Blood and Life (and other short stories)

I.

A torch’s glow spread over a desert of dust, sending spiders caught in its glare scurrying towards the refuge of shadows. A Blackguard treaded between sprawling bookshelves, each crumbling tome around him carrying history effaced from everywhere else in the world—and from here as well, if one opened the book. The Blackguard picked one up as he passed, and its contents crumbled to join the dust covering the ground as soon as he spread the pages.

So much for preserving wisdom, he thought, coughing out the inhaled chronicle.

Banners of the templar order still hung around him, tattered and faded. He delved deeper into the halls, from where a musty scent pushed in. Vines had crept into the corridors and taken over the stone benches. The carpet on the steps ahead was covered in moss and rubble, parts of its edges missing like hungry vermin had nibbled on it but given up after the first taste.

The Blackguard removed his helmet, tossing it aside. This attire was more trouble than it was worth, he thought, unlatching the armour and discarding it as well. Beneath the suit was a black leather outfit rather than the standard issue garments. Instead of blending in with the dogs I only managed to agitate the bandits. I should’ve known they hadn’t a clue how to get here.

He started when a shout came from the way he’d come, followed by another one. The second sounded like a woman. He hadn’t noticed many in the bandit camps, but joining the army was one of the few professions tempting both sexes in Oriath.

Which meant the real Blackguard had arrived, and they had brought arcmages.

Not as useless as I thought. Damn it.

He grabbed the armour and glanced around, groaning when he failed to spot the helmet. Footsteps came towards the hall, and he followed the spiders’ suit.

II.

The duelist dropped the wagon’s harness, letting out heavy breaths. He ached all over after long days of travel. The wagon was small, and surprisingly easy to pull despite being loaded with several people and their supplies. Elreon had theorised it was likely meant to be pulled by men, given the tight fit of the harness and the lack of draught animals in the camp from where it was taken.

Still, the others had been largely of little help. Vorici had relieved him of pulling now and then, but Haku insisted the duelist bear the brunt of the load, “to toughen his resolve.” Zana had offered, but the Karui had taken it as an insult against the duelist’s manhood and been offended on his behalf, despite the duelist’s protests of having no issue with it. Elreon had merely pointed out he was no beast of burden when offered a turn.

“Be careful, my friends,” Haku said, noticing footsteps in the mud leading up to the path. They headed towards a secluded path, past shrubs and low branches concealing a pair of crumbled pillars around the mouth of a mountain cave. “Whether our enemy or an ally we’ve not met, this may be the trail of the one who massacred the bandits along the path.”

“I would like to shake their hand,” the duelist said, stretching his shoulder. “If I’d had to fight on top of pulling that thing, I might’ve murdered someone.”

Zana raised a brow at the notion, but decided not to say anything.

“The prints are deep,” Vorici said. “But there’s only one set. I doubt Blackguard would bother—or be clever enough—to hide their numbers. There is likely one man waiting inside. Maybe a scout, but with oddly heavy bearings if so.”

“Which means don’t get comfortable,” the duelist said to the exiles, elders helping the women and the sickly boy off the wagon. “We’re going to take a look inside and see if we can recover whatever power resides there. After that, we’re leaving.”

“And where shall we go then?” said Madrov, the oldest exile. “Why not stay here, master swordsman? The bandits have been dealt with, and I see no apes around. The place is hidden well—we could be safe here.”

“There are no apes because there hasn’t been anything to eat for generations,” the duelist said. “You stay here a few days and mark their sudden interest in this place. Bandits’, too; they might’ve not thought of looking into our little copse, but light a fire and watch how a long lost trove becomes common knowledge overnight.”

Madrov sighed. “You are right, of course. I apologise for my selfishness; these old bones would rather settle at the first apparent safe haven. We are fortunate to have you looking out for us, master swordsman.”

I have got to stop disagreeing about everything with him for no other reason besides arguing, the duelist thought, but before he could correct himself, Zana spoke up.

“I must agree,” she said. “If this really is the library of legends, I’m surprised it’s remained lost for so long. The location is remote, certainly, but not so well hidden a dedicated party wouldn’t find it with some searching.”

“I suspect the order’s interest has been mostly superficial,” Elreon said. “I have noted the lamentations of my former brothers, but have never heard of someone organising a proper group to find it. I suppose the Blackguard only took interest once emphasis was placed on the nebulous ‘power’ rather than the wisdom it holds.”

“And if they’re keen on looking for it, another party will be here sooner rather than later,” Vorici added. “We wasted a lot of time retrieving the others, and someone must’ve noticed our little excursion to the camp by now.”

Zana noticed a wave of consternation passing over the exiles, and said, “Perhaps not. They might’ve been the only squad looking for the library.”

The duelist scoffed. “Come now, Zana. The western forest was crawling with soldiers. It’s a miracle we made it this far without being spotted.”

“Come, friends!” Haku hollered from the entrance. He made no effort to keep his voice down, and even raised it as he went on. “If an enemy waits inside, I’m sure these halls have longed for bloodshed after the floors have run dry for so long.”

“This is a place of scholars, not executioners,” Elreon muttered, but Haku was already gone.

Vorici fashioned torches from the branches outside, like someone else had recently done. As they entered the forgotten templar sanctuary, they found more recent signs of disturbance. The discovery of footsteps in the dust evoked different feelings in each member of the group. Zana grew apprehensive and Vorici cautious, while Haku had his mace ready and eager for a fight. Elreon and the duelist were largely uncaring of the prospect of an ambush. The templar took in the decay with sorrow, while retaining a reverent air. He let his eyes rest long on the murals overhead, ran his hand along the cracked leather backs of books.

The duelist was apathetic simply for the fact that he walked last, and the corridors were narrow. If someone indeed lay waiting for them, one of the foremost was sure to draw stabs or trigger whatever traps were ahead.

“What a place,” Zana said quietly. “There must be a thousand years of writing stored here, and so much lost only for being left untended…”

“I wish I could have seen it in its glory,” Elreon said, stopping. “I will take a moment to wander. Call for me if needed—I shall wait at the entrance otherwise.”

“Is that wise?” Zana said. “There may be danger afoot.”

“I’ll be fine. Even in ruin, this is a place of God. No harm will come to me.”

“Stay vigilant,” Haku said. “Your god may need a hand to guide to ensure your safety.”

Elreon nodded, heading down a short flight of stairs and vanished into the corridors.

“So,” said the duelist, “where do we go looking for the weapon?”

“We don’t know if there is one,” Zana said. “I’m starting to wonder if the power referred to is knowledge.”

They ventured deep into the library, letting nature’s influence guide their path: the vines creeping everywhere had grown together and sealed some exits, while others had caved in. The duelist began to worry that, after running into another dead end, even if there was something of interest they might have already walked past it due to the blockage.

Eventually, they came to a wall carved flat, with runic symbols on each side of a ragged banner. The path forked, leading down to the left and right.

“Where first?” Zana said.

“We should part ways,” Vorici said. “The passages are easy enough to navigate. Return here and wait if you find nothing.”

“Is that smart? There hasn’t been a trail to follow for a while, but neither has there been anywhere for our mysterious vanguardist to vanish. They must’ve taken one of these ways.”

“If you’re scared, Zana, you may hold my hand,” Haku said. Zana narrowed her eyes, but the duelist loudly cleared his throat before she snapped back.

“Perhaps you should go with Vorici,” he suggested. “His eyes are keener than mine. If someone is waiting with knives drawn, he will spot them better than I would.”

Vorici snorted. “A sound excuse. And what if they stalk in your direction?”

The duelist glanced towards the shrouded path, and gave a weak smile. “I’ll go first.”

Haku nodded, then took a few steps towards the steps winding down. “AN AMBUSH IS A COWARD’S PLOT!”

“Don’t shout, you fool!” Zana shrieked, slapped a hand over her mouth and continued in a hiss. “Do you want them to know we’re here?”

Haku blinked. “Yes.”

“Why would you do that?!”

“I have issued a challenge. If they are honourable, they will respect it.”

“And what if they’re not?” the duelist asked with amusement.

“Then I am glad to have keen eyes beside me!” Haku said, slapping a hand Vorici’s shoulder. The assassin simply rolled his eyes.

“Honour will get us killed one day if he keeps this up,” Zana muttered as she and the duelist descended the other way.

“Unless you get him first,” the duelist said, stifling a laugh. “You looked about ready to jump his throat.”

“Hmph. Typical luck that I would find myself a comrade to the one Karui unfamiliar with the legend of Hyrri. I’d stab him to drive in the point of the story, but I suppose violence should be reserved for our Blackguard problem.” She fumed in silence for a while, though her tenseness still showed in dropping a hand to her rapier every time a spider crossed their path. “Tell me,” she then said, “why’d you send Vorici off with him instead of going yourself?”

“Purely for selfish reasons.”

“Oh? What might those be?”

“Firstly,” he raised a finger, “you and Haku had to be separated, obviously. If you murder him, I will have to make even more of an effort to pull the cart. Secondly,” he raised another, “he has a penchant for physical shows of camaraderie, and my shoulder is already killing me. Lastly, have you noticed his smell?”

She gave a low chuckle. “The climb has left you in need of a bath as well, but fair enough. Could I ask something else?”

“Go on.”

“What’s your name?”

The duelist gave her a side glance, letting out a hum as he considered. “John.”

“John? What a strange name!”

The duelist merely arced his mouth.

“It’s not John,” she said, giving him a skeptical look. “No one’s called John.”

“To the best of my knowledge, no.”

“Aren’t you going to tell?”

“It would dispel all mystery about me.”

Around the corner waited a large chamber, roof carved in a dome. The rock here was oddly fertile, even more so than in the rest of the library. Ferns and grass pushed through the paved floor. The ever-present vines crawled up from a pool in the corner, stretching over a pile of bones behind a shrine in the centre of the room.

The shrine was a simple thing, a pillar surrounded by a half-moon stone plate. Were it not for a curious detail, it would’ve been inconspicuous, barely worth looking at twice; as it was, however, the duelist let out a squeak of glee and ran towards it, abandoning caution.

The shrine was glowing.

“Hold on! It could be dangerous!” Zana said. The duelist ignored her and opened the slot from where the glow came. Inside was a stone slate the size of his hand. The glow came from the panel under it.

“Look at this!” he urged. “There are etchings on the surface. Are they instructions? Is it magical?”

Zana approached the shrine warily, gave the duelist a disapproving look and peered into the slot. She let out a gasp, picking up the slate. “This is… incredible.”

“Well? Is it powerful?”

“It’s a map,” Zana said, brushing the surface.

“A map to riches?” the duelist said hopefully.

“Of a place I’ve never seen.” She frowned. “But… it’s odd. This is not a place that exists. I’m not sure a place like this could exist. It looks…”

The duelist yanked it from her, and, with a disappointed look, pressed it back down and sealed the slot.

“Hey! I wasn’t done with it!” Zana objected.

“What good is a map of a place that can’t be?” the duelist grumbled. “It can stay here and waste away with knowledge and all other non-powers for all I care. There’s nothing here. Let’s go find the others.”

“But—“

“The others!”

Zana’s brows shot up, descended, and she bristled with fury. She then took a deep breath and turned to leave, muttering, “The next person to patronise me is getting stabbed.”

She flinched when a zap sounded and spun to find the duelist missing. Her head whipped around, but the room was too small for him to hide somewhere. The glow in the slot had faded, and when she opened it, she found the map gone.

III.

The duelist was pulled through twisting shadows, torn apart before him like a smoky curtain. He fell onto muddy ground, and before he had properly registered where he was, a skeletal rhoa came charging at him. He rolled aside, and the rhoa slammed against a tree, shattering into a rain of bones.

He scrambled to his feet when more came at him, dodging one and kicking off the skull of the other. The skull flew around like a boomerang, reattaching itself, and in the murk ahead the duelist saw the towering shape and glowing hands of a necromancer.

He drew his sword and slashed, severing the vertebrae of the rhoa. It wouldn’t hold it down for long, but gave him a breather while the necromancer pieced the first one together and the second returned. He spun, slamming the flat of the blade down on the head of the charging rhoa, then jumped out of the way of the other and dashed for the necromancer. He slashed through its robes, and the raised bones fell in a pile as the creature perished.

That’s that, thought the duelist, wiping gelatinous blood off his blade. Now, where am I?

There was an odd darkness lingering over the swamp. The duelist could see his surroundings clear as day, but only a few steps away was an impenetrable night. The torch was left with Zana, but the night’s edge moved with him, like he carried a solitary star overhead.

He wandered around the desolate landscape for a while, until he came to a body of water. It was too clouded to see the bottom. He couldn’t see how far it stretched, but throwing a rock as far as he could still landed with a splash.

A place that cannot be, he thought. Aside from the lighting, it doesn’t seem that strange… if only I knew how I got here, and how to get back.

He arched a brow at a sound, coming from the open water. Something was moving. He hummed when a skeleton’s head broke the surface, shuffling towards him.

“Gone for a swim, have you?” he said, brandishing his sword. “I’ll send you back to the deeps soon…”

He trailed off when the sound amplified, and more skeletons emerged. Dozens, scores, and more kept coming. His head snapped to the side when necromancers growled, and in the distance he saw a legion of flashing hands.

“Enough,” he finished. He wrestled with internal conflict for a moment, then turned tail and fled.

He didn’t make it far before being blocked by another stretch. Here, too, skeletons were rising, but even more disconcerting was the giant rhoa resting by the shoreline. It squawked suddenly, and he prepared to be charged; instead, it had been startled by the skeletons and began knocking them down. The duelist decided not to pick a side and continued his flight.

Bones clacked all around him, but no matter which way he went, he only ended by water, with more skeletons, more necromancers joining the chase. This is my worst nightmares manifesting, he thought, gritting his teeth and spinning in place. Never have I run from a fight before… but there is no point to this! There are too many to even try taking down, and I will get overwhelmed long before I reach the first of those damned puppet-masters.

He felt an unfamiliar fear take hold. Not the pounding adrenaline preceding the opening of arena gates, but a crushing sense of helplessness.

“Oh, hello.”

The duelist started, finding a man standing to his left. As soon as the duelist’s eyes landed on him, the man winked out of existence, returned partially, then wholly… for only a few seconds. The cycle kept repeating as he tilted his head, inspecting the duelist.

“It has been some time since I’ve come across another… wanderer,” the man said. “Though I suspect we aren’t quite in the same place. You seem to have trouble staying still.” He gave an odd, high-pitched giggle.

“Who are you?” the duelist demanded.

His laughter died, and the man gave the duelist a scolding look. His tone, however, was playful. “What manners. Do you often come up to kings in their courts and accost them in such tones? You would be wiser to throw yourself prostrate before me.”

“Your court seems to have a problem with vermin,” the duelist said uneasily, clatter of an army approaching.

The man giggled again. “Perhaps in your eyes. My vision is quite splendid! Can you not see those golden statues, their magnificent bodies touching the sky? Indeed, I sell myself short, calling myself a mere king. What am I if not a god, the creator of this very realm?”

The duelist was startled into silence. He wondered if Elreon would envy or denounce him were he to share this meeting later. The man folded his hands behind his back, leaning his head as if he were looking at something very tall.

“You created this hell of mud and bone?”

The man focused again on the duelist, clapping his hands together. “Ah! So that is where you are. Curious! I haven’t ever conversed with someone in a completely different realm.” He stopped to scratch his beard. “I haven’t ever conversed with someone since I stepped into the nightmare, come to think of it. I saw a host of spectres some time ago, but they ignored me. Quite rude of them.” He smiled. “Well, they were justly rewarded, succumbing to their fears.”

Succumbing to their fears…? “Are you saying I’m facing a test of some kind?”

“Some kind, perhaps. It is all very real, however. I am unsure what manner of fiends hunt you, but I would avoid letting them get to you.”

“How do I get out?” the duelist said tensely. The skeletons weren’t far now.

“Again with the tone,” the man said, tutting. “I suppose you could conquer your fears. Or use a portal scroll. You did bring one, did you not?”

“Have you any idea how expensive they are?” the duelist growled.

“Hmm. Well, I am nothing if not generous. Simply return whence you came, and you may return whence you came.”

Skeletons surrounded the duelist, and he cried out, jumping and slashing at them. The bones chipped his blade, but he felled them easily—if only for a short while, when the necromancers reached him. “This isn’t the time for riddles!” he snapped.

“I speak no riddles,” the main said, visibly piqued. He threw his nose in the air. “I have tolerated your vulgarity quite long enough. You can rot for all I care!”

His spectre vanished, and did not return. Orbs of light flashed in the darkness, and the skeletons reanimated. But, as the blinks faded, the duelist saw something in the distance. Another orb, one that didn’t die with the rest.

It glowed blue.

The duelist slammed one skeleton with the pommel of his sword and slashed another through the ribcage. The dry bones snapped easily, and he rushed past the crumbling pair towards the portal. He cut one of the necromancers as he ran by, ducked and dodged the skeletons catching up. One nicked his shoulder, another drew blood from his shin, but the duelist ignored these and every other wound. He jumped through the portal just as a giant rhoa broke through the ranks like a loose cart coming downhill.

IV.

Zana shrieked when a portal suddenly opened and spat out the duelist. She glanced at it, then down at the duelist. When she looked up again, the portal was gone.

“What happened?” she said with worry, helping the disoriented duelist up.

“I… I genuinely haven’t the slightest clue,” he said, dusting himself off. “Suffice to say, I’m not about to touch glowing pedestals anytime soon.”

“The map disappeared with you,” Zana said, gesturing at the empty slot. “Do you think you triggered the device with it?”

“I don’t know—“ the duelist began, when Vorici and Haku rushed in.

“We heard you scream,” Vorici said. “Is something the matter? Did you find anything?”

Zana and the duelist shared a look, but both shook their heads.

“Neither did we, save for this,” Haku said, showing them a Blackguard scout’s helmet. “It lay between the bookshelves. We couldn’t find the owner.”

“The room it was in was quite large. It is possible he managed to evade us,” Vorici said. “If there is nothing of interest, I say we leave. He may try to attack Elreon or the exiles.”

“Good. Let’s go,” the duelist said, brushing past them. The assassin blinked, turning to Zana.

“Was that fright I saw on his face? Why is he in such a hurry out?”

Zana simply shook her head.

“There you are,” Elreon said, noticing the group coming down the hall. “Did you make grand discoveries inside?”

“There is no god here!” the duelist announced. Elreon looked after him with a frown, giving the others a questioning look. They simply shook their heads.

Evening was drawing near when they came outside, but the exiles had had the good sense not to make a fire. They had hidden the cart in the bushes and were asleep, Madrov keeping watch.

“Master swordsman!” he called quietly when the duelist came out. “Over here!”

“Gather your things. We’re leaving,” the duelist said. He undid the ties around the covering branches, letting them swing up.

“Is that wise?” Madrov said, pointing towards the horizon. “Look. A storm is brewing.”

“Oh,” Zana said as she joined them. “That doesn’t look good. Maybe we should stay here for shelter.”

“We are not staying!” the duelist shouted.

Zana grimaced at his outburst. “What happened to you in there?”

“I’d explain if I knew how,” the duelist muttered. He grunted, trying to pull the cart out. “Help me with this.”

“Where do you plan to go? We don’t have new clues of a destination,” Zana said.

The duelist paused. “Then we follow old leads. We head to Sarn.”

“Sarn? Why there?”

“Because that’s where the Sceptre of God is.” And purely for selfish reasons, but I’ve already cited those once today.

Zana hemmed, letting go of the harness as the others joined them. “Come to think of it, you’re right. That’s where I’d heard the name… It lies in the heart of the city.”

“So we make hunting Dominus our new quest?” Vorici said. “I’m game for that.”

“As am I!” Haku said, dropping his hammer on Elreon’s hands as he grabbed the harness of the wagon. The elder nearly toppled under its weight.

“We can follow the river for now, but once we part from it, it’ll be a long road ahead on difficult terrain.” She spun, tapping a finger on Haku’s chest. “Which means, I will help pull the cart.”

Haku made to object, but the duelist tapped a finger on his chest. “She will help pull the cart!”

Haku gave them each a disgruntled look, but folded his arms and muttered, “She will help pull the cart.”

“Should she really?” Madrov said, frowning. “She’s such a frail thing. If anything, she should be riding with us.”

Eyes as cold as the overcast horizon, Zana slowly turned, unsheathing her rapier.

The sea roiled under thundering skies, rising into mountainous waves that crashed against rain-slick cliffs. Fell winds blew down the slopes of mountains in the distance, across bloody ground where two figures stood. Lightning lit the faces of a fire-headed woman and a gaunt-featured man, his torso bare under stripped remains of a shirt. Their bodies were riddled with scars and fresh wounds, but they stood tall, both in dramatic, exaggerated poses.

Around them loomed an endless army of cannibals, zombies, Blackguard. Sand spitters dug themselves free from the dirt in droves, the squawking of rhoas carried over the war cries of men. Yet, they dared not advance. The earth around the pair had drank the blood of those who had so greedily that the rising spitters were dyed red.

“Come, now!” cried the man, sweeping a hand and pointing his sword at the crowd. “If you refuse to let us pass, then have the decency to entertain us!”

The crowd was still, impassive. Then, a number of cannibals broke through the ranks, screaming and hollering as they ran towards the warriors. Lightning flashed, flashed again, and between the strikes their assault had ended and they had joined the carcass field.

“I grow so weary of this, master swordsman,” the woman said, throwing her head back and slapping an arm over her eyes. “Oh, I know we won’t weather this storm. There is something you must know, for my heart would never know peace and I would rise as a phantom if I kept the secret!”

“Then you must tell me, lady-with-a-temper. To think of you trapped in eternal torment... I couldn't bear it!” master swordsman said, striking his sword to stand in the ground and swept her in his arms. A gust of wind blew wet locks of hair from their faces, so that she could see the welling sorrow in his eyes. She quivered in his hold; the crowd remained still.

“No!” lady-with-a-temper gasped, again throwing an arm to shield her eyes. “How I grieve to speak these words: I cannot! Alas, what my heart holds must remain concealed!”

Master swordsman let her go, and they each turned away. He struck a pose of pain and longing. She fell to her knees, weeping with sorrow.

“Then a secret it shall be,” master swordsman said with all the pain and longing as was in his pose. Though I keep secrets of my own I wish weren’t secret at all… he thought longingly.

“No!” lady-with-a-temper gasped again. “You mustn’t say that! Please, if you ever loved me—draw those feelings in disguise out! Let them flourish and thrive, take root in your very soul!”

“Love?” said master swordsman, turning with surprise. With a third gasp, lady-with-a-temper covered her mouth, rain mixing with tears streaking down her face. The crowd remained still.

“Yes!” lady-with-a-temper said, without gasping. “You have revealed my secret! I have loved you always, master swordsman. It is only now, when this awful horde is moments from destroying us, that I can admit it to myself. Oh!” She threw herself back into his arms. “If only we had known each other in different lives, in lives of peace. Would you have taken me as your wife, were you but a humble miller?”

“There is never peace for the likes of us, my love.” She quivered when he spoke the last words. “If we lived a thousand lives, still we would be as gods of war, ever destined to unite only once the reaper’s scythe gleams over us.”

“Oh, master swordsman,” lady-with-a-temper said wistfully.

“Oh, lady-with-a-temper,” master swordsman said as wistfully.

They kissed, but no one saw it because lightning didn’t flash at that moment, and they had stopped when it did. Master swordsman picked up his sword, and flirtatiously said, “My dear lady-with-a-temper, I have decided I don’t want to die today. Do you think the same?”

“I do, master swordsman,” she said with a wink, as if they knew something steamy was coming up but the reader didn’t.

“I also think,” master swordsman said with a lewd smirk, “that once we have slain these five… no, ten thousand enemies, we should make love in a sea of blood.”

“Oh, master swordsman! That sounds most ravishing!”

The crowd wasn’t still anymore. Even more spitters had risen, more cannibals had heard fresh meat was waiting. The crowd had been five thousand strong, but was now twice so. They crashed upon master swordsman and lady-with-a-temper like the waves against the cliffs behind, but master swordsman and lady-with-a-temper were much stronger. They moved like wind, struck like lightning. Master swordsman stabbed and slashed, and sometimes hacked with wanton fury, like Madrov had in Oriath when the butcher had swindled him and the meat was stringy. Lady-with-a-temper had become a goddess of war, striking and spinning and killing without hair once getting in her face. In only a minute they had killed all ten thousand enemies, for that is how good they were at killing.

Master swordsman grabbed lady-with-a-temper into his arms. “Now there is no one to disturb us when we make love, and it is fitting to do so in a sea of blood because we are like gods of war.”

“Yes,” lady-with-a-temper said wantingly. “This is fitting.”

“Oh, lady-with-a-temper.”

“Oh, master swordsman.”

***

“Tamara?”

Tamara squeaked, slamming her journal shut. Her eyes snapped to her feet, where Tarris, her son, slept in dreams induced by Vorici’s potion. She hadn’t woken him. She cleared her throat, and turned to Madrov. “Yes?”

“What are you writing?” the elder asked, wincing when the cart hit a bump. Grumbling to himself, he adjusted his leg. The bandage over the stab wound on his calf had started to seep through again.

“Just… journalling my thoughts,” Tamara said. She gave him a shifty look. “Why do you ask?”

“You were blushing. I hope you’re not coming down with fever.”

“Oh. No. I’m, um… I’m quite well.”

“If your thoughts can wait, you may want to hide the journal.” He faced the clouds drawing near with a frown. “Lest you want the ink to run. It will rain soon.”

“I’ll do that,” she said absently. She had turned to the front of the cart. Zana and the duelist dragged the cart along the riverbank, with Haku in step beside Zana.

“Please, my friend,” Haku said. “It pains me to see you do this. Let me take your place.”

“I’m fine,” Zana said, wiping her brow. She pointed a thumb at the duelist. “It’s him you ought to be worried over. If we get another climb, I fear his heart will explode.”

Haku puffed out his chest. “He is as strong as the black whale of the deep sea. It would be an affront to take the harness from him.”

“I really wouldn’t mind,” the duelist said breathlessly, face bright red and thick beads of sweat rolling past his stubble.

“I can relieve you,” Vorici offered, jogging up to them. “You look ready to die on your feet. Have some water and rest.”

“Thank you,” the duelist said. He disentangled the harness, grabbed the assassin in an embrace and snivelled against his shoulder. “Thank you,” he repeated in a whisper. Vorici snorted, patting his back.

Tamara stared at them for a moment, a slight red creeping onto her cheeks. I’ll finish the previous scene later, she thought, turning over a few pages and scribbling down the words, “The Power of Love, part 2. ‘We are outnumbered, master swordsman!’ said master assassin, longing in his voice despite the danger.’”