. Megan wasn't sure even Adrianna had deserved such a fate, but remembering the woodsie woman's own threats to her and what she'd put Daphne through, she didn't feel too sorry for her.
"The time is come!" The Trickster's voice rose in a roar, and the crowd lost it, shrieking, shouting, hollering, mad with joy. "The city of the hammer-worshipers will fall upon their heads and crush them. The stones which they have enslaved will shatter their skulls and drink their blood."
The crowd loved this, and as she glanced around, Megan saw that each and every member of the horde seemed to be armed with something: clubs, knives, staves, rocks—anything that could serve as a weapon was present in the hands of someone who looked more than ready to tear her or Daphne to pieces.
"Daphne," Megan hissed, trying to pull her towards the back of the stage where the walls hadn't yet been overgrown with vines. Maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to scramble up the rough rock-face and get out of reach before the pagans jumped them. "Daphne-!"
The ground trembled violently as the beast took two steps forward, and Megan realized he was coming towards them, looking right at them. Daphne had already turned and stood gaping up at him. Megan felt her knees give out under her as his head blocked out the moon, his face illuminated at the sides only by the raging bonfires.
They were going to die, she realized. He was going to do to them what he had just done to Adrianna, Adrianna who actually was a pagan, who had been the pagan to guide his resurrection: if she received no mercy from him, the two of them stood no chance at all.
He came up to Daphne so close she could have reached out and touched the fur on his legs or kicked the giant crescent hoof of his foot. Megan tried to shout to her, tried to say a word, but her voice had left her completely, and she could only do as Daphne did: stare into the face of their imminent demise.
What happened next, she didn't quite believe until some time later: the Trickster stooped, leaning forward so that his mighty head was only feet away from Daphne's. He bared his teeth at her, and Megan swore she could see Daphne's reflection in the glistening saliva coating them. Then he wrapped his giant hand around her, so completely around her that Megan couldn't see her at all, and Megan screamed for her, though she could hardly hear it through the deep rumbling of his laughter.
But he did not crush her. He did not rip her limb from limb, or even throw her across the arena. Instead, he carefully picked her up and standing, carried her over to the stone ledge surrounding the arena. There, he set her, still gaping at him and pale as death. Then he turned, and Megan felt herself, too, enwrapped in his enormous hand, lifted from the ground, and just when the air within his grip was becoming stiflingly hot to breath, found herself set down on the ledge at Daphne's feet, staring into the face of the beast.
"Fights not the soulmaker, the breath of life, the giver of wakedness / Spare the lost and wandering child, for She is Life and Death combined."
And with that, he turned away from them and with a howl like a hundred furious, mutated wolves, the pagans surged upward and with their great Woodsie Lord, poured out from the arena and into the surrounding woods, torches blazing, cries shrill and maniacal, and before Daphne even recovered herself enough to say, "What the hell was that?" The arena was empty and the beast and his army were gone.
Beneath the moon's pale illumination, the City rested quietly. Nothing disturbed its streets and alleys, its culverts and corners, its manor houses and slums. All was well as the clock tower chimed the darkest hour, its tolls ringing and fading into the night. The cool air soothed the burning its streets had endured beneath the sun, cut the moisture left behind by the spattering of rain at dusk. Pink and purple blossoms from the flowering trees along the canal swirled in lazy drifts along the water's moonlit surface; the perfume was strongest where the petals had fallen on the sidewalks and been crushed into the cobbles by pedestrian feet. A grey cat slunk along the lip of a rooftop, its yellow eyes peering effortlessly into the shadows where the mice scurried along the walls.
But the City could feel a nervous energy within its core. Amongst all the darkened windows, amidst the silence of the night, Gormalt Cathedral's lights blazed red and angry. The City walls felt the faint trembling of activity within that place of worship with trepidation. Something was happening. Something was coming.
Grinding gears, clunking levers, and heavy metal footsteps resonated in the evening stillness. Doors opened, and from them, the cathedral belched out the shining forms of its obedient servants, armed and armored, into the surrounding streets. Behind them, from the courtyard, a large machination emerged. Its steps fell mercilessly on the cobbles, its cannons whined, its legs lifted its cockpit a whole building storey above the ground. Its claw hand opened and closed, crushing as yet invisible foes. Torchlight glinted off its twelve-foot hammer, and lit the myriad faces with bloody light that threw their smoldering eyes into shadow.
With precision, with ordered fearlessness, these red and copper soldiers branched out into the streets, lines and lines of them until it seemed the whole City would soon be full of them. Their footsteps were sharp and matched in rhythm; they moved steadily from the heart outwards, weapons ready, their fearful machination at their head. The ringing of its metal feel on the stones echoed like the tolling of the great clock, counting down to the hour of demise.
At the City's edge, amongst the trees, the shadows shifted, coiled, and began to stretch down the streets. Ropes of vines crawled up walls, sprouted new branches, cleaved to buildings as if the forest itself were dragging itself—hand over hand—into the City's heart. The City felts its streets shudder as dark, fleet-footed shapes flooded into it.
Amongst them moved creatures that walked like men but bore no resemblance to their human brothers and sisters. Arms like claws, eyes like a patterned mirrors watching everything at once, jaws like mandibles: they were nightmare phantoms, pulled from the night terrors of the civilized man who huddled by his fire amidst a vast and ruthless wilderness far older and more deadly than he. But they had one thing in common: through all the streets, up from overgrown sewers bordering sunken coves or out from the woods beyond the city, each tiny shape moved ever towards the same solitary point as if beckoned by the glowing hammer of stained glass that cast fiery light upon the rooftops and barren cobblestones of the city beneath it.
They moved silently, at first, the echo of their footsteps muffled and subdued, but as they drew nearer the golden rose windows of the cathedral which was their target, a fervent energy overcame them, possessed them, ignited their anger and swelled their shouts and cries.
And amidst them, with his minions at his feet: a beast with horns. Everywhere his great hooves landed, the stones shattered as if his touch had killed them, and from the cracks between their shards, greenery flourished and spindly saplings shot upward towards the sky, shading the streets with their bright green infant leaves. He grew a new forest behind him with every step. The air smelled of soil and wood and rain and storms.
The skies drew their clouds over the face of the moon, as if to hide from the coming violence. For violence, there would be. The City knew the tremors of impending violence. Knew the tang in the air that already smelled of blood before any life had been spilt across its stones. But it was only a matter of time, only a matter of moments.
And then, with a great, wordless shriek that came from the mingling cries of men and beasts and monsters and machines, the two armies crashed into each other, and all around them, the City crumbled with their rage.
The woods lay in deathly silence in the wake of the cleaving roar of life rising to the call of its master. Daphne found it eerie, hearing only her heartbeat and their own steps as they picked their way down the dirt-side of the stone ridge which overlooked the arena. Dark and eerie. Without any light save for the thin moonbeams that managed to seep through the foliage and the dying bonfires of the arena behind them, navigating down the steep terrain was a recipe for stubbed toes, scraped palms, and nearly twisted ankles.
I think we're in serious trouble. Megan's somber voice echoed in Daphne's mind in the concentrating quiet between them as they picked their way downhill.
Neither of them could remember the moment of the Trickster's resurrection. Both had blacked out at the same exact moment. Even Daphne, who preferred to look on the brighter side of things, couldn't help but feel like that was a bad omen, that somehow, they were still at least partially connected to Thornwick and—now—the Trickster.
Raife'll be thrilled, she thought, and it almost made her giggle, until she remembered the fleeting glimpse she'd caught of him—it must have been him, since Megan said he'd been on the ridge covering her rescue attempt—bolting as a rain of pagan spells peppered the hill around him and as Adrianna's minions clambered up in pursuit with inhuman speed. God, I hope he's okay.
Behind her, she could hear Megan curse softly as she slipped on the wet undergrowth and nearly fell. "I'm sorry again, for all the trouble," Daphne said, afraid to lift her voice to more than a whisper. "I should have known anything from the pagans was a bad idea. I shouldn't have opened that letter."
"Not your fault," Megan replied. She was breathing heavily, but seemed to be keeping up pretty well, compared to earlier.
"Did Raife ever tell you where he got it?"
Another soft curse and the rustle of swiftly sliding leaves. "Sort of. Not that he had any good excuse for turning you over to the pagans. But then, thinking logically isn't always his strong suit."
"Well, after what I did to him, I can't say I exactly blame him."
Megan stopped short and scoffed. "What you did to him you couldn't help. He knew you had hurt him on Northermeed, and chose to help the pagans against us. That's different."
"I didn't hurt him on Northermeed," Daphne said, "I almost killed him. Not even almost. Meg, if Otto hadn't been there, if he hadn't saved him, Raife would absolutely be dead right now, because of me. I can't blame him for being angry about that."
"Well, maybe you can forgive him, but how can I? Apology or no, he did what he did, and nothing erases that." Megan tromped down the rocky hill with renewed vigor, sidestepping around Daphne.
"Aw, he apologized?" Daphne stuck out her bottom lip and pouted at Megan. "So, there you go! No harm done, right? And anyway, he helped you rescue me, didn't he?"
Megan paused and glared at her. "Maybe technically," she muttered. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. There are more important things for us to worry about."
"Yeah," Daphne muttered, "like the Trickster on the loose."
They had finally made it to the bottom of the hill where the ground was soggy but far less sloped. Everything was spooky silent. Even the breeze moving through the branches, or the chiming voices of the will-o-de-wisps: it was all gone. It was as if the woods were straining to hear something. Daphne couldn't help but listen, too, and in the deafening stillness, broken only by the occasional patter of rainwater falling from the leaves overhead, she heard the distant rustle of movement some ways off, but coming towards them.
Megan caught her breath as she stood beside her. "Did you hear that?"
The sound had stopped abruptly, too abruptly for it to be nothing. If she strained her ears, she swore she could hear someone whisper very, very softly, as if afraid it might be heard. Only once did it hiss loud enough for her to make out the nearly silent word it repeated, "Megan?"
Daphne let out a sigh of relief and grinned. "Oh, thank goodness. Raife! We're over here!"
Beside her, she heard Megan let out a huff and step back from her. Through the woods, she heard the crunching steps again, and then, somewhat quietly, heard the thief call, "Over where? It's dark as the Trickst—" She heard him cut himself off, curse softly, and then push on quickly, saying, "It's damned dark!"
"Here!" Daphne called. "You're getting close."
A few moments later, the thief materialized out of the gloom in front of them. "Well, you sound all right, at least," he said, giving her a wary once-over. It was good to hear his voice, even if it was gruff and annoyed. "Where's Megan?"
"I'm here, too," her friend said beside her.
It was hard to tell in the dark, but she thought she saw the theif's grim face soften a little when he heard Megan. "So you are," he said, and something warm in his tone made Daphne want to squee just a little bit. "I couldn't even see you there."
"Seeing isn't necessary if you keep making so much noise." The voice that spoke was very close to her, and deep, and deliciously Russellish, and Daphne couldn't help letting out a quick yelp of surprise to find the Master Thief suddenly standing beside her.
Megan, too, jumped, though she managed to keep any audible surprise at bay. Raife, alternately, seemed less than shocked, even when the Master Thief took a slightly menacing step towards him.
"You almost killed me with that fire arrow," Garrett growled. "Just a few inches off, and I'd have roasted on that spit."
"It worked, didn't it?" Raife replied. "You've still got your good eye, and you haven't had your throat slit by the Trickster, so all things considered… I think that makes us even."
"Even?" Garret scoffed. "It doesn't count as a favor if you were remedying your own mistake due to incompetence."
Raife tensed at that, leaned forward, fists clenched, and Daphne cleared her throat and spoke before the thief could. "We're all alive, at least, right? That's not the worst outcome."
Then it was her turn to feel the pinioning glare of that green-glowing mechanical eye as the Master Thief turned slightly to glare at her. "I wouldn't call releasing the Trickster on the City and all its inhabitants a particularly good outcome, either. What was your part in that?"
Megan had somehow managed to slip around Daphne and put herself between them. "It wasn't Daphne's fault. The pagan woman, Adrianna—she'd bewitched her. She's fine now, and Adrianna's dead, so I don't think we'll have that problem again."
"Hey." Daphne poked Megan in the shoulder. "How did you break her spell on me?"
"Me? I don't know. Maybe the spell broke when the Trickster resurrected. Or when he killed Adrianna?"
Daphne shook her head. "No, it was before that. I kept getting my memories back in flashes and pieces, but none of them fit together, so I didn't really know how to think about them. But just before Thornwick transformed himself, everything became sharply clear. I knew who I was again, before…well, you know."
"Before…what?" Garrett was somehow more intimidating when you couldn't see him particularly well. He blended in with the darkness around them so completely, it was only that thin green light of his eye that helped her resolve his dark shadow against the rest of the forest, and even then, she had to focus to see him.
"Nothing," Megan said quickly. "Just the Trickster coming back and Adrianna almost tearing us to pieces."
The Master Theif eyed her in silence for a moment, and then said, "You seem remarkably unscathed for someone who just came face-to-face with the Trickster."
"It was weird," Daphne said. "He just picked—"
"—his way across the arena like we weren't there, and everybody ran to follow him," Megan said, as if completing her sentence. "We were lucky, I guess."
Daphne caught Megan's eye briefly, and the faintest widening of Megan's eyes seemed to say, Keep quiet. She wasn't sure what the big secret was, but it wouldn't be the first time one of them knew something the other didn't, so she nodded at the two thieves and said, "Yeah, it was kind of spooky how quickly they forgot about us."
"If they hadn't, I doubt you'd be standing here," Raife muttered. "Every pagan from a hundred miles around must have been there tonight."
"And now they're all heading for the City." The Master Thief's green gaze flicked away from her, as he looked back over his shoulder. "Someone's coming."
At a distance, Daphne heard the indistinguishable murmur of quiet voices, but as the soft crunching of footsteps drew nearer and the voices clearer, she felt her heart skip a beat. "Thank goodness!" she said, and hurried past the Master Thief, ignoring his protest, as she cut through the short distance of woods to meet the newcomers. "Sherry! Otto! We're over here!"
Behind her, she heard Raife say softly, "Are you really all right? It looked a bit rough there with the witch…" Something in his tone made her certain he wasn't talking to the Master Thief.
"Daphne!" Sherry's shriek split the air like a hawk's cry, and seconds later, the barmaid exploded through the trees and crashed into her, arms squeezing so tight, Daphne almost couldn't breathe. "Thank goodness, thank goodness, thank goodness! I thought you might be dead, or hurt, or maybe that spell—Thornwick said that bitch had stolen your memories!" The barmaid flinched suddenly, pushed Daphne out to arm's length, frowned, and asked quickly, "Do you remember me?"
"Ye-ah," Daphne said with a laugh. "I wouldn't have called you by name if I didn't, would I?"
The barmaid rolled her eyes and crushed her again in a hug. "I don't even care that you're making fun of me. I'm just so glad you're okay! Seriously," she said as her grip finally slackened and Daphne felt fresh air seep into her lungs again, "I really didn't know what might have happened to you. But I must say, that creepy Thornwick really came through for us. If he hadn't shown us where to find the memories that witch had stolen from you, we'd never have known where to look. And it must have worked, because you seem to be back to yourself again." Sherry grinned and brushed a strand of hair back from Daphne's cheek. "Where is that icky pagan priest anyway? I'd like to thank him properly. I was a little rough on him after you got sucked into that thing."
"Thornwick's…uh… Well, he's gone. Not here, anyway," Daphne said, glancing back at Megan to see if that was a detail she should keep quiet.
"Well, where'd he go?" Sherry demanded. "I thought he was an ally and everything."
"An ally?" The Master Thief's voice grew rough. "Is that how you escaped the Trickster? Because you're his ally?"
"Um," Daphne said, stalling as she urgently tried to catch Megan's attention, "I don't know that ally is really the right word…"
The thief was standing close beside Megan, now, his hand on her arm, and both had their heads down as if talking very quietly about something private. Daphne felt a little flutter of butterflies when Raife lifted a hand to the bloody scratches on her friend's face, but Megan turned her head away before he could touch the tender skin. At least she didn't look outraged, anyway, so that had to be a good sign. Daphne accidentally caught Raife's eye briefly, which made the thief tense up suddenly and take a step back from where Meg stood, his hand slipping from her arm to his side again.
"Hey! You're all right!" Otto grinned as he and Basso joined them, and squinted into the darkness around them. "Is Megan here, too?"
Daphne pointed Megan out as Basso and Garrett gave each other a silent, greeting nod. "She's just back there, with Raife."
"Raife!" Sherry snarled. "Where is that bastard? I've got a bone to pick with him!"
The barmaid nearly pushed Daphne out of the way, which made the thief and Megan both look up, but Daphne snagged the girl's arm, and kept her from advancing any further.
"What were you thinking sending Daphne a letter like that?" Sherry shouted. Basso and Garrett stood a little apart, watching, but Daphne thought she saw Basso frown slightly at the question. "You could have gotten her killed!"
The thief locked his jaw as Megan said, "He knows, all right? He didn't know it was a trap, and he regrets it." She glanced at him, and Daphne noticed that the thief was himself watching Megan very carefully. A little too intensely for just a normal glance. Again, she felt the tiny flutter of butterflies, especially when Megan immediately looked away from him.
"Oh, he regrets it, does he?" Sherry snapped. "I suppose you had a nice little chat with him and told him what a bad boy he'd been, and how he should be so very sorry, because he almost murdered your friend, but if he could just kiss it better-!"
Megan's eyes widened and her cheeks flushed darker in the shadows of the woods. "Don't you dare-!" She started forward, fists already half at the ready Raife caught Megan's shoulder to hold her back, but Sherry surged against Daphne's grip, and it was all she could do to keep the barmaid from an out-and-out fight.
"Pull it together!" Daphne said. "Seriously, it's okay. If he says he didn't know, then I believe him and forgive him, all right?"
"You forgive him?" Sherry cried, turning an indignant glare on her. "How can you just say that like it's no big deal that he almost got you—"
"Let's call it even, then. Okay?"
"There's a lot of score-keeping amongst your friends," the Master Thief muttered sidelong to Basso. "What exactly is their unit of measure for fairness?"
The lock pick shrugged, but he couldn't hide the slight smirk on his face. "If I knew that, I'd probably understand a whole lot more than I do about what's going on right now," Basso replied.
Sherry narrowed her eyes at Raife, then whispered to Daphne, "You cannot just let him get away with this. You think this is the last time he'll try to betray you? And what about her, huh? Sticking up for him? Siding with him against you?"
Daphne rolled her eyes, and replied in kind: "Stop it, Sherry. Megan isn't siding with him. And even if she was, you don't know everything that happened at Northermeed. To be honest, even sending that letter probably doesn't make me and Raife all that even, okay? I owe him big time, so if I say I forgive him for a stupid letter that ended up just causing a lot of trouble, but didn't hurt anybody too badly, so much the better for us. Let it go."
The barmaid squinted at her, but then sighed and rolled her eyes. "Fine. But don't ask me to like him. And when he betrays you again, don't get annoyed when I say I told you so."
"I won't," Daphne replied. Then, turning towards where Basso and Garrett stood, said, "So what do we…do?" She stopped when she saw Basso alone, and the Master Thief gone. At first, she thought it was only that she couldn't see him in the dark, but the absence of a green glare anywhere in that space made her certain Garrett was no longer with them. "Wait! Where'd he go?"
The lock pick shook his head, but said, "I'd guess back to the City in pursuit of the Trickster. And if we're wise, we'll get moving. I have a feeling we won't be alone in these woods for long, and if we're going to run into pagans or Hammerites, I'd rather run into them on my own turf."
"I'm with you," Raife said. "I've had about enough of this place to last me the rest of my life and then some."
No one argued that. Together, they determined the direction they needed to head to find the City, and then pressed on in that direction, gradually stringing out into a line with Raife and Basso in the lead, followed by Sherry and Otto, and behind them, Daphne dropped back to walk beside Megan. For some time, they progressed in relative silence. In her head, Daphne replayed the moment of the Trickster's placing them outside the arena, and Megan's words again: I think we're in serious trouble.
"Why do you think we're in trouble?" Daphne whispered. "And what was all that with not telling Garrett what happened back there? What aren't you telling me?"
Megan seemed to be deliberately keeping herself from looking Daphne in the eye, and when she spoke, she kept her voice flat and low. "The Keepers think there might be a chance that the Trickster draws his existence from us."
"So?"
"Artemus told Raife that there was a chance that the Trickster will live as long as we do. Meaning… It's possible that the only way to kill the Trickster is…if we die."
"Whoa, what?" Daphne stopped walking. The others ahead of them kept moving steadily, though she saw Sherry glance back and seeing them stopped, caught Otto's arm.
Megan coughed softly and nudged her head forward. "Keep moving. I don't want to draw attention to this."
"Why not? What the hell! Artemus thinks we might have to…? To stop the Trickster?"
Megan shrugged.
Daphne forced her legs to start moving beneath her, but she felt as if the entire forest had faded a little around her, as if it were ever so slightly less real. Beside her, Megan walked without a glance or a word, but her expression was grim and set. Daphne crossed her arms and clenched her hands. "Did Raife tell you all that?"
"He warned me not to trust Artemus. When I pushed, he told me."
"Are you sure he wasn't just, I don't know, trying to isolate us from the Keepers? I mean, we both know he's not exactly a fan."
"He wasn't lying," Megan said, staring on ahead of them. "That much, at least, I believe without a doubt."
"Is that what you were talking to him about just now?"
"He said he saw us both collapse from where he was on the ridge, just before he had to run from Adrianna's minions. He asked about that. I told him not to worry about it."
"But you're worried about it."
Megan glanced up at their friends leading the way, but when she looked back at Daphne, her jaw was set and she took Daphne's hand in hers. "I will never let the Keepers hurt you," she said. "I don't care what their theory is. I don't care if it's true. If we're going to die here, I'd rather go down fighting that monster than at the hands of someone like Cyrus."
Daphne swallowed hard, but in her chest, she felt the warmth of the seed as her anger grew. It was a different kind of feeling from before; she didn't feel it pushing itself on her, didn't feel herself losing control. If anything, she felt as if it was waiting for her, patiently, ready to act when she was ready but not about to move without her say. It was strangely comforting, and she felt warmer in the chill woods. She wasn't afraid. "What if we don't have to die?" she whispered. "The Trickster didn't want to hurt us, which does look like he might know we're more than just ordinary people here. That gives us an edge. Megan…" She squeezed Megan's hand and looked her in the eye. "What if we're the only ones who can stop him? What if killing the Trickster is the end of the game? What if by defeating him, we release whatever hold he's got on us that keeps us here? Maybe we won't die at all, but just go back home? There's a chance, isn't there? That's how all the games end: defeat the boss in the last level, and then the game's over and we go back to our normal lives. We know we can die without stopping Thornwick—the Trickster, whatever—because of that kid at the Keeper Compound. He died, but the Trickster is still here. What if our deaths wouldn't do anything to him? What if he set us aside for some other reason, like gratitude or something?"
Megan seemed to think about that for a moment, then the doom and gloom that had hidden beneath her expression seemed to soften. "Maybe you're right."
"In which case," Daphne said, "we have to destroy him. I mean, it's my fault he's even here, and I… I feel bad for Thornwick. I don't think this is what he wanted, even if it was something he wanted at some time. He wasn't a bad guy."
Megan gave her a narrow look. "He was a resurrected corpse, you know."
"That doesn't mean he was evil!" Daphne replied. "Even at the very end, he tried to help me by showing Sherry and Otto and Basso where to find my hidden memories. I owe him, even if it's just to put him to rest, but maybe there's a way he can change back to himself."
"Are you crushing on a dead guy?"
"No!"
"Really? Because you got that gooey-eyed look just then, and that's kinda the same look you give pictures of Orlando Bloom."
Daphne pressed her lips together to stop the snicker. "It's crazy," she said, "I haven't even thought about Orlando Bloom in ages. I suppose you've been too busy crushing on one of the local bad boys to notice-"
"Shut up," Megan growled, but at least she was smirking.
A shout from up ahead drew their attention, and through the fringe of trees quickly thinning ahead of them, they saw a bright glow of light and heard distant rumbling. Megan jogged up ahead, and Daphne, Sherry, and Otto followed, and before long, they all stood at the edge of the woods looking out over the cityscape before them.
Everything burned. Great billows of smoke rose from the heart of the city, lit orange and red by the fires beneath them. The skies glowed, casting the whole city in fierce sanguine light.
Daphne heard Sherry gasp beside her, and heard Otto's quiet mumble of disbelief. To her left, Raife stood transfixed, his dark eyes catching a little of the firelight beneath his hood. Basso had a hand to his brow, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Megan stood a little behind him, her back stiff and her chin up; it was a look Daphne was beginning to recognize as a resigned battle stance. The air smelled like ash and char.
For the longest time, everyone watched the smoke rise from the city, listened to the distant rumble of combat, breathed the acrid air. What crossed each of their minds, Daphne couldn't say, but she knew what was in hers: It's time for war. It rang in her head clear as if she'd spoken it aloud, and deep within, she felt that tiny knot of power stirring with renewed energy.
Before her lay the great City, and at its core, surrounded by flames and smoke and the clash of weapons that could kill her, stood the one obstacle between her and what might bring her home. Home. She was ready for it. Up until now, she had felt her own world, her home and her family and her friends, slipping away from her. There were times when she'd even forgotten that they were trying to get out of the game, that escape was the sole purpose of her existence in this place. You want to get out?That's what the kid from Michigan had said to her, mocking her. But yes, she wanted to get out. She wanted her and Megan to be safe at home again. She wanted life to return to normal.
She caught Megan's eye when she glanced over at her, and she knew Megan was thinking—if not the same thing—something very similar. It was time. But as she looked down their line of friends, she knew one thing, too: she couldn't let them get themselves killed for this. How could she go back to her own life, knowing they'd died to help her? Especially after all they'd done already to get them to this point.
Daphne closed her eyes, watched the red shadows flicker across her eyelids, and gave the seed within her the gentlest pull. It responded immediately, but when she pushed it down again, it subsided willingly. She opened her eyes and let out the breath she'd been holding, released her clenched fists.
Megan stepped back from their friends and walked over to stand behind Daphne. In a low voice, she asked, "Are you ready?"
Daphne turned to her. "I think so. But it's got to be just us."
"Maybe the woods aren't so bad after all," Raife said, crossing his arms and turning a shoulder towards the city.
Basso's face was drawn. "I think I have to go down there," he said. "Garrett can't do this alone."
"He won't do it alone," Daphne said, drawing all eyes to her. "Megan and I are going to go help him. I think it's best if you all stay here."
Sherry scoffed beside her, and Otto let out a sharp laugh. "Are you joking?" the kid said. "You two, go down there by yourselves? With the Hammerites and Pagans and—oh, yeah!—the Trickster? Do you remember how many Hammerites were in Gormalt? And I'll bet there are more now!"
"Anywhere you go, I'm going," Sherry replied. She scowled at the city like it had done her a personal insult.
Basso sighed. "We're not going to let you go alone. Even with all of us, it'll be a miracle if we can stop the Trickster. He's no typical mortal enemy."
"You've all got a death wish if you're going anywhere near that," Raife muttered. "Best to wait it out here until the Hammerites and Pagans have taken each other down a few notches."
"They might destroy most of the city before they do that," the lock pick replied.
Daphne clenched her teeth for a moment, drawing a little strength from the seed within her to say, "No."
Sherry glowered at her. Otto lifted an eyebrow, but just seemed amused. Raife kept his face flat and unreadable. Basso frowned. It was the barmaid who spoke up. "No? You think you can stop us?"
Daphne shifted her gaze from one to the next, trying to lock eyes with them, trying to show them that she wasn't about to budge on this. "Look," she said, "this all started when me and Megan showed up. This is tied to us. When the Trickster transformed back there, you know what he did? You know why we really escaped certain death? Because he wouldn't fight us. Because he himself picked us up and put us out of harm's reach from all of his minions. He can't fight us, because somehow me and Megan are connected to him. None of you are, and he won't hesitate to kill you the first chance he gets."
"You think that scares us?" Sherry cried. The barmaid was nearly shaking as she turned to face her. "You think, after all we've been through, after all we've suffered—for you—that we're just going to watch you walk down there and get yourself annihilated?" She laughed a sharp, bitter laugh and tossed her hair. "Think again."
"Daphne." Megan's voice was quiet, calm. During the discussion, she'd drifted a few steps back, almost to the fringe of the trees again.
"I'm with Sherry," Otto said, arms crossed. "No way are you going to cut me out now. Not when I can do so much to help. I mean, sure, you've got some powers, but you're still mortal. And Megan? No offense—" he added quickly in Megan's direction. He seemed to falter when he saw the distance she'd put between them. "—it's just… I mean, you need us!"
The lock pick shook his head firmly. "I can't allow you go by yourselves. It's suicide!"
"Is that what you're thinking?" The thief's voice was low and gruff, downright angry as he glared at Megan, who stood frowning at the ground. "Is this some stupid self-sacrificing thing? Because if it is, you won't get five feet towards that city before I stop you."
"Daphne," Megan murmured again, and Daphne got the distinct impression from the weird urgency in her tone that she wanted her to come closer. It gave Daphne a chill.
"What?" Daphne asked, crossing the small patch of grass to where her friend stood. "What is it?"
The thief began to step towards them. "Meg, if you—"
"Hold your breath," Megan whispered, and then she drew something out of her pocket and threw it at the ground.
There was a snap and a cloud of green smoke appeared out of nowhere. Daphne clapped her hand over her nose and mouth, but the smoke still stung her eyes, and she felt Megan clutch her arm and draw her back farther into the edge of the woods. She heard Otto cry out, indignant; saw Sherry's eyes widen with anger; saw Basso's gape of surprise; and watched Raife, hunched and scowling, struggle against the gas before sinking to the ground without a sound. One, two, three, four: they were all down within another moment's breath, eyes closed and breathing gently.
"Ohmigawd," Daphne whispered when she dared to remove her hand. The air still smelled funny, but though it made her a little light-headed, she didn't pass out. She stared at Megan, but Megan only frowned down at their unconscious friends.
"They wouldn't have listened," Megan said. "They would have convinced us to let them come, and they would have gotten themselves killed. I don't think either of us could live with that on our conscience."
"No, but…" Daphne swallowed and shook her head. "They're going to be so pissed off."
"It'll be over before they wake up," Megan replied, "one way or another. There's nothing they can do."
Sherry lay on her side, her arms bent at uncomfortable angles from how she'd landed. Otto's cheek was pressed to the grass, and she could see an ant already trying to crawl onto his forehead. The thief lay curled on his side; the lock pick, most graceful of them all in sleep, lay sprawled as if he'd just laid down for a nap. Biting her lip, Daphne hurried to Sherry's side and rolled her onto her back, carefully folding her arms over her stomach. It gave her chills, laying her friend out on the grass as if preparing her for a coffin, but it did look a lot more comfortable. Beside her, Megan stooped to position Otto the same way, but when she stood and stepped back, she had the clutch of water arrows and a small glass flask of invisibility potion he'd kept on him.
"We'll probably need them," Megan said when Daphne frowned at her. Somehow, it seemed too much like grave robbing. "He'd understand."
Daphne looked down at their sleeping companions and for the first time, felt the stab of losing them. They would probably never see any of them again, these people who had so generously helped them all along the way. She wouldn't even get a chance to say thank you, or goodbye. The guilt hit her hard, and she found tears in her eyes. "I guess this is it."
Megan cleared her throat before she said quietly, "I guess so."
"We…we may never see them again."
"Probably not." She saw Megan's lip tremble suddenly, and Daphne heard her suck in a deep breath with effort. "Just… hold on," her friend whispered.
She swiftly picked her way across the grass to where the thief lay, and knelt beside him. At first, her hand hovered over his shoulder, but then she tugged back his hood ever so slightly, stooped, and kissed his temple. She stayed in that position for a long moment, and Daphne lost it. The tears streamed down her cheeks and she pressed her hands against her lips, choking back the sudden onset of sobs.
"I can't do this," she gasped when Megan returned to her. "I can't…I can't just leave them like this. Sherry's going to be so hurt, and Otto… Basso'll blame himself, you know he will. And what about…?"
She felt her friend's arms go around her, crushing her close. "It's going to be okay," Megan whispered. "We're going home. It's what we've always wanted. They'll be safer without us, you know they will. And they'll understand someday."
"If there is a someday." Daphne pulled back and wiped her cheeks with her palms. "What if they stop existing once we leave? Isn't that the same as killing them?"
Megan frowned towards the City, but Daphne thought she saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes, though they never fell. "I don't know. Maybe. I hope not. But we have to go now. Every second we waste is a second that Garrett's on his own against that…thing."
Daphne hugged herself and nodded, but couldn't help looking back at their friends. "Okay," she whispered. "Okay, let's go. Let's get this over with."
Before them, the City burned, and the rumbling of combat resonated in their chests. Daphne slipped her hand into Megan's and Megan gave Daphne a nod of encouragement, and then both girls began walking steadily towards the chaos.
