The magic Ozma has in this story is obviously markedly different from aura and Semblance in canon. That's because the maidens don't exist, so Ozpin (or Ozma) hasn't split up his magic and lost a lot of it like he did in the show. In no small way, he is as powerful as Salem is, with all the control over magic she should have. Hence abilities far beyond traditional Semblances.

Cover Art: GWBrex

Chapter 26

The rain thundered down on the forest, striking the puddles forming between muddy paths and grassy knolls and plinking off the early spring leaves and the exposed bark of the large tree Jaune was hunkered within. A hollowed-out oak, nature or a prior hunter had carved out the base to create just enough room for him to sit with his knees hunched up on a bed of dry leaves and folded clothing. In the entrance, only just sheltered by the boughs above, a small fire fitfully flickered and danced, its smoke whipped away by harsh winds as Jaune meticulously carved the remnants of his hunted hare into strips of meat. They would serve for tomorrow's meal as he…

Well, as he did whatever the hell he was supposed to do. Flee in the short term. Keeping moving – the direction didn't matter, only that it was away from Vale and his pursuers. He'd travel until he reached a cost and book transport across with the little coin he had. Once he had an ocean between him and the Chosen of Vale, he'd think further on the subject.

The Dark Lord remained as silent as he had ever since his treachery. No words, no explanations, not even the slightest attempt at a hollow justification. He'd been a fool to trust Ozma in the first place and now he was paying for it. Though that magic, the ability to travel a distance in the span of a second, could save my life right now. No. No more magic, no more Ozma. Trusting in that was what led him to this situation, and he keen to make it worse.

The spring rains couldn't have come at a better time, however. His tracks had been washed away and the Chosen would be forced to search in the rain and risk sickness or give up the hunt. Were he any less a criminal than he was, he might have assumed they'd let him go, but they wouldn't ignore the one who struck at the Goddess. Either way, their torches would show for a great distance in the gloom and it would be near impossible to notice someone sneaking by without light. He'd never thought the skills he learned from his father to hunt skittish animals would be used like this.

Something tickled at Jaune's mind a moment before he heard wild splashing. His feet kicked out, flipping and snuffing out the tiny fire in an instant. The heavy rain and wind destroyed the last embers and tore the smoke away long before the panting snorts and the splashing of hooves in puddles drew close. He fought the urge to peek out his shelter, pushing back instead against the dry wood as two or more horses thundered down the road his shelter lay off of. They didn't stop and were followed by another, smaller, party that grew louder and rushed by seconds after them, then faded away with the first.

It could have been travellers, brigands, merchants or just a villager caught out in the rain. It could have been, but he knew it wasn't. The Chosen were out in force and hunting the Dark Lord. Jaune pressed back into the interior of the tree and tugged his cloak up around him, wrapping it up to and over his nose and mouth to conserve heat. Pulling his legs up as hard against his chest as he could, he closed his eyes and dipped his face down into his knees.

Morning came in messy shades of grey and blue with rising mist pushed flat against the loam by lighter but still present rain. It was quieter and more peaceful, a light, fine rain that misted on the skin. The birds weren't singing, and most animals continued to stay in shelter, but Jaune pulled himself out from the tree and tugged his hood up. He tipped his head back to catch droplets on his tongue and swallowed. There had been a stream nearby, but it was too obvious a source of water. Hunters knew to wait at water bodies for deer and boar, and he was hunted this day.

Instead, he picked up the few belongings he had – only what he had entered the tournament with: his sword, shield and now the Relic of Knowledge. His hand shook as he grasped it, but he forced himself to link it to his hip, hiding the gold and blue under his dark and mottled cloak. It was not the Relic's fault he was here, and it might still prove useful. Asking it where to go and where the Chosen were was of no use because he didn't have much choice for direction, and the Chosen were going to be everywhere. If nothing else, Raven would be furious if she found him and he didn't have it.

I wonder how Ruby and Taiyang are doing, he thought as he trudged through the morning mist and over grass soaked through with rain and dew. He avoided the path but kept close to it, following it at a distance of some fifteen feet and sticking to the forest. Were they imprisoned and interrogated? There are enough people to say I was working with the Branwen Tribe. What if they've been executed?

He could only hope they'd read the mood and fled in the chaos. They were bandits, most of them anyway, so a certain awareness of when to split and run should be expected. With any luck, they'd taken their winnings and made their way out and were fleeing just as he was. The Chosen actively hunting him might even give them room to get away. Again, it wouldn't have been difficult to ask the Relic of Knowledge, but what would he do with the information? If they had escaped then good, and if they had not then it was added misery. Neither result would change his destination.

The rain lessened after an hour or more of walking and then took a sudden turn and grew stronger still. The spring rains would be perfect for those back home in Ansel who would have already planted crops by now, but it was a mixed blessing for him. What he might gain in being hidden from the Chosen, he lost in risk of sickness and markedly slower progress.

Two more sets of horses passed him by as he marched, each time with him falling back and flat to the ground, drawing his cloak over himself and laying still among the moss and mist. The first had been a caravan, a wooden carriage drawn on rickety wheels by two large draft horses. The driver, huddled tight with a lantern held high on a stick, hadn't stopped or paid much attention to the world around him, and Jaune hadn't sought to make himself known. Merchants carried news as well as expensive goods and trinkets, and given the crowds and money thrown around at the festival, he wouldn't have been surprised if the man was travelling from Vale.

The second party, an hour later, was of three Chosen, their cloaks flapping wildly in the wind as they hurtled past on coursers, travelling at such speed that he wondered if they weren't using magic to imbue their steeds. They had stopped for nothing, and likely wouldn't have for anyone other than him. They had been travelling back in the direction of Vale, but he expected they were combing the land rather than heading home.

It was another two or three hours, with a short rest between, when the road he was following alongside branched into two paths. A wooden sign stood at the centre and he didn't dare step out to read it because while the right path wheeled in the direction to follow the coastline, the left dipped down a slight incline toward a walled settlement bunched up against the water's edge.

He wasn't sure if it counted as a small town or a village, but it was much larger than Ansel. Several of the buildings within were of stone construction even if the majority were timber, and the wall surrounding it and reaching into the water some short distance were of both, the base a collection of rocks and stones with wooden logs stacked horizontally atop them and supported by others driven down vertically to keep them in place. The gatehouse was large, wooden, and the gate lay open, and beyond all the rooftops and curling plumes of smoke stood the masts and drawn sails of several ships swaying precariously in the uncalm waters.

"If I can get abord one of those…"

It didn't much matter where they were going, only that they weren't staying here. Jaune eyed the walls without much luck. Similarly, while the forest might once have reached up to the walls, it had been cut back over the years and there wasn't much chance of him getting close without being seen. No one would trust a stranger skulking about in the woods when there was a perfectly serviceable road.

He'd have to take the risk.

Was it worth it…?

"Do I have a choice?"

He did, but the choice was turning back or following the other road and searching for another village on the coast where the same problem would present itself. A harbour town wasn't going to have woodland up against the walls, not when shipwrights needed that lumber for building and repairing vessels. The same risks would come back, and he might be in a worse state to take them. Running a hand down his face, Jaune took several deep breaths and looked every way for riders before taking the first step out onto the road.

If his pace toward the town was a little quicker than the average person he hoped the rain would justify it. His heart was racing at the thought of Chosen riding by again as they likely had through the night and finding him and would be through the day as well. Jaune slid back into the trees to find somewhere to wait until dark. Then, at least, the hunters on the roads wouldn't be able to see him approach.

/-/

The gates remained open as he approached, guardsman standing under the shade of them with spears at their sides and shields on their backs. They watched him approach without any real fear, and Jaune made sure to slow his jog and raise an empty hand in greeting, slowing down to a walk as he passed under the gatehouse and out of the rain. The floor was still damp but not sodden like the roads outside, and torches burned merrily on small brass hooks studded into the wooden walls, casting light and heat over the open space.

"The weather here certainly hates me of late!" Jaune said loudly, forcing a confidence and casualness he didn't feel. "Is Vale always so wet in the spring?"

"Year after year." the guardsman on the left replied as he looked Jaune up and down. "You're a foreigner, then?"

"My sister had a child and I'd come to deliver food and messages from my parents and keep the winter with her. I think my ma' and pa' are still a little untrusting of her husband. Thought he wouldn't be able to keep her fed and safe through winter. Is there an inn here I can warm myself at?"

"The Hound's Head close to the docks is what you're looking for. I'll need a name first."

"Nicholas Tulle." His father's name and the family name of the village idiots. Jaune would have winced if he wasn't too afraid to. "From Moss Creek. Or at least that's where my sister lives. I'm from Mistral."

"Alright. Alright." The man nodded along, clearly uninterested in his story. "Go on in. Just mind you don't cause any problems, or we'll cast you out the gate or into the ocean. Whichever is closest at the time."

Or into the Chosen's hands. Jaune ducked his head. "I'm not here for troubles, sir, just a ship home."

They shooed him on and Jaune slipped away, grateful to be out the gatehouse and line of sight of the road. The rain had left the dirt paths between the homes empty and the large square where market stalls would have likely peddled goods at this hour were similarly absent. As he passed by a set of stables aligned against the wall, he paused to look at the horses within. There were plenty of them, but none stood out as being particularly warlike or expensive. Had the Chosen already been here, not found him and moved on? He didn't dare hope, because it seemed unlikely they would ignore so obvious a way out the country.

The Hound's Head was not the first inn he passed but it was by far the dirtiest and the loudest. It lay on the docks, nestled against a small rise up a set of stairs to the main town, and with the wooden harbours, piers and small storehouses laying opposite it. The inn's positioning put it as the first thing anyone coming off the ships would see, and sure enough it was filled with sailors, almost every chair filled from the front of the room to the back.

Alcohol flowed from wooden kegs tapped open and several women bustled to and fro, giggling, smiling or despairing as hands reached for them, wrapped about their waists or tweaked their behinds. That would have never been accepted back home where everyone knew everyone and the one responsible would be humiliated by the whole village. These were strangers, however, sailors from distant lands on shore for a short period, and the barmaids put up with it for coin. The men worked behind the bars, far less accosted but no less worked as they struggled to keep up with demands for food and ale, and to break up fights and clear up vomit.

Jaune approached a smaller desk off to the side by a narrow staircase leading up where a heavyset woman sat on a chair creaking under her weight. Her beady brown eyes narrowed as he approached, her arm leaning on the counter and a tired sigh slipping from painted lips. Jaune smiled, but the act might as well have been an insult for all the reaction it earned him.

"I'm looking to rent a room for the night."

"Got none," she said harshly. "Does it look like we're empty here? Ship captains and their higher-ranked officers have taken 'em all."

He believed it. This place was too packed to not be booked out, and the captains must have been here to ferry people away from the festival. Jaune grimaced. "Is there anywhere you know of that might have room?"

"Not that'll accept one such as you."

"Such as me?"

"I don't know if you're bandit, mercenary or soldier but most here in Queenswharf aren't fond of harder types. It's why all the sailors are here and not up in town. Guardsmen throw them back down if they."

Did he really look like a bandit? He'd have liked to say no, but just having a sword and shield must have painted him as more than the average traveller. Neither was easy to hide in his packs and he couldn't bring himself to throw away his father's sword. Since he wasn't going to lose that, it hadn't felt worth getting rid of the shield either. Both were conspicuous and might yet be of use.

"I can let you sleep in the kennel," she said. "It's shite, I know, but you'll have shelter, warmth and company of my dogs. They're friendly enough."

Out with the dogs? Jaune couldn't hide his displeasure but wasn't sure how many other options there were. The rest of the people here could sleep on their ships, but he doubted he could sneak on board so easily and being caught would draw too much attention. "I assume the kennels won't cost me much."

"Three coppers."

"To sleep with the dogs!?"

"Three and I'll throw in a meal and a drink. You'll have to find your own table, though. Good luck on that."

"I'll agree to that if you can tell me the best way to book passage on a ship tomorrow."

The woman nodded and held her hand out expectantly, forcing him to count out three coins and hand them over before she spoke. "The sailors will be up and carrying cargo onto their ships with the sunrise. Approach and ask to speak to someone about passengers and they'll have a first mate or captain talk to you. Word of warning, you'll need more than copper for that."

He had more but saying that might only get her or someone else interested in finding out how much more during the night, so he nodded and took a wooden token from her that he was to hand to the cooks. He carried that over to the bar, slowly worked his way to the front and handed it to the man behind, who left and returned with a bowl of stew and a half loaf of crusty bread.

It was adequate at best. Meaty, stringy and tough; he could have hunted and cooked softer meat himself but wasn't sure what he was supposed to expect from a sailor's watering hole. They were probably used to eating fish and whatever other foodstuffs they brought along. It was clear they were just here for the alcohol and the barmaids. Sure enough, there were no tables or chairs free, so he balanced against the wall and slurped up the stew, then handed it back and approached the front desk again. The woman rolled her eyes, snapped her fingers and called over a younger woman. "Show this one to the kennels and make sure the dogs don't cause trouble."

"Yes matron." The woman, older than him and yet probably looking younger with how wet, tired and mucky he looked, pulled out her long skirt and curtseyed clumsily. "If you will follow me, sir."

It was still raining outside and just as miserable as before, and the woman brought him around the back of the inn to a small wooden shed attached to the back wall. Its roof was thatch, and a ramp led up to a thankfully human sized entrance. Inside, three large, shaggy dogs perked their heads up, tails wagging curiously as he stood outside.

"Are they dangerous?" Jaune asked.

"They've never bitten anyone that hasn't threatened one of us, sir," the woman said. "And it's not as cold as you might think. The wall backs onto the kitchen and the heat creeps through. You're not the first to spend the night here."

Climbing in, he set his equipment down, eyeing the dogs warily but calming down somewhat when instead of growling, they came up to sniff at his belongings and then him, and as one even buffeted its body lightly against him demanding petting. He sat, stroking he mutt's shaggy head, and quickly found another pushing under his arm from behind. The dog's tongue lolled out cheekily as it looked up at him with big, dopey eyes.

"I guess this isn't so bad."

"I'm glad to hear that, sir." The woman bowed, stroked the last dog and stepped away. "A pleasant night to you." she said before walking back to the inn.

Jaune could hear the laughter, drinking and loud conversation through the wooden wall behind him, and true to her words the light and heat from the kitchen fires pierced through the not-so-small gaps in the wooden panels. Some were wide enough that he could peek through, though not enough to see much beyond bright lights and the occasional shadowed figure walking by.

It wasn't luxury but it was dry and warm, especially when his new friends curled up next to him on the cloak he laid out as a blanket and his chainmail shirt wrapped in his tunic to serve as an uncomfortably firm pillow. Roland was likely furious about him essentially stealing that, no doubt as much as Raven was for losing the Relic. With any luck, they'd understand.

/-/

It was the shouting that woke him up.

"Silence!" a woman howled from within the inn. "Silence in the Goddess' name!"

Jaune's eyes snapped open, his body tensing as he sat up. One of the dogs raised its head only to yawn and curl back up into the warm space he'd vacated. Turning, Jaune knelt by the wall and placed his face against a crack. Still blurry, still indistinct, but he could hear the hushed whispering inside.

"We are here seeking a criminal from the city," a woman said. Her voice was firm, powerful and confident. Chosen? It might not be. Jaune swallowed and kept still. "This fiend has stolen something from the Church and is considered to be a dangerous individual. I will ask once – have any here heard the name Jaune Arc?"

It was them. The Chosen had come. Jaune reached for his sword only to hesitate and leave it where it was. There had to be more of them here and someone would be keeping an eye out for runners. He wouldn't stand a chance.

"Jaune Arc has committed crimes against the Church of the Goddess and the people of Vale. Any who are found to harbour him knowingly will face the full wrath of the Goddess' Chosen. I ask again, have any seen or heard of Jaune Arc?"

No one said anything, as well they couldn't since he hadn't been so reckless as to introduce himself by name. There were heavy footsteps within as shadowy figures moved between the tables, inspecting each of the guests. Jaune heard the kitchen door whine as it was opened and held his breath. A dark shape moved inside, looking around, opening cupboards and even stooping to kneel and look under the workbenches.

At one point they passed by his crack, and he sucked in his breath and held still. The woman knelt, opening and closing a wooden door. She was so close that he could have stabbed his sword through the wood and impaled her. He could just make out that her hair was white in colour, then she was standing and closing the cupboard door, turning and walking away on with a click of metal heels on wood floorboards.

"The kitchen is searched, ma'am."

"Search upstairs. Enter every room."

The staircase inside creaked and he heard the pounding of fists on doors and shouted orders of "Open the door – the Chosen demand it." He heard, too, the startled protests of the guests and then the noise of people rummaging around above him. The Chosen shouted "Clear" on every room, and before long it felt as though each and every room had been turned over. If he had managed to rent a room, it would all be over.

"The Goddess thanks you all for your cooperation and understanding," the Huntress said, now sounding far politer. He doubted anyone was fooled by it. "I bid you all remain vigilant to strangers in your midst. Our presence shall remain in Queenswharf for two days. Should you find the man in question, we bid you approach us with all haste. He is dangerous and not to be faced alone."

They hadn't mentioned his being the Dark Lord. Did they want to avoid panic, or were they concerned it would male people too scared to rat him out? Everyone in the capital knew he was after Ozma's display, but it was possible the news hadn't spread here just yet. Jaune continued to hold his breath until the Chosen left and the sounds within the inn came back. They weren't as loud as they had been, the patrons too shaken after what had happened, but looking out the darkness of the kennel's open door, he was able to see four figures march away while one held a burning torch. They were decked in leather armour, dark cloaks and hoods, and each carrying a sword at their sides.

He'd evaded them this time, but it was obvious they were here to make sure he didn't board any of the ships and get out the country. They would be on the docks in force and likely searching each and every person climbing abord. His plan of finding and paying to ride with a ship was looking less and less safe.

It was likely the same story at every port and dock on the coastline and Chosen would be combing every village for several miles, then expanding their search further still. They could afford to hunt him forever since he was the next incarnation of the Goddess' ancient enemy. It wasn't as though they had any other enemies to deal with. Yet again, he itched to summon Jinn and ask if there was one village or town unprotected, but doing so would draw attention and how would he even get to such a place? He'd been lucky to get this far and only managed it because of the confusion and chaos of his magical teleportation.

"I can help you…"

Jaune flinched, clenched his fists tight and snarled out, "You've helped enough!"

No response. Ozma faded back into the depths of his mind, and Jaune curled back up among the sleeping hounds, pulling his cloak over his body and clenching his eyes shut. He couldn't rely on the Dark Lord now, not after what he'd done. It was so painfully obvious that he would only help if it served his interests. He would not fall for that again.

As Jaune let out a breath and drifted off, he wondered if Ruby was okay.

Jaune on the run and forced to rely on himself again.

Next Chapter: 31st July

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