The Pulver Chronicles – 19. Blood On The Green

“Just because someone believes you, doesn’t mean he trusts you. And just because someone trusts you, doesn’t mean you should trust them.”

Jackson mulled over those words, told to him by Byron after he had asked for some advice as he woke up the next morning. The tent he had slept under was much better than sleeping under the stars, especially as a bit of rain had dropped shortly before dawn. He took a look at the rest of the group, who had woken before him, and was busy preparing their breakfast on the rekindled campfire.

A few hours ago, Jackson had revealed himself to these men, under the guise of being sent by Azazel as reinforcement. The bluff had worked, or so it seemed at least. But, as Byron had told him, playing the role of a Hexacracy agent wouldn’t be as easy as just saying a few words: it was an involved process.

“What does that mean, exactly?” Jackson thought-said, as he pulled out his own food -leftovers fruits and berries he had collected the day before.

“It means that even if they believe you are who you say you are, they might still test you,” Byron explained. “It also means they may still turn on you.”

“Turn on me? Why would they do that? I saved their lives!”

The veteran shrugged. “There are many reasons as to why someone would betray a comrade-at-arms, even in the middle of battle. And, after all, aren’t you planning to turn on them?”

Jackson bit his lip. Was he planning that? Obviously, he couldn’t let these men accomplish their mission -which was almost certainly to kill Alizana-, but he hadn’t really thought about how he was going to stop them. He certainly wasn’t planning on killing them as soon as they found Alizana -and led him to her. He just didn’t have it in him to do that kind of thing.

“Any other advice?” he asked.

“Keep your cards close to your chest. Don’t divulge more than you need, so you won’t have to lie too much.”

“Good morning,” the leader of the group said to Jackson. “I trust you’re well rested; there is a lot I’d like to discuss with you.”

“I thought you might.”

“My name is Lutzeg, by the way.”

Jackson waited for a moment, thinking Lutzeg was also going to introduce his men, but he didn’t.

“Here is my first question: do you know what we’re after?”

“You’ve been sent after the rebel leader.” Jackson avoided using her name, in case Lutzeg didn’t know it. He certainly didn’t want him to learn too much about his target.

“Aye, I had a feeling you would know,” Lutzeg said. “Next question: how does Azazel know about our mission?”

“You already asked me that question.”

“And you didn’t answer it.”

“The Archmage knows what she knows,” Jackson said. “Some of what she knows, she tells, but most of it, she keeps to herself. You know Archdemons, more likely to give orders than explanations.”

One of the men -the Demon with bushy black hair- snorted and rolled his eyes, in an expression that Jackson took to mean “tell me about it”.

“I suppose that’s true,” Lutzeg said. “So your mission is to protect us until our own mission is over?”

Jackson sensed a trap. “Let’s just say our objectives coincide.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I don’t like it when unknown elements appear in the middle of a mission I lead. And I don’t much believe in free favors.”

“You think my help comes at a price? That I came to your rescue as part of some secret agenda?” Jackson snarked.

“That’s exactly what I think,” the leader said abruptly.

Jackson popped a few berries in his mouth, and washed them down with some eyelet milk, hoping no cracks had appeared in his mask of calmness as he started feeling a bit more nervous. Repressing a burp, he replied:

“Well, even if that’s true, I still saved your asses the other night. I’m not asking for gratitude here, just pointing out that this should make us allies.”

Lutzeg scratched the stubble on his cheek. “Fine, then. What about that thing you used?”

“What thing?”

“That… light thing. It was like you raised the sun for a moment.”

“Just some magical artifact the Archmage gave me.”

“Do you have more of these?”

“That was the only one she gave me, sorry.”

“My mage here” he nodded at Yonn “says he’s never seen magic like that before.”

Jackson shrugged. “Guess your mage isn’t Azazel.”

“Another secret of hers?”

“You could say that. Any other questions?” Jackson said.

The leader grunted something, then called for his men to gather around. One of them -a bowman, the last surviving Human other than the mage- was busy relieving himself against a tree; he quickly fastened his pants and joined the group.

“Let’s pack it up, we need to get going as soon as possible. We’ll take one additional horse for transport, and let the others go.”

“We’re still going forward with this?” the Demon with bushy black hair asked, a little incredulous.

“The bitch isn’t dead, is she?”

“Five of us are, sir! And the enemy knows we’re here, now.”

“We’re not turning back,” the leader insisted.

“But, sir, this is madness. If-”

“If we turn back now,” a bowman said, “the others died for nothing.”

“Well-” the Demon stuttered.

“Would you prefer telling the general that we failed?” Lutzeg said. “Worse: that we fled? Well, if you want to turn back and go home, you’re welcome to do so. Then, you can tell the general yourself.”

The other Demon did not respond, although his expression was very telling. Guess the punishment for failure is worse than dying at the claws of those creatures, Jackson thought. The whole group began preparing without any further comments. The surplus tents and equipment were left behind, hidden in a hollow tree.

Everyone got on their horses. Before they rode off, the leader talked with the mage. The latter used the same ritual he did before they entered the woods. This time, Jackson got a closer look at his idol. It was a carving of a man, likely a deity of some sort, with grotesque features including comically large eyes. The mage dripped a bit of his blood on it, and muttered his incantation. Jackson was only a few feet away from him, but couldn’t hear what the incantation was even by lending an ear. He observed carefully, but nothing seemed to happen.

“What’s wrong, Yonn?” Lutzeg said.

“My sight is clouded,” the mage said. “Lots of magic here.”

“Damned woods,” the leader muttered under his breath. “That thing still works, though, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. I just need a bit more time.”

Lutzeg sighed, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Turning to Jackson, he said: “How about you? Any other strange tool that may give us some guidance?”

“Nope. Sorry.”

Several minutes passed before the mage put his idol away. He pointed in a direction with a confident gesture. Wasting no time, Lutzeg clicked his tongue and whipped his reins, and his ride went off galloping. The group immediately moved to follow. The pace was kept fast for a few hours, in spite of the trees and the uneven terrain. Jackson began to wonder whether he would ever be able to sit ever again. It was only at about noon that they finally slowed down.

“Looks like Lutzeg wants this whole thing to be over with soon,” the Demon with bushy hair told Jackson, bringing his horse to the side of his.

Now that he was closer and in full daylight, Jackson could see that his eyes were both black in color, to the point where it was difficult to delimit the pupil from the iris. As to his skin, it was somewhere between beige and red, but closer to the latter. He seemed rather young, with his smooth, unwrinkled complexion, and the energy in his behavior.

“That’s fine by me,” Jackson said.

“My name is Sathariel, by the way,” the Demon said.

“Seh-thah-riul?” he tried to pronounce.

“Sah-thah-riel.”

Jackson made a few more attempts, then said: “Mind if I just call you Seth?”

Sathariel chuckled. “Mind if I call you Mad, in that case?”

“Eh, sure.”

“I wanted to thank you for saving us… You know, back then. Especially since, apparently, the others won’t.”

“Are they really angry that I saved the day? Is it a pride thing?”

“It has more to do with the fact that you work for another Archdemon, and they’re worried this may drag them in the middle of some political game.”

“I’m just trying to do my job; I don’t care for politics,” Jackson said.

“Oh, I wasn’t trying to imply anything,” Sathariel hurriedly said. “I actually feel the same way. Unfortunately, you can never truly escape politics in the Hexacracy. You’re not from there, I take it?”

Jackson decided not to deny what was apparently obvious. After all, he knew almost nothing about that land, and so wouldn’t know how to fend off any questions about it. In addition, the odds that his accent sounded anything like those spoken there was nil.

“No, I’m not. You?”

“Aye. I was born in a little hamlet in the Coppertop Hills, though I mostly lived in Starkberth, on the Opal Coast.”

The young man’s eyebrows arched. “Was last night the first time you saw action?”

“It was, yes, although I didn’t see much of the action, to be honest,” Satharial said with an embarrassed gesture of the hand. “Without you there, there’s a good chance I’d have been gutted in my sleep.” He chuckled nervously.

The guy has no experience, and they send him on a mission like that? He’s basically just cannon fodder. Jackson shook his head.

“How did you get into this?” he asked the Demon.

“Well… Some soldiers came to town to recruit soldiers for service. This officer gave us this big speech about glory and rewards, and about retaking what the Empire had denied us… I didn’t pay much attention, honestly. Didn’t really care. But I wasn’t given a choice. I was just a street urchin with no trade nor family, and I had gotten myself into trouble for some food I had stolen, so I was essentially told to volunteer, or else. They brought us to that camp… No, it was more like some kind of fort. Well dug-in, and with high wooden walls. We trained there for… I believe five months? Almost six. They taught me how to ride a horse, how to use a sword, how to draw a bow…”

“You any good?” Jackson said, glancing at the sword hanging on Sathariel’s belt.

“I doubt I’ll ever be on par with a warrior-monk, but… I’ve gotten better. They gave us that thing to drink with every meal. It tasted sourer than anything I’ve ever drank, but it helped us get stronger faster. In the end, the taskmaster only punished me when my whole cohort was being punished.”

Drill sergeants do whole-unit punishments in this world too? Some things just never change.

“What about you?” Sathariel said. “Were you conscripted?”

“No, I joined willingly.” With a sigh, he added: “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

The Demon hummed awkwardly, unsure what to reply to that.

“I stayed over a year, almost two,” Jackson went on. “Then some stuff happened, and I decided to strike out on my own.”

“As a mercenary?”

“Yup.”

“Are you from the Southern Marches, then?”

“Nah, I’m from… some really far away place.”

“So you don’t have any family around?”

“I actually don’t have any family anywhere,” Jackson said.

“I’m sorry,” Sathariel said. “It’s the same for me, as a matter of fact.”

“Don’t get too personal,” Byron said. “You’re wearing a mask, remember? Best not let anyone see through it.”

Jackson agreed it might not be wise to divulge too much of his private life to a stranger, but he couldn’t help it. There was something in Sathariel that got Jackson to open up. Probably the commonalities between them: they were both young men with no roots or relatives, who had ended up in the army due to a lack of better alternatives.

Lutzeg ordered a halt for lunch, some time after the zenith. He told everyone to only unpack the bare minimum, and to be ready to get back in the saddle at any moment. Jackson and Sathariel continued their little conversation over their meals, while Lutzeg and the mage had an aparté; Byron reappeared, listening in on them.

Sathariel told a couple of stories of his life in his hometown Lalreta. He had been orphaned at a young age: his father died when he was around three, trampled by a spooked horse, and he had lost his mother to something called hornblight when he was eleven. After that, he lived on his own, mostly on the streets, doing odd jobs left and right.

“I never knew my real parents,” Jackson confessed.

“Did they…?” Sathariel said.

“Die? I don’t know.”

Sathariel offered his gourd. Jackson thanked him with a nod, and tried a sip. It was hard cider. Jackson wanted to offer something back, but he really didn’t have much left of anything, save for water and chestnuts.

The break was soon over, and, within minutes, everyone was back on the road. Sathariel and Jackson continued chatting during the afternoon. Jackson was reminded of the treks he went on in the US Army, with Lawrence and David. Lutzeg even reminded him of sergeant Duval as he told them to keep it down. Eventually, Byron came back from his eavesdropping. Something in his expression tipped off Jackson.

“What did they say?”

“Apparently, they’re getting close to their target,” Byron said. “So says the mage and his weird icon thing, at least.”

“That’s good, I guess.”

“Is it? Because unless I’m sorely mistaken, you still don’t know how you’re going to establish a friendly contact with Alizana… while working with the people trying to assassinate her.”

“I, uh, I’m working on the next step,” Jackson thought-said.

“Then I suggest you start working faster, because Lutzeg just figured out his next step.”

“No good news there, I take it?”

“Well, the good news is, he really believes you are an agent of Azazel. The bad news is, Azazel is apparently not considered trustworthy, and neither are her agents. He thinks you’re using him for your own agenda, and might end up betraying him, thus he plans on betraying you first.”

Jackson’s shoulders stiffened. “Yeah? When?”

“As soon as they locate Alizana. She keeps moving to make detection more difficult, according to Lutzeg and Yonn. So, they’ll need someone to attract her folks away from her while they move in on her. Apparently, the mage has got some spell under his belt specifically for her.”

“Great. So they’re gonna use me as bait.”

“Not just you. They plan on sending the greenhorn with you.”

“Seth?” Jackson said, upset. “Why?”

“Other than the fact that this is apparently the inherent role of all forced recruits in the Hexacracy, Lutzeg doesn’t have much faith in his loyalty.”

“Meaning he doesn’t like being talked back to. Fucking unbelievable.” He sighed. “Okay. When is that supposed to happen?”

“This evening. That’s why Lutzeg was in such a hurry. With some luck, he thinks he can finish the mission tonight, and get the Hell out of this forest within two days.”

Jackson gnawed nervously on his lip. That only left him with a few hours to prepare, and he still didn’t have any plan. Well, this gave him the beginning of one: find Alizana and warn her of the incoming attack, instead of playing bait. Not a well thought-out plan, and one that was just as likely to backfire -Alizana might think the warning was some kind of trick, and kill him on sight.

He glanced at Sathariel. The young Demon was glancing around at the flora, his lips pursed as he whistled something. Something sour grew in Jackson’s stomach.

The light was dimming and a bit of rain started falling when the party slowed to a stop. One of the Humans, Ballan, was sent ahead as a scout. In the meantime, Lutzeg and Yonn had another private talk. Although they whispered, Jackson could tell their conversation was tense. The mage kept glancing above his shoulder, as if he was worried the trees were trying to eavesdrop. As to Lutzeg, he only eyed Jackson a couple of times, unaware that the young man didn’t need to spy on them. They finished their little talk when Ballan reappeared. Lutzeg once again gathered the whole group to give his instructions.

“Everyone pay attention, I will not repeat this,” he said. “We’re getting very close to the rebel leader. According to Yonn’s outersight, she and her group have changed trajectory since yesterday night. She’s now following the small river Ballan has found about one league away, going downstream. It’s likely they’ll camp somewhere alongside it for the night, and if they’re smart they’ll be prepared for us. Ideally, we’ll want to sneak onto them while they’re spread out. That’s why we need someone to attract their attention away from their camp.” He ogled Jackson. “Our new ally seems to be gifted at that.”

“So what’s the strategy here?” Jackson couldn’t help but ask. “I make a lot of ruckus, draw as many of these creatures to me as I can, and… what, pray for the best?”

“We’ll strike as fast as we can. But if you’re worried, I’ll send Sathariel to accompany you.”

Jackson looked at the young Demon again.

“Maybe I’ll have the opportunity to repay my debt to you,” Sathariel said with a smile.

Jackson tried not to show his anger as he replied to the leader: “Okay, fine. How will you know when to attack?”

“Yesterday, you used some strange magic that made a terrible noise. Can you do that again?”

I probably have half a clip left, and a few spare clips in my belt. “Sure.”

“Then that will be the signal that the diversion is working. That’s when Yonn and I will sneak into the camp to find their leader. As soon as she’s dead, Yonn will send another signal, a great red light that should be visible even in the night. Then, everyone is to retreat, and gather downstream, to a small hill on which Ballan has built a circle of rocks as a marker.”

“What’s the betting they won’t actually be waiting for us at that place?” Jackson thought-said to Byron.

“Actually, I’m pretty sure they will,” Byron said. “They don’t want you dead, they just don’t mind if you die. Same for your new companion.”

“That’s not really any better.”

“No. No, it’s not. Have you come up with a plan yet?”

Lutzeg clapped his hands, the sound muffled by the riding gloves he was wearing. “All right. Everyone know their job? Good. Once this is done, I’ll buy you all a pint in Starkberth.”

Given that the job could extend well into the night, Lutzeg offered his men to take some rest before going. Yonn and Sathariel took him up on his offer, while Ballan and Lutzeg himself stayed up to keep watch. Jackson, too, preferred not to take any sleep. He was too agitated for it. An idea had popped in his mind as he looked at the sleeping mage.

“What if we stole his idol?” he suggested to Byron.

The veteran considered it. “Hmm. That would certainly hinder their plans. They would still be able to find Alizana, though, given that they now have a somewhat precise idea of her location.”

“Right, but not as quickly. It would buy us some time.”

“Time to do what?”

“Time to… figure out what to do.”

Jackson sat against a tree, not too far from Yonn, and pretended to go to sleep, then waited until Ballan and Lutzeg were out of sight. He looked around until he found a small piece of wood that was roughly the same size as the idol, and used his knife to carve it in a similar shape. The result was hardly a copy, but it would prove sufficient until the mage actually looked at it. Then, he slowly, stealthily approached the mage, making sure he was completely asleep. Which he was, owing no doubt to what little rest he had gotten the previous night. 

Yonn was sleeping on his side, making the access to his cape’s inside pocket difficult. Jackson resorted to using a tree branch to lift the cape as softly as he could, then moved his hand in the pocket. He feared for a second that something bad would happen when he touched the idol, but once again his fear of magic proved irrational. As he slipped the idol out, he was reminded of that in the barracks when he had pulled something similar on one of the members of his unit. The recruit in question had been entrusted with a key to the canteen’s pantry, which Jackson had been told was stocked with alcohol -it hadn’t been, as it turned out, meaning Jackson had found himself in trouble for nothing. Looking at the idol, Jackson was surprised to see it perfectly clean, despite the fact that its owner had used some of his blood on it on several occasions.

Jackson had to hurry as he placed the fake idol in, as Ballan was coming around. He moved so quickly, the branch he was using cracked. He picked up the pieces as fast as he could, and went back to pretending to be asleep.

Lutzeg woke everyone up later, moments before dark. Without a word, everybody got busy with their assigned task. Jackson grabbed Sathariel, and got away from the rest as soon as possible. His heart was beating a mile a minute. Plan or no plan, he had to do something. Not eventually. Not soon. At that very moment. He wondered for a while how to announce to Sathariel what was going to happen to him, until the Demon gave him an opening:

“Um, Madison -Mad. I wanted to ask you, err, how do you feel about the plan? Do you think it’s any good?”

The young man’s lips twitched as he recognized Sathariel’s tone. It was the same tone David used to have when he would ask Jackson about his schemes to avoid PT: the tone of someone who wished to be reassured that everything was fine, and that they would be okay. Jackson knew he wouldn’t be able to lie to him, and saw no reason to try anyway.

“No,” he said tersely. “The plan’s fucked. Lutzeg is sending us as bait. We’re probably going to be slaughtered, he knows it and he doesn’t care.”

Sathariel’s face fell, and his eyes bulged. “What… How do…”

“I was listening to him earlier. He doesn’t think we’re going to survive our part, and he doesn’t care. He’s sending us to be bait, and he’s gonna take care of Al- of the target while her friends are busy chewing on our bones.”

“You were listening? But…” Sathariel stammered. “How could you be listening? You-you were talking with me…”

“Let’s just say I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

The Demon brushed his hair with his hand, accidentally catching a couple of knots and breaking some hairs in his nervosity. “But then… What do we do?”

“Well, I’m not going to let myself get killed, that’s for sure,” Jackson said.

“So you have another plan?” Sathariel asked, a light of hope in his dark eyes.

“Err, well, kinda?” He cleared his throat, and explained: “Look, we both agree that this mission is fucked, right? Most of your group is dead, and apparently your leader is ready to sacrifice at least another quarter if it gets him what he wants.”

Sathariel slowly nodded.

“And you can’t go back to your boss -your general, you said- if the job isn’t done, either.”

“No. No, I can’t. I’d be branded as a deserter.”

“What does that mean?”

The young Demon’s mouth stretched. “Well, exactly that. They’ll brand the mark of the deserter on my face with a hot iron.”

“Jesus.” The mental image gave Jackson nausea. “Yeah, so definitely not an option either. Well then, we’ve only got one option left.”

“And that is?” Sathariel said.

“We join forces with the rebels.”

“What?” the Demon nearly yelled.

Jackson sighed. Yeah, that was never going to be an easy sale.

“I’m beginning to understand why they call you Mad,” Sathariel said. “Join the rebels? That’s pure madness! Do you have any idea how many soldiers of the Hexacracy they killed?”

“That may be so, but what other choice do you have?”

“I… Well… We could run!”

“Run where? You’ll be persona non grata in your home country, the Southern Marches will be invaded soon, and I doubt the Empire takes kindly to Hexacracy military, even if they’re no longer active duty.”

“What about…” Sathariel was breathing loudly now. “What about C’fa? I-I could take a boat in Atvello and…”

Jackson brought his horse next to Sathariel’s. “Look, I get it. That’s a bridge too far. How about this? For now, let’s just worry about surviving tonight. Then, we can think of the future.”

Sathariel, still visibly shook, took a moment to think, then agreed with a silent nod. Jackson felt bad about this; the Demon would have clearly agreed to anything, in his position. He placed a hand on Sathariel’s shoulder and said:

“I won’t let you down, all right?”

“You’re asking me to trust you, but I barely know you,” Sathariel said. “All I really know about you is that your first name is Madison and that you work for the Archmage Azazel.”

Jackson cleared his throat. “Actually, that’s not my real name.”

“What?”

“My real name is Jackson. Jackson Pulver. You can call me Jack. Also, I don’t work for Azazel. I just made that stuff up.”

Byron wasn’t present, yet Jackson could feel his annoyed look on his back as he confessed.

“You- but- why?” Sathariel blubbered.

He took a deep breath and said: “Because your group was my best chance to find Alizana.”

“Who the blazes is Alizana?”

“That’d be the leader of the rebels.”

Sathariel’s jaw dropped. “How- how do…”

The river appeared in their eyesight, half-hidden by a small ridge. It was about three feet large, and looked to be shallow enough to be crossed on foot. Sathariel climbed off his horse, and went to spray some water on his face. By his reaction, it was rather cold.

“Why are you telling me all this now?” he asked.

“Because… Because I want you to trust me, Seth,” Jackson said. “And now I’ve given you a reason to: if you go back to Lutzeg, and you tell him all this, his people will kill me.”

The Demon chuckled without humor. “I don’t think I can even go back by myself. I barely paid attention to the path we took.”

“I can show you the way back, if you want.”

Sathariel took some more water in his cupped hand, and drank it. Then, he stayed there, by the river, one knee on the ground, a distant look in his eyes. Jackson dismounted as well.

“I suppose I still owe you my life,” the young Demon said. “Although you seem to be saying that you only saved us so you could use us.”

“I…” Jackson hesitated. “Well, maybe I have. But this time, I’m saving your life for purely selfless reasons.”

“All right, then,” Sathariel sighed. “I may be mad as well, but I want to trust you.” He stood up. “What now?”

“Now, we find Alizana and her people. They are somewhere up the river, according to Ballan.”

“And then what?”

“Then, we tell them they’re going to be under attack,” Jackson said.

“Wait… You’re just going to walk up to them and tell them that?” Sathariel said. “You really are mad! What makes you think they won’t just kill us on sight?”

“We’ll tell them all we know about Lutzeg’s party, especially about the mage, and help them defeat the ambush. Make it clear they need us if they want to save their leader.”

The young Demon bit his lip, looking somewhat amused in spite of his nervosity.

“What?” Jackson said.

“For a moment, I was afraid that you were some sort of cunning trickster faking helplessness. That this new story you gave me was yet another lie to trick me.”

“Oh, I’m not faking. I really am out of my depth here.”

They both laughed. It felt oddly liberating to Jackson, as if he was expelling the stress inside him.

“So, are we doing this?” Jackson said.

“I… Yes,” Sathariel said, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I suppose we are. By the Armilus, look at us. A couple of mad fools, heading to our probable doom.”

“At least it’s a doom we choose. I suppose that counts for something.”

The two of them got back on their horses, then began riding up the river. The eerie silence of the woods soon got Jackson his stress back. Florid seemed to perceive it, or maybe he had found his own reason to be stressed, as he started to get agitated. Jackson patted his neck, and offered him a fruit to calm him down. This worked somewhat, but the horse continued to behave as if he had stepped onto a predator’s territory. Jackson’s heart shrunk a little when he realized Florid’s instincts were probably right on the money.

Some time later, Byron notified Jackson he had spotted some tracks. They seemed to puzzle him as he analyzed them.

“They look like animal tracks,” he said. “Wolves or something. Except… Wolves don’t get that big. Not even Werewolves.”

“We’re definitely on the right track, then,” Jackson said.

Byron closed his eyes, clearly fighting against the impulse to roll them. “Yes. This was just a couple of people. Probably scouting ahead of the main group.”

“Hopefully those weren’t the same scouts as yesterday, or things are gonna get awkward.”

They kept on moving. Sathariel became noticeably jumpier as they progressed. It seemed that, with the darkness now almost complete -the only light left was the clear starry sky-, he had started seeing shapes and movement in every shadow.

“Let’s light our torches,” he said.

“We’ll get spotted immediately,” Jackson said. Furthermore, the only torch he had was the torchlight in his backpack, and wondered whether it would be a good idea to use such a piece of technology in front of witnesses.

“Odds are we’ve already been spotted,” Sathariel said in a small voice.

Jackson quietly agreed it was plausible, and tried to tell himself it might be a good thing, having been noticed by Alizana’s people but not attacked yet. Byron, however, was quick to point out that might just be because they wanted to make sure Jackson and Sathariel were alone.

Eventually, Sathariel lit up his torch with Jackson’s blessing. The small flame was bright enough that the two of them could now see about twenty feet around them. The shapes that worried Sathariel turned back into bushes and shrubs. Byron, who was walking alongside the horses, suddenly stopped. Jackson pulled on his reins.

“Did you see something?”

Byron took a second to answer. “It’s gone.”

“What is?”

“One of them. I’m pretty sure.” He spoke in short, quick sentences.

“Where?”

The veteran pointed to a spot about fifteen feet away from them, spooking Jackson. The latter relayed the information to Sathariel, who let out an exclamation before slapping a hand over his mouth.

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

“Pretty sure,” Jackson answered without bothering to lower his voice.

“Blazes! What do we do now?”

“Now? I guess in for a penny, in for a pound. Or, err, in for a steed, in for an oxen.”

He cleared his throat and called out: “We know you guys are here! Look, we don’t have any hostile intentions. We just want to meet with your leader.”

His words were met with silence. He insisted:

“There’s a group of hunters sent by the Hexacracy after her. They have a mage with them. We can help you fight them off.”

The woods remained quiet.

“I hope this works,” Sathariel mumbled. “I really hope this works…”

Both men were startled when they heard brushing sounds coming from somewhere near them. Jackson realized it didn’t come from any of the bushes, but from a tree above their heads. Before he could look up, there was a flurry of movement. His adrenaline kicked in, but not fast enough. Something terribly heavy dropped on him, making him fall from Florid and onto the -thankfully leaves-covered- ground.

Jackson tried to regain his bearings. It was dark again around him; Sathariel’s torch had apparently been dropped, the Demon having likely been pinned on the ground just as Jackson had. The young man tried to get up, but the large figure that was now on top of him proved very heavy. Before he could try anything else, he felt several pointy things pressing against his esophagus. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, until he could see the outline of his aggressor.

It was definitely one of the creatures that had attacked the camp the other night; one of Alizana’s people. A woman, by what little Jackson could tell of her silhouette. And a very large, very angry one at that. She was taller than Jackson, quite large, and seemed to have fur everywhere. Her two pale orange eyes shone in the night like a cat’s. The claws she had trained on Jackson’s throat, however, were more bear-like.

“We mean you no harm,” he mumbled as best he could.

“Tell me what you know about that group,” the creature growled. Her voice, although deep and almost beast-like, was unmistakably female. “And don’t lie.”

“I’d rather tell it to Alizana,” Jackson said.

“How do you know her name?” the woman yelled.

A terrible cold went down Jackson’s back as he felt her grip tighten, pushing the claws’ tip deeper into his skin.

“L-Look, they’re on the move,” he said. “I managed to delay them, but they’re going to find her eventually. Let us just talk to her. It’s not like we’ll be any threat: you’ll be surrounding us the whole time!”

The creature muttered something under her breath, then turned her head. She was probably looking at her companion, who was dealing with Sathariel. There was a verbal exchange between them in some strange language Jackson couldn’t comprehend. A moment later, the creature stood up, pulling Jackson up on his feet.

“All right,” she said. “You’re coming with us. But we’ll be taking all of your weapons. One wrong move and I’ll gladly rip out your throat.”

Jackson did not believe for a moment that the threat was hyperbolic. The woman started frisking him, abruptly and roughly. She took his sword from its scabbard, and his ax, then riffled through the pouches of his belt. She grabbed the grenades, clearly unsure what they were, but suspecting they might be weapons as well. The confiscated objects were placed in a satchel slung over the creature’s shoulder. Jackson’s pistol, however, was ignored.

“Wait,” he said, handing the handgun to her. “Take this too.”

“What is that?” the lupine woman said, taking it between two claws.

“A weapon,” he simply answered.

She put the pistol away in her satchel, looking uncertain. Glancing to his left, Jackson saw Sathariel receive the same treatment, being deprived of his sword, his bow, and his arrows. The Demon was made to pick up his torch, and douse it.

“Now, walk,” the creature said, pointing in a direction upstream. “And not a word.”

And walk they did. Jackson and Sathariel exchanged looks, but, as instructed, not words. The wolf-like creatures were marching behind them, about two feet away. For a while, there were no sounds but that of their footsteps. Jackson had no idea how the creatures could find their way in the near-complete darkness, or how he was supposed not to stumble on every rock he encountered. He was very thankful for the thickness of his boots when his left foot met with one, even though it didn’t prevent him from dropping on one knee.

“Get up,” one of the women said. “We’re nearly there.”

“Shit, I hope so,” Jackson grumbled.

“Nearly there” meant in fact that they still had half a mile to cross before reaching their destination. Jackson was afraid for a moment that said destination would be a ditch, and was very relieved to distinguish the shape of tents in the starlight. There were about five or six of them that Jackson could see, installed in a circle in a small clearing. From the sound, Jackson estimated the camp had been established a short distance away from the river. He didn’t see anyone other than the two women who had captured him and Sathariel, indicating that the others were probably asleep.

They were led to one of the tents, indistinguishable from the others -at least in the dark. Jackson was grabbed by the neck, and forced to bend down to pass through a small opening. The inside of the tent was even darker, with no a single source of light, saved for two strange orange lights. Jackson could barely see, with a lot of effort, small portions of the starry sky through tiny holes in the ceiling. He was made to kneel on the floor, and so was Sathariel on his left. Said floor was covered by something soft and hairy; a faint bad smell emanated from it.

“Who are they?” an oddly familiar voice said in the darkness, about two feet away from Jackson.

“We captured them trying to sneak into our camp; they say they have information for you.”

“Hey, we weren’t trying to sneak,” Jackson said. “We surrendered to-”

He was interrupted by a sharp pain on his back, momentarily stopping his breathing.

The lupine women exchanged words in their own language. Jackson couldn’t decide whether the shortness of their sentences was due to the tension of their tones or if it was normal in that tongue. Eventually, he heard their two attackers leave the tent, leaving them alone with the third creature. There was a lull, then a little flame appeared, created by some kind of match. Squinting his eyes, Jackson noticed the match was held by a large furry paw. It was so large and furry that, for a second, Jackson thought he and Sathariel had been left alone in the company of a bear. But, as the flames were used to light up a small lantern, he realized it was in fact another of these strange lupine creatures. But not just any other. Jackson gasped.

It was her, without a doubt. Alizana. She was identical to the memories he had obtained from the orb, yet at the same time more… Jackson couldn’t say what she was more. Big, possibly. Jackson reasoned that he had previously envisioned from the perception of one of those creatures, who was as tall as Alizana. Now that he was seeing her from his own Human perspective, she seemed much taller and larger. Much more impressive, as well. Maybe it was the aura created by the flames, but she also had a presence Jackson had not seen in his visions -or in his dreams-, something fierce and tough.

She was kneeling on a cot on the floor, which looked big enough for two Humans to sleep on, her large paws now resting on her knees. She had very dark skin, almost as black as the night sky, and fur the color of coal covered most of her arms and framed her face. Her eyes were bright orange and seemed to glow like the huntress’; Jackson realized these were the strange lights he had seen in the darkness. He then noticed that, while she was wearing some sort of kilt covering most of her legs, she was naked from the waist up. Red darkened his cheeks as he also noticed that she wasn’t even trying to cover her chest. He tried not to lower his gaze, but, like a moth to a flame, it was irresistibly attracted to the large, shapely mounds. Nevertheless, he forced himself to look her in the eyes, fearing a bad reaction on her part. There was no anger in her expression however, merely suspicion mixed with curiosity.

“I’m told you know some things that I need to know,” Alizana said. Much like the others, she had a deep voice, but with a slight rasp.

“Um, yeah,” Jackson said, rubbing his eyes. “The Hexacracy has sent a group of people to hunt you down. We came to warn you.”

“Another hunting party?” she said derisively. “I was starting to hope I had faded from the Archdemons’ memory.”

“Yeah, and they’re coming. They were tracking you with this.” Jackson showed her the small idol.

Alizana took it with a gesture so quick Jackson didn’t see it coming, then held it up to her nose. A grimace marred her face for a second, and her eyes seemed to glow darker.

“Blood magic,” she said.

“Uh, yeah, I think so. The mage guy used drops of his blood on it.”

She tightened her paw around the idol, then squeezed it until a cracking sound was heard. Her paw opened again, releasing small bits of wood on the floor.

“How do you know all of this?” she asked. “And how did you get this focus?”

Focus? Jackson frowned. She must have meant the idol.

“Err…” He gulped. “Okay, so here’s the thing: my friend and I were part of the group.”

Alizana did not answer, but something in her expression darkened.

“No, but- We’re not like them,” Jackson hurriedly said. “My friend here only joined them because he was forced to. And I only joined them to stop them.”

“Have you? Hmm.” She looked at Sathariel. “Your turn. What’s his name?”

“Eh?” Sathariel mumbled, surprised.

“What’s his name?” she repeated, enunciating each word.

“It’s, it’s uh, Mad- Jackson.”

“Mad Jackson ?” Alizana repeated, a hint of amusement on her lips.

“He, um, he told the party his name was Madison, but then he told me his real name is Jackson.”

Alizana considered the young Demon for a moment, then turned back to Jackson.

“Tell me a lie,” she said.

“What?” Jackson blurted out.

“Tell me a lie,” she repeated.

Sathariel and Jackson exchanged a glance. “Err, okay,” the latter said. “I, uh, I love chick flicks.”

Alizana simply watched him. For a moment, Jackson thought he had seen her nostrils flare, but that was probably the lighting. Her nose was rather short for her face, he also thought.

“Now tell me a truth,” she demanded.

“A truth? Err… I love Mel Brooks movies.”

“Hmm.” This time, Jackson was certain her nose had moved. Was she… smelling him?

“What the fuck is going on?” he thought-said.

“I think she’s establishing a baseline,” Byron said.

“She what?”

“She’s trying to determine what it looks or sounds like when you’re telling the truth, and when you’re lying. Or… what it smells like?”

“So… what, she’s like a lie detector?”

“I have no idea. Safer to assume that she is.”

“Very well,” Alizana said. “Now: did the Hexacracy send you?”

“No,” Jackson said. “I swear they didn’t.”

She took another pause, then continued: “Tell me about this group. When are they going to attack?”

“Tonight. Soon. Even without their idol, they’ll be able to find you eventually.”

“How many are they?”

“There were fourteen left after they were attacked by your scouts last night.”

“My scouts? You must mean my huntresses. They haven’t reported back yet, so they can’t confirm that.”

“Wait, they were hunting?” Jackson shuddered. “You… You eat people?”

Alizana’s gaze darkened. “No, we do not. They were hunting for game.”

Did I touch a nerve there? Jackson thought. “Oh, right. Yeah, of course. Sorry.”

“Fourteen…” she said. “What is their strategy? Attack us by surprise under the cover of night?”

“Partly. The idea was to send the two of us to create a distraction, so that most of you would leave the camp while they sneak in and… Well, I’m not sure about what comes next, but it has to do with their mage. He’s got some spell with your name on it, apparently.”

“I think I can imagine what kind of spell.” Her lips curled into a snarl. “The same kind I’m told they used on my friend.”

“You mean Natial?”

Jackson felt like slapping himself as Alizana threw him a dark glance, and Sathariel a spooked one. Those words had escaped his mouth, propelled by the memories of the orb that had popped back in his mind.

“You seem to know a great deal about us,” Alizana said. “Especially for someone who isn’t an agent of the Hexacracy.”

“I… Look, I swear I have nothing to do with these guys.”

“Then how do you know my name? And how do you know hers?”

Jackson bit his lip. “Okay, this is gonna sound crazy, but I swear it’s true. Some months ago, I was working with this band of mercenaries, and we found an orb that had been stolen by bandits -Redthroats, they were called.”

“An orb,” Alizana said.

“Yeah, some kind of black, magic orb. Anyway, I touched it, and I got these weird flashes. I saw… I’m pretty sure I saw memories. Natial’s memories. That’s… That’s where I saw you. That’s how I know your name.”

She leaned back, her face still not betraying any emotion.

“Like I said,” Jackson said, “I know it sounds crazy. But I promise it’s true.”

“I believe you,” she said.

“Wait, really?”

“You don’t smell like you’re lying,” Alizana explained.

Don’t smell like I’m lying? Jackson thought, confused. It made sense that these creatures, being evidently close to dogs and wolves, would have a developed sense of smell, but was it actually possible for them to be able to smell dishonesty? Although it did explain that thing she did that Byron called “establishing a baseline”.

“And I believe a real Hexacrat spy would have come up with a better story,” she said.

“Heh. Yeah, I guess so.”

“Also, I can think of two ways to prove both your story and your loyalty.”

“And that is?” Jackson asked apprehensively.

“The first way: my tribe and I will be moving to meet that hunting party before they can lay their trap. You’re coming with us.”

“Erm…” Sathariel said.

“Trust me, you won’t like the other way,” Alizana said, her voice still perfectly calm yet subtly darker.

Jackson and Sathariel exchanged another glance. The Demon shrugged, looking lost. Jackson took a deep breath and said:

“Okay. But you better not be trying to get us killed.”

“You’re not really in a position to make demands,” Alizana said. “But if I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t need someone else to do the deed.”

“Good point,” Jackson said, repressing a shiver.

Alizana grabbed a piece of clothing to cover her torso, gestured for Jackson and Sathariel to leave the tent, then followed them out. The two women who had captured them were still standing there waiting. Jackson and Sathariel were given their weapons back. Their leader gave the women several orders in their language, and they went to the tents to wake the others up. Soon, the whole group -or tribe, as Alizana had referred to it- was gathered. It was difficult to number them in the darkness; going by their glowing eyes, Jackson estimated they were about a dozen. Alizana talked to them. Once again, Jackson couldn’t understand a word, but the content of her tirade was clear, especially given the reactions of anger from many of her tribemates. 

More orders were given, and soon the tribe was on the move. They divided themselves in three groups, leaving a few of them at camp to protect it, and separated. Jackson and Sathariel followed, or rather were brought in the same group as Alizana and another of her tribemates -another woman, Jackson noticed. Soon, they were back into the woods. Maybe it was Jackson’s imagination, altered by adrenaline, but they seem deeper and darker than ever before.

“The other groups will seek the hunting party,” Alizana explained in a low voice. “When they find it, they will signal each other and flank them on both sides. Then, they’ll signal us, and we’ll charge them straight ahead. In the meantime, you’re not leaving my eyesight.”

“Why are you coming with?” Jackson couldn’t help but ask. “I told you they have a plan to take you out, and you’re just going to throw yourself at them?”

“When my tribe fights, I fight,” she simply answered. “Now follow, and like I told you, don’t try to leave my sight.”

Jackson figured he would have an exceptionally hard time getting away from her, even if he wanted to. Walking the forest’s uneven floor had already proved difficult, and he had no delusion about his ability to escape a creature with an apparently exceptional sense of smell. On top of that, he was certain he would have gotten lost almost immediately. Indeed, neither he nor Sathariel were allowed to use torches; Alizana and her tribemate didn’t seem to need any light.

Sathariel walked in silence besides Jackson, who could tell how scared the young Demon was even though he could barely see his face. Jackson had not forgotten that Sathariel was still a rookie. And, from his perspective, he might well have just gotten out of the frying pan only to land directly into the fire. Jackson patted his shoulder, but the gesture, intended to be reassuring, made Sathariel jump.

“Sorry,” Jackson said. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, buddy. Just stick close to me, all right?”

“Will you be my vigil?” Sathariel said with a levity indicating that this was a joke.

“Is that some kind of guardian angel? If so, then sure.”

“Angels aren’t usually protective of my kind,” the Demon mused. “That will be a welcomed change.”

The fourth member of their group ordered them to keep quiet with a move of her paw and a growl. Moments later, the group arrived at a small depression, in which they stopped to wait for the aforementioned signal. Jackson wondered what kind it would be. A scream? A growl? The woods remained silent for a while, except for the rustling of the trees in the wind. Then, the young man noticed Alizana’s and the other creature’s lupine ears perking up, as if they were picking up sounds. Jackson tried as hard as he could, but couldn’t hear anything. Sathariel frowned; apparently, he could.

“What’s going on?” Jackson asked him.

“Can’t you hear it? Some kind of sharp whistling sound.”

It was Jackson’s turn to frown. The only whistling he could hear was the faint one from his tinnitus.

“Be ready,” Alizana said.

Maybe a minute later, Sathariel raised his finger and looked up. “There’s another one.”

Jackson still couldn’t hear a thing. Is this an ultrasound or something? Some kind of dog whistle, but for big-ass wolves?

“That’s the second signal,” Alizana said. “Let’s go.”

Both of the lupine women climbed out of the depression and headed in what was probably the direction of the whistlings. Jackson and Sathariel followed them as best they could, even as the creatures’ fast pace got faster still. After running over a distance Jackson couldn’t even estimate -and nearly crashing into the trunk of a dead tree he hadn’t seen-, he started seeing lights through the trees. Flames, evidently, maybe half a dozen of them, moving and projecting distorted shadows around. Soon, metallic sounds and shouts began to ring through the woods.

The hunting party had been attacked near a large oak tree. At least four of their horses had been killed, and four more had seemingly run away, leaving most of the group to defend themselves on foot. Jackson pulled out his sword and his pistol, and entered the fight, Sathariel on his heels.

The fighting was chaotic and confusing. It looked like the hunting party had initially tried to escape the ambush, sending their horses running. Their attackers, however, had planned for that, and quickly surrounded them. Once again, the first attack had been lethal, claiming several of the hunters’ lives. However, this time, Lutzeg had been able to organize his defense faster and more efficiently. The men deprived of their horses were grouped closely together, enabling them to protect each other, while those still riding used their mobility to harass and try to encircle their enemies. By the time Jackson got his sights on the leader, he had even managed to wound one of the creatures who had engaged him, forcing her -in the light of the torches, Jackson could see she was female- to fall back. The fight was still not going in their favor, but at least Lutzeg had managed to avoid the worst. Jackson knew he wasn’t planning to win like this anyway. He just needed to buy time.

Jackson looked around for the mage, knowing he was key to Lutzeg’s entire tactic. He also traded his gun for his ax; it would have been nearly impossible to shoot one of the enemy soldiers without hitting one of Alizana’s tribemates. Before he could find one single person in the mess of violence, dancing lights, and movement, however, Byron shouted a warning. He jumped back, avoiding one of the hunters rushing him with a sword. Jackson tried to strike back with his own sword, but his opponent proved just as quick to react.

“Try to find the mage,” he thought-said to Byron as he faced the man.

His attacker striked again with a cleave, so fast Jackson had to parry with his sword. Byron had warned him against doing that sort of thing (it was preferable to dodge, he had said, as parrying like this damaged the blade), but in that moment, necessity trumped preferences. Jackson immediately counter-attacked, this time using his ax. He hit the man’s torso, but surprisingly his leather armor proved thick enough that the blade didn’t wound him.

They traded a few blows, none of which managed to pass the defense of the other. Jackson was divided between being worried by his opponent’s proficiency with a sword -he certainly proved more of a threat than the thugs in the alley behind the Hazy Narrian-, and being happy that his own training had bore fruit: he was now good enough to go toe to toe with a trained soldier.

Said soldier decided to change tactics. He striked with his sword once more. Jackson dodged easily, but realized one second too late it was a feint. His attacker charged at him, his shoulder slamming into the young man’s plexus, with enough strength to sap the oxygen out of his lungs and to make him lose his balance. His back met with the ground, and he dropped his sword, which the enemy immediately kicked away. He still had his ax, but the man was out of its reach. Shit, shit, shit. Cold sweat dripped down his sore back as he watched his enemy prepare another attack, the tip of his sword pointed at Jackson’s throat. He tried to grab his pistol once again, unsure he would have the time.

There was a flurry of movement, and the man screamed in pain and surprise, dropping his sword arm against his flank. Jackson blinked, then jumped on the opportunity. He got back up as fast his legs permitted, and slashed the man’s ankle with his ax. It was only when he stood up again that he saw Sathariel by his side, sword in hand, and understood what had happened. Wounded at the flank and the ankle, the man made a valiant effort to continue the fight, but it was obvious his strength was leaving him along with his blood. As he tried one last attack, Jackson grabbed his wrist holding the sword and plunged his ax in the side of his throat. The man let out a gurgle of shock, then fell to his knees before keeling over.

Jackson turned to Sathariel, who was staring at the fallen enemy, his mouth ajar, fear and disgust filling his eyes. He patted his back, both as an affectionate gesture and to snap him out of it.

“Guess we’re even now,” he said, shouting a bit to cover the noise.

Sathariel barely reacted.

“Come on,” Jackson insisted. “We’re not done here. We still have to-”

“I think I found him,” Byron said.

“What? Where?”

Byron pointed at a moving spot, away from the fight. Jackson couldn’t only see the outline of something big, but distinctly heard a horse’s gallop coming from that direction. Smart. He’s staying out of the fight until he can throw his spell. Does he know which one’s Alizana? No matter, I have to take him out now.

“Cover me,” he told Sathariel.

The urgency in his tone seemed to break his trance. He gave Jackson a sharp nod and raised his sword. Jackson pulled out his pistol, and aimed at the mage. A fast moving target in the dark… he thought, trying to remember all the target practice he had been subjected to back in the army. Better I go for the horse first. He breathed in deep, then took several shots.

The first bullet nailed a tree, the second apparently hit the air, but the next three shots all made it to the intended target. The horse whinnied, and fell on his side, dropping his rider like a bag of potatoes. In spite of his wounds, the horse quickly got back up, and galloped away. Jackson hurried towards the man, who had rolled on his front and was trying to hoist himself up on his hands and knees. Another member of the hunting party intervened, spear in hand. Jackson managed to fend him off until one of the lupine women dealt with him, but it gave Yonn enough time to stand up and run. Swearing under his breath, Jackson gave chase.

Yonn zig-zagged between the trees, trying to lose him. The mage was evidently limping and winded, as Jackson quickly gained on him. The mage shot him a spooked look above his shoulder, then took something out of his shirt’s pocket which he threw behind him. The next thing Jackson knew, green flames appeared in the air, flowing quickly towards his head. He just had time to grab a pan of his cape to cover his face. The cape immediately caught on fire; Jackson took it off and threw it down, swearing some more.

Jackson fired twice in the mage’s direction, then the clip ran dry. One of the bullets hit him in the arm, but he kept running. Clutching his ax, Jackson ran as fast as he could. He body-slammed Yonn, sending him crashing into a birch tree. Both fell; Jackson grabbed the mage by the shoulder. Yonn pulled out a knife and flailed it wildly, slashing Jackson across the chest. The wound was superficial, but let out a lot of blood. Jackson grabbed the mage’s wrist, and the mage grabbed his with his wounded arm.

“I told them not to trust you,” Yonn groaned

Jackson tried to free himself, but he too was starting to feel the effects of fatigue. He elected to use an old trick he had learned defending himself from bullies in middle school, and spat in the mage’s eye. Yonn grunted and let go of Jackson, who immediately struck him with his ax. Spurred on by adrenaline, he struck again, and again, until Yonn stopped moving.

Wiping blood off his face, Jackson moved to stand up, then decided to go through the dead mage’s pockets.

“Better have enough to buy me a new cape, asshole,” he said.

There wasn’t. In fact, Yonn didn’t have much of anything. Some food, very little money, and three more idols similar to the one Jackson had stolen earlier. The young man pocketed them, trying not to look at the deceased’s face. One last search led him to find a small glass orb, much like the one he had found in the Redthroats’ lair. He made sure to take it as well. Sathariel joined him seconds later, out of breath.

“By the Armilus!” he exclaimed, seeing the dead body.

“Sorry I left you behind,” Jackson said. “Let’s go back to the others.”

The adrenaline wore off as he jogged back, followed by the young Demon, and he began feeling all the pain it had obfuscated. Thankfully, by the time they made it back to the large oak tree, the fight was over.

Jackson’s eyes grew wide. The entire hunting party had been killed, and their corpses now littered the floor. All of them were drenched in blood, slashing wounds covering their faces or their limbs; several had been mangled beyond recognition. As to the lupine creatures, they had only suffered one casualty, the one Lutzeg had wounded. The rest of the tribe had in fact gathered around her, and Alizana was leaning over her, one knee to the ground. She was whispering something, hovering her paw over her fallen tribemate’s face.

This little ritual was soon done, but the tribe remained still and silent for a little longer. Then, without a word, they began gathering all that could be recovered from the former hunting party, starting with the surviving horses; foodstuffs were the most sought out items. Jackson wasn’t sure why they also took the swords and the spears; clearly, their powerful claws and their expert use of them made any such weapon irrelevant. Alizana noticed Jackson and Sathariel coming back, and walked to them.

“I saw you go after their mage,” she said. “What happened?”

Jackson showed her the orb in lieu of an answer. Alizana took it, snarled, and smashed it against the oak tree. Jackson glanced over the bodies surrounding once again, both impressed and terrified. Then, he considered each of the creatures, their size, their claws, their lupine features, and the all but literal fire in their eyes.

“What are you guys?” he asked sotto voce.

“Hellhounds,” Alizana said.

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