Skylar cringed as the vote results trickled in. Holy fratz, you guys really do want me to get myself killed. What the drotz do I know what to do with a knife?! Sweating, he clutched the hilt and gulped for additional courage as the Ubara swarmed around the knot of their shrinking protective circle; maybe I won't need to do anything and they'll just win on their own?
But a quick glance across the battlefield told him that this was wishful thinking; Levan had cut down three of the beasts, but was already slowing with fatigue, and blood trickled from his thick furry hair in numerous places from near-miss bites and gashes. Aymon's powerful strikes repeatedly threw the great wolf-creatures back, but appeared to be much less lethal; Skylar could see a couple of the Ubara he'd taken down rising and limping back into the fray. Reine was the most destructive -- he saw her call down another hammer-blow of golden light, dropping three more of the creatures -- but she was moving more slowly and looking pale, and Skylar doubted she'd be able to keep her feet after a third Invocation. Fratz. I may have to actually get my hands dirty.
I wish -- nowhere to hide with this many of them surrounding us. Cautiously, he eyed the vicious, slavering beasts as they circled and snapped at the others; their taut muscles and weird, naked-looking skin seemed iron-hard, and he doubted his feeble string-beany arms would be able to drive the blade in past them. I'll have to go for a weak spot, or something.
"What's the matter?" chuckled the masked man from his comfortable position at the center of the formation. "Aren't you going to be a hero?" Glancing back, Skylar did a double-take; the bastard was lying down, hands behind his head, and appeared to be about to doze off. This krepnak!
But he immediately regretted distracting himself; a howl erupted from his other side, and when he looked back, an Ubarak was already lunging for his face. Thick, drool-coated fangs the size of bananas rushed towards his face; shrieking, he fell back, flailing with the knife awkwardly, and was shocked to feel a strange rattling impact up through his arm. Instantly, the Ubarak's howl turned into a squeal of pain, and it leapt off him, shrieking in an uncomfortably human-like voice; to his astonishment, he realized that he'd managed to drive the elf's dagger into its left eye. Wow. And to think I only had it in a reverse grip because I was trying to look cool.
"Well done," the masked man's mocking voice echoed behind him; "I especially enjoyed the part where you sacrificed your only weapon for a single non-lethal blow."
"Shut the skek up," Skylar snarled, raising his feeble fists before him; he was probably doomed now, but korsked if he was going to take skek from this gimp before he got torn apart and eaten. "They're gonna eat you next, you know."
"Oh, I don't know," the masked man returned, a smirk evident in his voice. "Our situations aren't quite as similar as they appear; in fact, I'm in no danger at all, really. Terrible shame you can't say the same."
Skylar opened his mouth to retort again -- what he was going to say, he didn't know -- but was unfortunately preempted by the expediency of two Ubara striking in tandem and finally managing to bring Levan down to Skylar's left; he fell, cursing and hacking, beneath their combined weights as they bore him down under nearly four hundred pounds of monsterflesh. Immediately, the other beasts flooded in to take advantage of the opening; Reine whirled, leveling her hand and starting another swift chant, but doing so exposed her own flank and rear. Aymon, looking half-exhausted, stepped alacritously into the gap and seized the forepaws of the lead Ubarak; Skylar caught a glimpse of him, holding the beast above him like a bear-wrestler, before he was obscured by more of the ravenous creatures.
Drotz, this might be our last stream, chat. Skylar didn't even see the impact that took him down; all he knew was that one moment, he was staring as the monsters overwhelmed their lines, and the next he was on the ground, pinned and gasping for breath as another of the huge creatures went for his throat. Desperately, he shoved his forearm into its maw, but he knew it was only a matter of seconds before it bit down, shattering his bones and beginning the bloody, screaming process of his impending gourmandization. Great choices, guys. One star.
Then, just as he was about to lose control of his bladder and bowels irrevocably, lightning split the night; the shock and blast of it arrived simultaneously, whiting out his vision completely as the thunderous crash deafened him. For an instant, he thought he'd died anyway; but he felt no pain (well, no additional pain beyond what he was already experiencing), and his vision began to return almost immediately, revealing that the Ubara was no longer astride him. He struggled up to a seated position, panting and trying to pop his ears to quiet the loud ringing drowning out all other sound as he glanced around in confusion.
To his astonishment, he saw that all the wolf-creatures were down; Reine and Aymon lay gasping for breath atop two of the monsters' corpses a few yards away, while Levan spat and cursed as he tried to free himself from under the pile of dead meat threatening to smother him. But a new, fifth person had suddenly appeared, standing before the masked man, and Skylar's brain jerked to a halt as he tried to understand what he was seeing.
The new figure was dressed nearly identically to Skylar -- black boots, black pants, and a flowing black unisex top that could have been either a T-shirt or a blouse -- and her hair was black and cut short in exactly the same style as his. In fact, it was almost like looking at a female version of himself; but Skylar's perspicacious nature asserted itself almost immediately, and he quickly picked out some small differences -- a small deviation in earlobe and nose shapes, slight variations in the epicanthal folds of the eyes, and small but significant holes in her ears where jewelry had until recently been -- and surmised quickly that he was looking at imitation rather than identity. Putting aside the question of why anyone would want to copy me, what the drotz did she do to take out all the Ubara?
Slowly, the ringing in his ears subsided, just as the echoes of something the masked man had said faded away; with a jolt, Skylar realized that he and the woman had been exchanging words that he had missed. He rubbed his ears just as the last of it faded to inaudibility and was just able to catch her response: "--uster showing."
The masked man chuckled, making no move to rise. "It is good my goal is not to impress you, then." The woman's face paled slightly, and in a flash she was crouched atop the masked man, a blood-soaked dagger in her hand; surprised, Skylar realized it was the one he'd stabbed the Ubarak with only moments ago. Did she kill all of those things with that? In less than a second?!
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
"What's the matter?" the masked man asked, voice full of dry humor. "I am defenseless, after all. Surely you have no reason to stay your hand."
The woman, her face a mask of annoyance, cursed; then, in the blink of an eye, she was standing away from him, glaring at him with an expression of loathing. "Have it your way," she spat, then half-turned towards Skylar; her expression jolted in surprise, then twisted in a combination of confusion and some other emotion he couldn't identify. She took a half-step towards him, then vanished abruptly; the only sound was the splat of Aymon's dagger falling into the mud.
Skylar clapped his hands to the side of his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Ow, my brain. This is so confusing. "Don't suppose you're gonna tell me who that was, or what happened?" he groaned in the general direction of the masked man, only to receive the expected chuckle in response.
"I find," said the masked man, climbing lackadaisically to his feet and looking around, "that people are unsatisfied with the answers to questions unless they discover them for themselves. But if you really seek enlightenment, I suppose I can point you in the right direction."
Skylar boggled at the very idea. "Of course I do," he spat back, astonished. "Why would I not want to know something that could get me killed for not knowing it?"
"A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing," mused the masked man, reaching up and taking off his coat; underneath, he wore another layered outfit of more black leather, but this time Skylar could see his mask clearly. It was a clockwork, mechanical thing -- triangular glass lenses for eyes and a trapezoidal brass cage over the mouth -- which gave off an overall impression of skull-like menace, like a plague doctor's mask or the lower-budget class of comic-book supervillain. Skylar's eyes narrowed. That's a rebreather, and maybe a voice modulator too. This guy might not even be a spellcaster.
Nonchalantly, he tossed his heavy leather trenchcoat towards Skylar, who struggled and failed to catch it; the weighty garment slapped into him like a wet towel and nearly bowled him over. Christ, this must weigh almost fifty pounds! "If you truly seek answers, the path will be dangerous; perhaps this will be a shroud for you." Skylar scowled at the evident double meaning as the masked man began to walk away into the moonlit darkness; in passing, he noticed that the rope around the other man's hands had vanished.
"Hey! Wait!" he called, and he was surprised to hear Reine growling at the strange man's back as well. Oh, I guess he was technically her prisoner too. Whoops. Then, before anyone could say or do anything else, he was gone -- swallowed by the night as though he had merely been a figment of everyone's imagination.
"What I can't figure out," Levan complained as he stabbed the last of the corpses for good measure, "is why he played along that entire time. Was he just so strong that he was never in any danger at all? Or did he somehow know what was going to happen?"
"It is possible both things are true," Aymon replied, washing his wounds with water from a small canteen; Skylar had watched him chant over it a minute before, and suspected it might be some kind of healing water that the elf had blessed. "He did also express a persistent belief that he was under the Night King's protection; if he were truly a high-ranking member of the Black Clergy, all three may even be accurate."
"I'm not so convinced he was a cultist at all," Skylar disagreed. "He mentioned to me that I shouldn't believe everything I hear when I pressed him on it. He could have just been pretending to be a Priest of Gram."
"Or," Reine countered, "he may have been attempting to instill the discipline of critical thinking in his young, inexperienced disciple."
Skylar scowled at her smirk. Drotz you, lady. "I'm not a cultist," he reiterated with a snarl.
"You're going to have a really tough time convincing everybody if you keep dressing like one," Levan interjected, patting Skylar heavily on the back; to his annoyance, the thick black leather trenchcoat fit him perfectly, and even Skylar couldn't deny that he felt much warmer and more comfortable wearing it. I can barely feel him back-slapping me, even though he's so strong, Skylar observed to himself; maybe it's magic, or something.
"To wear the color of Gram is not, in and of itself, an admission of guilt," Aymon murmured. "The young woman who saved us was attired similarly, and a true cultist of the Night King would have little reason to preserve us."
Levan shook his head. "We don't know that. She could have been protecting her boss and little Culty Junior, here."
"She could also have been protecting a Loathborn cultist, if you want to play that angle," Skylar countered decisively. "Face it, none of us knows skek and guessing is just going to make things more difficult between all of us."
There was a short silence in which Levan and Aymon nodded; but Reine spat defiantly and struggled up out of the mud to face him and Levan. "You were not arrested based on your fashion choices alone," she growled. "The other prisoner identified you by appearance and location long ere we set eyes on you in person; the evidence is unmistakable."
"He identified me, too, if you've forgotten," Levan cut in. "And I'm definitely no cultist."
Aymon blinked. "So you believe the Zuzan to be innocent as well, then?"
"Oh no, he's definitely probably a cultist," Levan smirked, flourishing his bloodstained sword, "but that's just my opinion; I don't have any actual proof beyond his general cultiness." Skylar scowled, but saw clearly that a retort would not gain him much; despite the Loathborn's unkempt appearance and apparently unsophisticated skillset, he was beginning to think that a surprisingly keen intelligence lurked behind the other man's glowing crimson eyes. "Anyway, the rules say that he has to be tried before a judge, right? So why not just do that?"
"If you'll recall," Reine grated, moving to stand directly in front of Levan, "he is not the only one who must stand trial. And you have a promise to keep." She held out one gauntleted hand expectantly, her posture confrontational, and Levan suddenly became still; Skylar held his breath, expecting the Loathborn to refuse.
However, the tense moment dissipated almost immediately; with a slow, deliberate movement, the hairy red-eyed man reversed the sword and placed the hilt smartly in her palm. "Sure. I gave my word, so I don't see the problem."
Reine paused, then recovered herself and sheathed the blade with a haughty expression; Aymon raised an eyebrow. "Your reaction is not what I would have expected."
"Yeah, well, maybe you're not as good of a judge of other people as you think," Levan snorted. "I'll stand trial, even if I'm falsely accused. But that doesn't answer the real question here."
"You wish to pursue the third prisoner," Aymon marveled. "Is it vengeance? Or justice that motivates you?"
"Who cares?" Reine shook her golden hair and surged to her feet, as full of energy as if the battle had never occurred. "If we act swiftly, we may recapture him before he has a chance to get very far. If the Loathborn wants to assist me, so much the better."
"Are you crazy?" Skylar objected. "From what you said earlier, it sounds like he let you capture him before; this time, he walked away on his own recognizance. If he fights back, do you really think you can take him?"
"Obviously," Reine snapped back; but Skylar detected a hint of unease nonetheless. "And even if I did not, it does not matter; justice must be served."
Then, unexpectedly, Aymon rose and stood between her and Skylar; he shook his bald, bearded head with deliberate sharpness. "We dare not. Another night in these badlands will surely be the end of us; we must continue to make for Garlon's Fork while moonlight remains. Worse things than Ubara prowl these wastes; we have been lucky until now, but I can brook no more delay." He gazed at Reine's anger and distress, and his expression softened. "I am sure Maivat will understand, Justiciar."
With an effort, the she-elf composed herself. "If we must. I suppose it is better to bring back two than to fall in pursuit of three." Turning haughtily away, she bent to pick up the rope, then turned back towards Skylar suspiciously. "Cultist, I shall leave you your hands unbound, in recognition of your behavior thus far -- and the Loathborn's show of integrity." She nodded towards Levan, who nodded back as though some shared understanding had grown between them. "But attempt to run again..." she left the sentence unfinished as she coiled the rope and tied it meaningfully at her hip within easy reach, then crossed her arms to glare at them from across the campsite.
There was a brief moment of awkward silence, then Skylar coughed. "Okay, uh, setting all the melodrama aside... where do we go? Where's this 'Garlan's Fork' from here?"
"We have no bearing as of yet," Aymon replied, pouring some of the healing waters over Levan's injuries. "My last scouting flight should have shown us the way by moonlight, but I was forced to return prematurely by the advent of the Ubara; I may not shift again until the moon sets."
"Okay, well, you said we couldn't spend another night here, so I'm guessing you're waiting for the day?" Skylar shoved his hands into the trenchcoat's pockets and was annoyed to see that they fit him exactly, though they appeared to be empty. "Sunlight has to be better than moonlight for scouting, after all." He blinked as the other three stared at him, mouths hanging open. "What? What'd I say?"
Swearing, Reine drew her sword and began to stride towards him. "This is the last mockery I will endure from you, cultist!" Aymon's face was also twisted in a scowl, and he made no move to stop the other elf; indeed, Skylar could see that his hands were balled into furious fists.
Levan looked back and forth between the three of them, wincing, and glanced back at Skylar with a warning expression. "You'd better have a really good explanation for this kind of drotz, Zuzan." He stepped in front of Reine and shook his head; after a moment, she growled and stalked away, sheathing her blade once more.
Skylar gulped. Skek. I really need a good excuse, fast -- apparently the only thing worse than a cultist to these guys is an Incursor, and I'm building up a lot of suspicion.
HOW DO I DEAL WITH THESE JERKS
