The swamp's stink hit like a slap in the face. Smell of rotting meat, stagnant water, and a sourness that stuck in the throat and wouldn't leave. Cariel and the group stood there among the twisted trunks, mist cloaks turning them into gray shadows that the night swallowed. No one blinked. No one breathed loud.

  A dirty orange light appeared in the bushes. Cheap resin torch, spitting black smoke that dirtied the sky. Then came the noise: boots sinking in the mud, a thick clearing of the throat, and a spit that landed with a wet sound.

  — The bastard's here — murmured Iver. The young elf had a hard face, lips pressed tight in disgust. — His smell is worse than a sewer.

  Cariel took a step, dropped the camouflage. The human almost shoved the torch in his own face in shock at seeing that tall, pale figure shining in a wrong way in that hole.

  — Holy shit... — the man gasped, backing up, wiping his nose on his grimy sleeve. Pockmarked scars on his face, scraggly and oily beard. His eyes blinked fast, tearing up from Cariel's cold light. — You guys pop out of nowhere, damn it.

  — Where is it? — Cariel cut short. Voice curt, like a bone snapping.

  The so-called "Hunter" flashed a crooked smile, rotten teeth showing. He shoved his hand into his greasy jerkin, pulled out a crumpled parchment, damp with sweat and grease. Held it out. Cariel grabbed it by the edges, feeling the guy's body heat still in the paper. Stomach churned.

  — It's all there — the man sniffed. — South post has the guards drunk as hell. Go around the reeds. Kids' shed is right at the entrance, dry thatch roof. Catches fire in a snap.

  Cariel looked at the map. Then the man. The disgust rose like vomit. — You lived with them. Saw their kids being born.

  The Hunter gave a short laugh that turned into a cough full of phlegm. — I did. And look at me. Look at this pigsty. They'd die of fever or hunger before winter anyway. If you want to speed it up, who am I to complain? At least I get out with a full belly and heavy pockets.

  Cariel made a sharp signal. Iver tossed the bag into the mud. The sound of metal hitting was the only clean noise of the night. The man dropped to his knees, hands diving into the bag like plunging into guts.

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  — Platinum... — he whispered, voice shaking with hunger, eyes shining with the coins' reflection.

  — Take it and scram — Cariel ordered. — If I cross paths with you on the way back, no gold will buy the time it'll take you to die.

  The guy didn't even look up. He hugged the bag to his dirty chest and stumbled off into the woods, laughing low as the jingling muffled his steps in the mud.

  The Shadow of Varig

  Now, Varig doubled over in the old, creaky chair, hand clutching his belly like he'd taken an iron punch. They were sitting there in the abandoned cabin, a forgotten spot in the middle of nowhere, with the low fire crackling in a cracked, soot-filled fireplace. The rotten wooden walls had holes where the wind whistled, and the floor was covered in thick dust and dry leaves that came in through the cracks in the broken windows. Lira on the other side, with the sharpening stone dropped in her lap, eyes fixed on him.

  A taste of old metal filled his mouth. It wasn't blood. It was just the bitterness of memory, those old days sticking to the mind like dust. His gray arm cracked, skin stretching over the bone in a way that made him want to scratch until it bled.

  — Varig? What the hell is that? — Lira dropped the stone on the floor, leaning forward, worried.

  — Nothing... just my belly rumbling. — Varig spat a dry gob in the corner of the cabin. — That stew from yesterday is killing me. Should've added more herbs, like you said.

  Lira laughed softly, shaking her head. — I warned you. But you always think you know everything about campfires. Tomorrow we hunt something fresh, right? Some rabbits or fish from the river. I'll handle the trap, you the spear. Then I'll make a decent soup, with those roots I found yesterday.

  Varig stared at her, the weight in his chest easing a bit with the simple talk. — Yeah, good idea. And if there's time, I'll fix the roof before the rain. That leak is driving me crazy at night. We live like this, one day at a time, huh?

  The necklace around his neck vibrated cold, like wind slipping through a crack, but it was just the night air, reminding him that the routine went on, with its tasks and light laughs.

  Back Again

  Cariel scrubbed his hand hard in the tall grass, wanting to get rid of the sticky feel of the parchment. Iver came close, holding the solar essence flask.

  — Didn't even look back — said Iver, voice loaded with a disgust that no one in the Silver City would admit.

  — He has no soul to look with, Iver. Just a stomach. — Cariel stuffed the map away with a rough gesture. — Prep the elementals. We'll go in quiet.

  — You okay, sir?

  — Just want to end this crap. — Cariel stared into the darkness where the village slept, innocent and already dead. — Let's give them the end the Council ordered. If we have to be monsters, make it quick.

  He didn't draw his sword. It wasn't time for light. It was time for shadow, oil, and the smell of burning flesh.