Run

oonlight. Trees. Boots.

Blood.

The scream came from somewhere behind. It tore through the forest, broke into something hideous, and vanished beneath the splintering of wood and a sickening sound like wet timber being twisted apart.

Navian ran. His shield clipped an oak and spun him half around. He went down the slope sideways with his boots skating on rotten leaves and one hand clawing the dark for balance and finding only bark. Brush burst apart on his left. Something heavy came through it, grunting, and kept pace. He cut right, and ferns tore on that side too, flinging dead leaves across his vambrace. The air hung low and wet with a rain that had not yet decided to fall, and under the green rot of the woods, it smelled of iron.

A root. A boulder. The moon lay across the forest in broken sheets. His shield arm had gone dead to the elbow and his lungs felt scraped raw, and whatever followed him was gaining.

“Gaz! Lunara!”

He regretted the shout immediately. He listened for them anyway. No humming sound of his brother’s staff or the sharp report of his sister’s bow. He had lost them in the first rush of darkness. Now the forest answered for them, and the sounds that had followed him began closing around the place where he ran—

“Help!”

Navian nearly missed the sound beneath the pursuit. Then it came again, and he realized with a jolt that it belonged to a child.

“Anyone!”

The paladin stopped so hard his boots slid through the mud, a full body-length past the place he meant to be. Shield up. Breath roaring in his ears. Behind him, the chase came on, a ragged crash of branches, wet and close.

“I’m here!” He knew what his voice cost but shouted anyway. “Where are you?”

A small sob answered from somewhere to his right. Navian raised his sword, and white Light burst along its length, flooding the surrounding forest with sudden brilliance. Beneath the exposed roots of a fallen oak sat a little girl, her dress torn, her knees caked with mud, and both hands pressed desperately against her mouth. She stared at him, trembling in the light.

Navian had led men out of losing battles before. He knew the moment courage stopped being useful, when refusing to retreat became nothing more noble than choosing which men would die with him. He had given orders that saved fifty but killed three.

The three had always been easier to remember.

He crossed the distance and scooped up the child. She weighed little, but carrying her forced him to shift his shield awkwardly over his arm, leaving the sword in his other hand.

“What’s your name?” he asked her.

The girl only stared. He nearly repeated the question before realizing how absurd it was to expect an answer from a child who could scarcely stop trembling.

“Never mind. Hold on.”

She obeyed, gripping his cloak with both hands. Something shrieked beyond the reach of his sword’s Light, and another answered from the trees behind him, much closer. Navian extinguished the blade and sheathed it, then held the girl tight against his chest and bolted into the darkness.

Something struck a tree with enough force to split its trunk. The girl screamed against his armor, but Navian was already plunging through the forest, his boots slipping as he struggled to keep his balance. Whatever followed was gaining, tearing across the same ground he had crossed only moments before, while something else raced alongside him in the black. He could feel the child shaking against his chest, but had no breath left to comfort her.

“Navian…”

He nearly missed a step. The voice came from somewhere ahead, thin with distance but familiar. He knew the impatient lift at the end of his name, the roughness of a man who could turn even the simplest request into a complaint.

“Antonio?”

He had heard the artificer from Dromfed scream. He remembered the way the sound had broken, and what had followed it.

“Navian… Hurry…”

Navian angled toward the voice. For several strides the pursuit seemed to fall back, leaving only the pounding of his boots and the girl’s quick, frightened breaths against his neck.

“Is that your friend?” she whispered.

It was Antonio’s voice exactly, the same peevish tone he had used that morning while complaining that damp air ruined fine mechanisms. Once, an imagined theft of a woman’s heart made Navian his sworn enemy for a month. Or five.

He might have laughed under other circumstances. Navian did not answer.

The ground slowly began to tremble beneath his boots. At first the vibration was faint, but it grew into a deep pulse that seemed to rise through the earth itself. Then a tremendous crack split the forest overhead. He looked up.

An enormous tree was falling directly across his path, its crown tearing through the canopy as the trunk gave way. Navian threw himself sideways, pulling the girl tight against his chest as they struck the mud and rolled. The black trunk slammed into the ground behind them, shaking the earth and sending splintered branches and clods of soil flying through the darkness. Navian came up on one knee, shielding the child with his body, and looked beyond the fallen debris.

Something was walking through the fog.

Among the distant trees, an immense darkness moved between the trunks, rising almost to their crowns. It passed through the moonlit mist without hurry, visible for scarcely a heartbeat before the fog closed around it again.

Navian snapped his mouth shut, scrambled to his feet, and fled, clutching the girl against him. She was sobbing now, her small arms locked around his neck as he carried her through the trees. He could no longer feel his legs beneath him, but the noises had begun again, closing from either side while something shrieked behind them. The girl screamed against his ear, and Navian winced as he stumbled through the undergrowth, tightening his hold on her.

Ahead, something golden flickered between the trunks. Warm light spilled across the forest floor, faint but unmistakable against the cold moonlight. The trees began to thin. Beyond them lay open ground, silver and wet beneath the moon. The paladin gathered what little strength remained in his legs, drove through the last wall of undergrowth, and burst screaming into the clearing.

A bowstring twanged.

Navian twisted around the girl and threw up his shield. An ashen arrow struck his shield inches from the child's head. It bounced off the steel with a violent crack, sending a painful jolt through his arm. He drew his sword.

“Lunara?!” he shouted, lowering the shield just enough to peer over its rim.

Across the clearing stood Jaeshu, a second arrow already drawn. His eyes went wide, fixed on the child huddled behind the shield as if the arrow had left someone else’s hand.

“...Shit.”

The ranger lowered his bow, his eyes dropping briefly to the girl before returning to the forest behind them. His hood had fallen back, revealing a face streaked with dirt and sweat. Navian turned and followed his gaze. Nothing had emerged from the trees, though the creatures had been scarcely a few strides behind him. Beyond the open grass, the forest stood utterly silent.

Only then did Navian notice the building behind him.

A large timber inn stood at the far end of the clearing, roof slick with moss and warm lamplight spilling from its windows. Above the entrance hung a weathered wooden sign bearing the faded image of a white deer, its paint scuffed by years of wind and rain. The Silver Stag.

Navian carried the girl toward the entrance, gently loosening her arms from around his neck before setting her down. She limped toward the wooden steps but stopped short of the door, turning to watch the forest with wide, frightened eyes.

Jaeshu came alongside him, a fresh arrow resting against his bowstring. His eyes moved from the fresh dent in Navian’s shield to the dark tree line where the paladin had broken through. Neither man spoke as they watched the dark spaces between the trees, waiting for the pursuit to resume.

A violent thrashing erupted from the woods to their left. Both men turned, weapons raised.

Lunara burst through the undergrowth, her dark hair plastered to her face and her green leathers torn across one shoulder. At the sight of her, Navian felt the tension leave his shoulders, sword and shield lowering in relief. She was dragging another woman by the hand, and the two pitched into the clearing together. The woman caught herself, looked up, and saw the little girl standing beside the inn.

“Oh gods, Terra!”

The child turned at the sound of her name. “Mama!”

Terra ran across the grass, stumbling once before reaching the woman, who dropped to her knees and caught her in both arms. They clung to each other, the mother burying her face in her daughter’s hair while Terra wept against her shoulder. Navian watched them, still struggling to catch his breath, as the woman lifted her tear-streaked face toward him.

“Thank you. Oh, thank you…”

He shook his head and nodded toward Lunara. “Thank my sister.”

But Lunara had already turned back toward the forest. She stood a few paces from the reunited pair, bow drawn and an arrow resting against the string, searching the dark gaps between the trees.

Another crash sounded from the undergrowth. Lunara swung her bow toward it, Jaeshu following half a breath later.

Gaz stumbled from the forest in torn purple robes, his staff dragging through the grass. He threw up one hand at the sight of their arrows, but a fit of coughing doubled him over before he could speak.

“Easy!” he wheezed. “Gods, easy!”

“Brother!” Lunara eased her bowstring and hurried toward him.

Navian reached Gaz first, slipping an arm beneath his younger brother's shoulder as his knees began to buckle. Together they helped him toward the inn, where the wizard leaned heavily against his staff and fought to draw a full breath. The crystal mounted at its head was dark. Gaz caught Navian looking at it and shook his head.

“Don’t even ask.” He spat into the grass and wiped his mouth with a trembling hand. “Apparently, lighting oneself up like a festival lantern is a terrible idea when half the forest wants you dead.” He glanced toward the trees, his breathing still ragged. “The dark was the safer risk.”

From somewhere beyond the clearing, Antonio spoke again.

“Why… why are you trying to kill me...”

“That is not possible.” Gaz went rigid, his fingers tightening around the unlit staff. “Antonio is dead.”

Navian looked toward his brother, but before he could speak, a crash sounded from the trees beyond the far side of the clearing. A young man came flying through the undergrowth, struck the grass shoulder-first, and rolled several feet before coming to a stop. An older man followed almost immediately, hurtling through the bushes and landing hard beside him. Jaeshu raised his bow as the two scrambled to their knees, throwing their hands into the air.

“Wait! Don’t shoot!” the younger man cried. “We’re from the marketplace! From Fari Laconi!”

Before anyone could answer, a terrible roar shook the clearing.

Karneth burst from the trees carrying a wounded boy in his arms. Blood soaked his clothing and ran down the dwarf’s forearms as he hurried across the grass, cursing furiously in Dwarven.

“And there’s our dwarf,” Gaz muttered, struggling to straighten against his staff.

“Someone help me!” Karneth shouted. “He’s bleedin’ bad!”

Navian and Lunara rushed to meet him, clearing a path toward the inn while the two men who had been heaved into the clearing struggled to their feet. Karneth carried the wounded boy to the clearing. Lunara knelt beside him, examining the blood-soaked cloth pressed against his side.

Terra’s mother hurried over, tearing a strip from the hem of her dress. She pressed it firmly against the wound while the younger man helped hold the boy still. Terra remained close beside her mother, clutching the torn fabric of her skirt, her eyes fixed upon the blood.

Karneth straightened, his hands red to the wrists. His broad chest heaved beneath his battered armor, and for a moment he stood glaring toward the trees.

Beyond the clearing, Antonio’s voice drifted through the darkness.

“You all left me…”

Navian turned sharply. “You said he died, Gaz!”

“Nav, I saw it happen.” Gaz pushed himself upright against his staff, his breathing still strained from the flight.

“The man was torn into three pieces, lad,” Karneth said, drawing his axes. “You’re free t’go back and count them yourself.”

Navian took two steps toward the forest before the voice came again, distant and pleading.

“Please… friends…”

Lunara rose and followed him, settling a hand on his shoulder. “Tony never said please.”

Jaeshu stepped forward, his attention fixed on the darkness beyond the clearing. “Or called us friends.”

Navian said nothing. From somewhere deep within the forest, Antonio began to laugh. It was unmistakably his laughter, rising between the distant trees with the same familiar cadence, the same rough, breathless amusement they had heard so many times before. The sound carried across the clearing, and no one spoke.

Jaeshu pulled his hood up again, and Lunara came beside him, drawing her string until the arrow rested against her cheek. Karneth took his place with axes ready, while Gaz remained behind them with both hands wrapped tightly around his staff. Navian stepped forward, shield raised and sword ready against whatever might emerge from the forest.

Behind them, the civilians had gathered together. Terra clung to her mother, her sobs fading into frightened whimpers, while the younger man knelt beside the wounded boy, maintaining pressure against his side. His breathing was shallow and uneven, and the cloth beneath his hands had grown dark with blood.

Antonio's laughter faded among the trees, but no one lowered their weapons. Navian watched the dark spaces between the trunks, waiting for the voice to return from the place where it had been calling. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint groans of the wounded boy behind him.

A cold drop of rain pinged his gauntlet. Another followed, then several more, until a steady rainfall whispered through the branches and spread across the clearing. Water pattered against their armor, darkened the trampled grass, and ran in narrow streams down the wooden steps of the Silver Stag.

Still, nothing.

Jaeshu lowered his bow slowly. He looked from one dark opening in the forest to another, then toward the survivors gathered behind them.

“You. Old man. Which way did you come?”

The silver-haired man in an apron looked up from the mud where he sat.

“What?”

“The clearing. Which side did you come in from?”

The man pointed with a trembling hand toward the trees beyond the southern edge of the grass. “Th-that way. We tried to cross the stream, but s-something kept driving us away.”

“His name is Locke,” said Terra’s mother. “I’m Celes.” She kept an arm around her daughter as she glanced toward the forest. “We all started near the marketplace. I ran west along the old road until something chased me down toward the ravine.”

Lunara pointed one of her arrows toward the trees where she had emerged. “I found her near the road. We couldn’t go back the way she’d come.”

Gaz leaned against his staff and nodded toward the eastern trees. “I lost my bearings north of the market. Thought I was heading away from all this. Somehow I ended up over there.”

Karneth jerked a thumb toward the southwestern woods. “I went down the ravine with those three. Whatever was behind us wasn’t interested in letting us turn around.”

The younger man kept a hand pressed over the dark cloth at the boy's side. Blood seeped between his fingers.

Jaeshu listened until the dwarf finished, then slowly turned his attention toward the separate openings in the forest. Navian followed his gaze. Every group had arrived within minutes of the last, though none had taken the same route.

“They were chasing us,” Navian said.

“No.” The ranger studied the silent forest. “They were bringing us here.”

Rain pattered through the branches. Beyond the clearing, nothing stirred.

They had not escaped.

They had arrived.