Max woke to the sensation of something brushing against his leg. He sat up quickly, his hand drifting to his knife. Verick? The cave was cool and damp, the morning light cutting lines across the stone floor. Nothing. He blinked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It was Miranda’s outstretched foot that had woken him. She was sitting up, staring at nothing, her face pale and intense.

  For a moment, she looked terrified, but then she mumbled something under her breath, wincing in pain. Max watched as her shoulders relaxed, the tension bleeding out of her frame. She looked at him, and the fear was gone, replaced by a mask of calm.

  “You ok?” Max asked her gently.

  “Fine… just a bad dream,” was her only response. Her eyes still locked on something unseen in the distance. Max took an awkward breath.

  “Well, I am hungry,” he said, the emptiness in his stomach twisting into a knot.

  “Same,” Miranda responded weakly. She looked exhausted, despite having slept through the night. “So, hunting?”

  Max nodded and stood, his joints popping as he stretched. The stone floor hadn't been kind to his back. “Yesterday when we were searching for a place to hide, I spotted some tracks in the mud. Looks like a small herd of deer roam these woods. If we are lucky, we can find one.”

  “But we have no bows,” Miranda said, eyeing his empty hands. “And my magic isn't great for hunting; it would render the meat… inedible to say the least.”

  Max pulled his knife from his belt, tossing it end-over-end and catching it by the handle. The weight of the steel was familiar, comforting. “I think I have an idea for that. Come on.”

  They exited the cave, shielding their eyes from the bright morning sun. Max led the way to the patch of mud where he’d seen the tracks yesterday. He crouched down to inspect them, but his breath caught in his throat.

  The deer tracks were there, yes. But pressed right over them were heavy boot prints. Multiple sets.

  “They must have gone past us,” Max said, with a tremor in his voice. He looked in the direction the boots were heading. They were close. Too close.

  “I think so,” Miranda responded, her voice disturbingly calm. “I believe you are making it very difficult for them to track us.”

  Max nodded somberly. “Right, the whole aura thing. Makes sense. Either way, they will be looking for our trail again, so we should move on. Let's find something to kill, then press forward so we can find a safe place to make a fire.”

  He turned his focus back to the hunt. It was easier to focus on a deer than on the magical assassins hunting them.

  It took hours. The deer had traveled further than he expected, moving consistently east. Max liked that; at least they weren't backtracking. They reached a low point in the forest, a boggy area where the air hung heavy and smelled of wet soil and pine. The tracks vanished into a soup of thick mud.

  “I can’t tell which way it's gone,” Max whispered in frustration. He scanned the undergrowth, looking for broken twigs or disturbed leaves. Nothing.

  “Let me,” Miranda said.

  Max stepped back, watching her. She closed her eyes. A moment later, they opened with that lightning blue glow. He still found the whole divination thing disturbing.

  “It went left, down that small game trail there,” she said, her eyes slowly returning to normal.

  Max stared at her. “Why do your eyes glow blue when you divine, but not when you use other magic?” he asked.

  “Because when we divine, we borrow Fate's sight, to see the possible futures and the decided futures,” she explained. “We speak Fate’s name in the ancient language and she responds. Some spells have visual side effects, like divination.”

  “I see…” Max said softly, but something wasn't sitting right in his gut. If divination comes from the goddess and the other spells are arcane and come from the runes… how did she cast that fire spell when we were freezing to death? Or the bolt of energy she shot towards Dorin? Her dagger was on her thigh, not in her hand. And this morning…

  Max looked up to Miranda, their eyes locking. She looked defensive, like she was afraid of something he would say next. But the memory of her flinching in pain every time she mysteriously cast a spell with no runes wouldn't leave his mind. “But how come it sometimes seems to cause you pai—”

  “Let's get going, shall we?” Miranda interrupted sharply, turning away. “Wouldn't want the deer to move on without us.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Right… let's go,” Max said slowly. He let go of a deep sigh as he watched her walk away. She’s hiding something. Whatever it is, it's costing her more than just energy.

  The trail Miranda had indicated was right. Not ten minutes later, Max smelled the musk of the animal. He held up a hand, signaling Miranda to stop. She squatted down next to him in the brush. Max spotted a dense patch of ferns and pointed her toward it, mouthing ‘alone.’

  Miranda nodded and hung back. Max took a slow breath, centering himself. This was the part he understood. No magic, no runes, no assassins, just patience and silence.

  He lowered his frame; he stepped outward with the tips of his toes first, using his soft leather boots to feel for a branch or loose stone. The wind was in his face. Perfect. He moved methodically, becoming a shadow in the underbrush. He focused entirely on the clearing ahead.

  There it was. A buck, gray fur and a small rack of antlers, grazing near a sapling. It periodically would flick its ears and tail as the mosquitoes attempted to graze on the animal itself.

  Max froze where he stood. He was exposed, caught in a gap between trees. If the deer looked up, he would be seen. Max held his breath, willing his heart to slow down. The deer lifted its head, ears swiveling. It looked right at him. Dammit!

  Max didn't react. He didn't move or even breathe. He tried to imagine himself as just another bush, a stalwart tree in the forest.

  Strangely, the deer stared right through him. Usually, an animal would sense the tension, the predator in the grass, but the buck simply flicked its ears and went back to grazing. Max let out a small breath and waited another moment before moving. He crept closer. Ten feet. Five feet. Almost there… He gripped his knife tighter, his knuckles white.

  Max stepped out from behind a large fern, ready to spring. The deer raised its head again, its eyes wide as it panned the forest. Then Max gagged. The deer turned its head, for the first time showing him the other side of its face.

  The flesh on the deer’s left cheek was melted away, revealing wet bone and teeth in a permanent, skeletal grin. The eye was milky and weeping black fluid. Corruption. Just like at the farmhouse.

  Max hesitated for a fraction of a second; that was a mistake. The deer suddenly saw him and jumped into the air. Max was certain it would flee, bound away; it did not. The beast squared up in front of him, letting out a horrific unholy scream. Then it charged.

  Max scrambled to react. He tried to sidestep the deer but the creature was unnaturally quick. It kicked out, its hooves slamming into Max’s chest like a blacksmith's hammer.

  Air exploded from his lungs. He was thrown backward, hitting the dirt hard. The world spun. He saw the deer lower its twisted, rotting head to gore him. It pawed the ground like a bull before a stampede.

  Crack!

  A bolt of blue light seared the air above him. It slammed into the deer’s face with a sickening crunch. The beast’s head snapped sideways, the neck breaking instantly. The deer staggered for a moment, then regained its footing. Its head lay limp, hanging from a few strands of flesh, but the animal was still preparing a charge.

  Max ignored the pain in his ribs. Before the deer could react, he scrambled forward, dropping to his knees and sliding through the mud. He readied his knife then and drove it upward, under the ribs of the deer, finding the heart. He twisted the blade violently.

  The deer dropped to the ground and convulsed for a long moment before it finally lay still. Max slumped back, gasping for air, his chest burning where the hooves had connected. He dropped the knife, wiping blood from his brow.

  “Are you ok?” Miranda said, running up to him, breathless. “I didn't spot the corruption until it was too late.”

  “It's ok, I'm ok,” Max wheezed. He looked at the carcass with disgust. “I’m guessing we can't eat this now. Now that it's infected.”

  “It’s not an infection, Max, it's an affliction,” Miranda said, her voice academic as she inspected the rotting jaw.

  Max looked up at her, confused. Affliction, infection, sounds the same to me. “What’s the difference?”

  “This sort of corruption happens when lifeforce is consumed by necromancy. Remember how I said spells have visual side effects? Well, some have physical side effects as well. I'm guessing our friend here was on the outskirts of the spell's radius that wrecked the farmhouse.”

  “What type of spell does that much damage?” Max asked, looking at the melted flesh. If that had happened to a person…

  “I don't know, Max. It’s hard to tell,” Miranda said. She looked away, her eyes shifting nervously. She was lying, or at least withholding the truth. Again. “Just dress the animal here and take what doesn't look damaged.”

  Max nodded, pushing his suspicion aside. I swear she answers one question and creates two more. He set to work field dressing the kill. It was grim work. He had to cut wide around the damaged flesh, discarding huge portions of meat that looked gray and stringy. By the time he was done, they had the antlers and maybe enough meat for two days.

  “With luck and some light foraging, that should get us through the trip,” Miranda said, sounding oddly cheerful.

  Max wiped his knife on the grass, sheathing it. He looked at the meager pile of meat, then at Miranda.

  “And how will we get supplies in town?” Max asked practically. “We don't have any money.”

  Miranda blinked, looking thoughtful. “I'll think on that. I might have something up my sleeve but I don't know how useful it'll be in these rural towns.”

  Max shrugged but didn't argue. She always seemed to have an idea of what to do next and he wasn't in a place to contradict her. He gathered the meat and bundled it in some larger maple leaves. Besides, maybe I can sell these antlers or do an odd job for a place to stay. That's how a lot of the towns near Max worked. If you didn't have money you worked for shelter and food. It wasn't glorious but it kept you alive and fed.

  “Well then, let's find a place to cook this up and head on out,” Max said, looking to the sun, already in high noon. “I hope we get there soon.”