The Name of Things

orning found Ilvarin’del exactly as the night had left it: quiet, immense, and unwilling to explain itself.

Around the dying fire, they broke camp beneath a pale sky while the forest waited beyond the field. In daylight, its size was easier to comprehend, though no more welcoming for it. Ancient trees stretched away in both directions until they dissolved into the horizon, their crowns woven together in a vast roof of shadowed green.

No golden lights shone between the trunks. No distant music drifted from somewhere unseen. Whatever roads had once carried travelers beneath those boughs now offered only a narrow path vanishing into darkness.

Gaz ground the last embers of the fire beneath his boot while Oesora packed away the final pieces of their camp. Lunara, meanwhile, had somehow found her way back to Beeps and was scratching through the thick wool beneath the ram’s jaw while Karneth tightened the saddle on the opposite side. There was light conversation during the preparations, but Av'elyth remained quiet—quieter than usual.

“Nervous to see your Grand Elves?” Jaeshu asked as he pulled his hood up.

“No,” Av'elyth said. “Eager. I have questions.”

“Good.” Navian raised his sword, set the blade into the sheath, and let it drop home with a hard metallic clang. “Then let’s get this part over with. Whatever lies beyond that forest hasn’t been seen in decades. Let’s be the first.”

Karneth turned toward the archer and ranger. “Quivers full?”

“Quivers full!” Lunara said, tightening the last strap and giving him a quick salute. Jaeshu let his hand pass lightly over his quivers, memorizing their position by touch and the precise distance between each and his bow.

Gaz, for his part, stole one last glance at the elven spells in his tome, silently mouthing several of the words before snapping the book shut and slipping it into his satchel.

With little more needing to be said, they left the hills behind and descended into the sunlit fields.

The old road narrowed by degrees as it carried them toward the forest. For a while the country remained open around them, the grasses still high along the shoulders of the trail and the little wildflowers from their campsite lingering in scattered patches among them. Then the ground began to change. The grass grew thinner and rougher while the occasional solitary tree became two, then three, then loose stands gathered along either side of the road. Their shade reached farther across the path with every mile, and the breeze that had moved freely across the fields came to them in broken currents beneath the branches.

The sweetness that had lain upon the air was gone, though when it had faded none among them could have said. In its place there lingered another scent, faint and nameless, neither foul nor pleasing, but strange to them all. It seemed to dwell beneath the breath of leaf and earth, like some forgotten thing stirring at the edge of memory.

None of them had spoken for a long time.

By the time the true edge of Ilvarin’del rose before them, the open country had all but fallen away behind. The road had narrowed to a dark ribbon beneath their feet, broken by roots that thrust through the earth and wandered across the path in long, twisting ridges, forcing horse and ram alike to pick their way with care. Before them, the trees stood greater than they had seemed from afar. With every step their trunks appeared broader, their crowns higher. Around their bases the earth rose and folded over ancient roots, vast and gnarled, before they sank again into the shadowed soil as though the forest had buried some older shape beneath itself.

Av'elyth’s mare slowed.

She gave the reins a gentle pull and touched her heels lightly to the horse’s sides, expecting the animal to move on. It obeyed for several paces, then slowed again before coming to a complete stop.

“Come on, horse,” Av'elyth murmured.

She lowered one hand to the mare’s neck and felt the muscles trembling beneath her palm.

Lunara noticed from several yards away. “Av'elyth?”

The mare’s ears flattened hard against its skull. A shudder ran from its shoulders to its hindquarters, strong enough for the rogue to feel it through her saddle. Another followed, sharper than the first. The horse’s breathing quickened until each breath came in short, hot bursts through flared nostrils.

Av'elyth tightened her grip on the reins. “Easy.”

The mare’s head snapped upward.

The scream that tore from it was so sudden and unnatural that several of them recoiled before they understood what they were hearing. The horse reared violently, front hooves striking at empty air, and Av'elyth held the saddle for only a heartbeat before the animal twisted beneath her and threw her sideways.

She struck the road shoulder-first and rolled hard across the dirt. The mare came down with enough force to scatter earth beneath its hooves and wheeled toward Av'elyth. For one strange moment it merely stood over her, sides heaving, its whole body rigid.

Then black liquid began to spill from its eyes.

At first it ran in narrow trails through the pale hair beneath them. Then more followed, thick and dark, collecting along the jaw before falling in heavy drops to the road. The mare’s lips pulled backward. Something shifted beneath the gums, followed by a series of wet cracks as several teeth lengthened into points no horse should have possessed.

Av'elyth stared up at it.

The mare lunged.

White flashed across her vision.

Navian’s shield struck the earth between them with a clang of metal and stone, and the horse’s face crashed directly into it. Its newly sharpened fangs snapped uselessly against the polished edge while Navian dropped to one knee beside Av'elyth, his full weight braced behind the shield. The blow drove him several inches into the dirt, but the shield held.

“Move!”

Av'elyth vanished.

Shadow seemed to fold around her for the briefest instant, swallowing the place where she had fallen. Then it stretched across the road like smoke caught by wind, and the rogue reappeared several yards away in a low crouch, one hand planted against the ground while the other already reached for a dagger.

Jaeshu saw it. Gaz did as well. Whatever weakness had followed her from Caerhaven was gone.

Av'elyth rose smoothly, drew her second blade, and rolled the shoulder upon which she had landed. Navian came to his feet at the same time, his sword clearing its sheath as the others armed themselves around him. Lunara slipped her bow free as Jaeshu reached for his own, Gaz raised his staff as amber light gathered in the crystal, and Oesora stepped back with both hands before her.

The mare turned toward Navian, black tears streaming from its eyes. The paladin raised his shield again as the maddened horse charged.

It had taken no more than three strides when a gigantic mass struck it broadside.

The impact was monstrous.

Horse and ram vanished together in a violent collision of muscle, leather, and wool, and the mare seemed to fold around the ram’s horns before the force of the blow hurled it across the road. It struck the ground hard enough to send dirt and dead leaves rolling outward in a low cloud.

The ram pawed once at the earth.

The horse moved.

Everyone saw it, but Gaz’s face changed first.

“No.”

One of the mare’s rear legs lay twisted beneath it at an angle that should have ended the fight immediately. The other dragged uselessly through the dirt. Along one side, the ribs had collapsed inward beneath the hide where the bramblehorn had struck, leaving the entire shape of the animal visibly wrong.

Yet it began to rise.

The mare dragged itself upright on what remained of its legs, broken limbs folding beneath it and slipping against the ground. Something shifted beneath the crushed side of its chest with each labored breath. Black fluid ran freely from its eyes and bubbled at its nostrils, but whatever pain should have stopped it appeared to mean nothing.

Oesora took a step backward. “How is it...?”

No one answered.

The mare screamed again and lurched toward them.

Whatever shock Karneth had felt vanished. He lifted his axe and barked in dwarven, the words hard and sharp enough that even those who did not understand them knew they were a command.

“Kharum vek! Drokh varra!”

The bramblehorn charged.

His second strike caught the mare low, horns driving beneath its chest and tearing what remained of its legs from under it. The horse crashed onto its side, but before it could begin the impossible task of rising again, Beeps planted himself against the ruined body and forced it into the road.

The mare thrashed beneath him, teeth snapping within inches of his face while broken hooves clawed useless trenches through the earth. Beeps lowered his head, dug his own hooves into the ground, and held.

Karneth rushed to his side, one hand closing around the reins. “Hold, boy. Hold.”

The others approached slowly. Navian kept his shield raised while Av'elyth stood near the horse’s head with both daggers drawn. Jaeshu watched the broken legs continue trying to push beneath the body. Gaz crouched several feet beyond its reach and studied the black fluid soaking into the soil, while Lunara remained farther back with Oesora, her bow lowered.

“That wasn’t fear,” she said quietly.

“No,” Av'elyth replied.

The mare convulsed again beneath the ram. The bramblehorn grunted and pressed harder.

Gaz’s gaze shifted from the animal toward Ilvarin’del. “Bree said the animals changed first.”

The silence that followed was heavier than the words.

Av'elyth’s eyes narrowed. “Orath.”

The name changed something in the morning. Until then the forest had merely been strange, distant, and silent. Now its emptiness seemed to possess a shape.

Oesora looked from the trees to the mare. “She was fine yesterday.”

“So were the animals around Caerhaven,” Jaeshu said.

The horse struggled again, weaker now but no less unnatural. Bone shifted beneath skin where bone should never have moved, and each attempt to breathe produced a wet rattling sound from the crushed chest. More unsettling still were its eyes. There was no confusion in them. No fear. Only rage. Its gaze snapped from one traveler to the next, as though measuring the distance between each of them and its teeth.

Navian's expression hardened. “We can’t leave her like this.”

The brothers looked at each other. Jaeshu and Av'elyth remained focused on the mare writhing on the ground in a pool of tar, while Karneth held the ram steady.

Lunara looked away.

No one argued.

Oesora touched her arm, and the archer and priestess walked together toward the edge of the field. They quietly went far enough that the horse disappeared behind the others, then a little farther still, stopping with their backs to the road.

Ahead of them, Ilvarin’del waited.

Behind them came the dwarf’s voice, too quiet to make out. A man answered. There was a scrape of movement against the road, then a brief silence. A woman’s voice followed.

Then one single sound followed.

Heavy.

Lunara’s shoulders rose sharply. Oesora closed her eyes.

Final.

For a little while, the two stood without speaking. The wind moved through the grass around them, brushing against Lunara’s leathers and stirring the ends of Oesora’s hair, but whatever breeze reached the edge of Ilvarin’del seemed to vanish among the first trees.

Footsteps approached at last.

Navian stopped several paces behind them.

“It was quick.”

Lunara nodded once. Oesora opened her eyes.

Neither looked back.

By the time Lunara and Oesora returned, the sharp edge of the fight had begun to fade. What remained was the peculiar exhaustion that followed sudden terror, when the body had spent everything preparing to survive and the mind had only afterward been given time to understand what had happened.

Karneth ran stout hands through the thick wool along the ram’s neck and shoulder, searching for anything the violent collision might have hidden beneath the fleece. He found no blood, only torn wool, but the dwarf checked twice before finally appearing satisfied. He gathered the reins and climbed into the saddle.

Jaeshu watched him. His gaze went from the dwarf to the ram and then back again.

Karneth noticed. “What?”

The ranger took a moment before answering. “We should think about this.”

Karneth frowned. “Think about what?”

“Your bramblehorn,” Av'elyth said.

His confusion seemed genuine. “What about him?”

Navian finished tightening the strap across his pack and turned toward him. “Orath affects animals first. We knew that before we left Caerhaven, and now we’ve watched it happen ourselves. That horse nearly killed Av'elyth.” His gaze shifted to the bramblehorn. “An Orath horse is one thing. An Orath bramblehorn... is quite another.”

Jaeshu nodded slightly. “He just hit the full-grown horse hard enough to collapse half its body, Karneth.”

Understanding slowly replaced confusion on the dwarf's face.

“You’re wantin’ me to leave him.”

“No one wants that,” Navian said.

“But that’s what you’re sayin’.”

“I’m saying we have to consider it.”

Karneth swung down from the saddle. Lunara watched him carefully, but said nothing.

“There’s open country behind us,” Navian continued. “If we turn him loose now, he has a chance of staying away from whatever affected the horse.”

“And then what?” Karneth asked. “He wanders back toward Caerhaven? Alone? Gets taken by a swarm of goblins? A pack of Shadowhounds?”

“It may simply be the safest option,” Gaz said.

Karneth looked at him. “For whom?”

Navian stepped nearer and reached for Beeps’s reins.

Karneth’s palm came up and pressed firmly against the center of Navian’s breastplate.

The paladin stopped.

It was not a shove. Karneth made no attempt to move him, and beneath the weight of armor Navian would scarcely have noticed such an effort anyway. The gesture was something else: a line drawn plainly enough that no one could mistake it.

“Don’t.”

The others fell quiet.

Karneth held Navian’s gaze. “Don’t take his reins from me.”

Navian studied him for a long moment, then lowered his hand.

Only then did Karneth let his own fall.

“You don’t understand what he is,” he said.

Jaeshu folded his arms. “We know what he could be.”

Karneth rested one hand against the ram’s woolly shoulder. “Bramblehorns are not damn horses. A horse can panic and break itself trying to flee. These animals are bred for the mountains—to endure, to hold their ground, to stand when everything around them tells them to run.”

His hand moved slowly through the thick wool along Beeps’s neck as he spoke, and some of the anger in his voice settled into certainty. “You think dwarves put armor on some oversized sheep and decide it’s ready for war?”

No one answered him.

“They don’t frighten easily, and they don’t break easily. Once one trusts its rider, that bond means something, dammit.” Karneth glanced toward the place where the mare had fallen, and when he spoke again, his voice had lost some of its heat.

The dwarf stepped closer to Navian. “I saw what happened. I’m not pretending I didn’t. But he just saved the elf you were damn quick to throw yourself in front of.”

Gaz watched him carefully. “You cannot know that the same thing will not affect him.”

“No,” Karneth said. “I can. I know him.”

He looked back at Navian. The paladin remained silent. Karneth’s anger had never become loud, but it sat plainly between them nonetheless.

“He’ll be fine.”

For several seconds no one answered.

Lunara stepped forward. She had remained outside the argument until then, listening quietly, but now she approached Beeps and rested one hand between his horns. The ram exhaled and became still beneath her touch.

Karneth looked around at the others before finally turning to her. “He’ll be fine, lass. I promise.” His voice softened. “Tell them.”

Lunara did not answer immediately. Her fingers moved slowly through the coarse hair between the ram’s horns while Beeps stood perfectly still.

Then she nodded.

“You’ll be okay.”

Navian looked at his sister. She glanced up, as though only then realizing that everyone had heard her. Her attention returned to the ram.

Jaeshu still looked uncertain. Gaz appeared no more comfortable than before, and Av'elyth’s attention remained fixed upon the ram with understandable caution. Yet Lunara’s quiet confidence shifted something between them all, if only by a little.

Navian finally nodded. “All right.”

Karneth exhaled.

“But we watch him,” Navian continued. “Anything changes—his eyes, his behavior, anything at all—we stop.”

“He won’t.”

“Karneth.”

The dwarf’s jaw tightened. “Aye.”

“And if he turns, you get clear.”

Karneth looked almost offended. “If something happens, I’ll handle him myself.”

Jaeshu shook his head as well. “You won’t.”

Av'elyth’s eyes remained on Beeps. “If he becomes what my horse became, he stops being just your problem.”

For a moment Karneth seemed ready to argue again. Instead he looked down at Beeps, rubbed one hand through the wool beneath the ram’s jaw, and gave a reluctant nod.

“Aye.”

Then, quieter, “But he won’t.”

The argument ended there, though the unease did not. Packs were shouldered and weapons settled once more into place. More than one gaze strayed toward the bramblehorn as they turned at last toward Ilvarin’del, Karneth remaining on foot beside Beeps with one hand resting loosely upon the reins. One by one, the companions began towards the first trees in silence.

Lunara lingered for a moment. Her gaze returned to the blackened mass of tar and hair that, only minutes before, had been the healthy mare carrying Av'elyth. Then she looked toward Beeps.

The ram looked back at her. It made no sound.

Av'elyth passed beside her without slowing, sliding her daggers into the sheaths at her hips.

“And that, archer, is why we do not name things.”