MOHP up, or The Wounded Man's Gold, pt 19(ish)

Previously: after a brief, brutal battle with giants, Mira and her companions flee into the forest and find an abandoned structure that provides some protection from the storm that is raging around them. As Seymuhr and Broo Fang Tane drift off to sleep—exhausted by their efforts in the fight—Esmiralda finally has a chance to take stock of her situation and get a few answers...


Merrick paused, and I suspected it was more for theatrics than any nervousness or concern over the conversation. He knew what he wanted to say, he knew he wanted me to hear it and he knew he wanted me to wait for it.

I was intrigued. There was enough substance to his previous words to make me wonder what the next would be. And, of course, if it revealed him to be a raving lunatic, I'd be better served knowing that before I shut my eyes and attempted to rest.

"First, about my companions. We are all given tasks in this world, whether you believe it was by your own choice, the guidance of your parents or scholars or in response to a need or whether you believe this thing, this purpose was granted to you by a higher power--one of the gods," he said. "I believe that you are also given the tools to accomplish this task. Your life is defined by when you discover your task—your destiny, to use a poet's word—and when you identify the tools you will need.

"Tools is a horrendous word, I know. But a hunter may find the perfect bow, a warrior a strong swords. Most often, it is not such an obvious thing. My task is greater than that, so my tools must be. I could not accomplish what I have set out to do without stout companions at my side to defend me from and to help me purge the evil in this land and, I know believe, I could not accomplish it without someone to tell the tale."

"I see." I looked at the opening to the shelter. The rain had stopped and the forest looked inviting. "And what do you think is your task?"

"I don't think it; I know it. I am a member of a special group and, if I've performed my duties as well as I think I have and in the manner to which I was sworn, you are about to be the second person who knows it."

A tingle formed at the base of my spine. Merrick's posture had changed. His back straightened, his voice took on a quiet authority, abandoning the nervous whisper he used to approach me. He paused again, and this time I believed it was to ensure that Tane and Seymuhr were indeed sleeping.

"I am a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation."

"No!" I shouted before I could stop myself, then clamped a hand over my mouth. The MOHPs were barely more than a legend; none had ever proved their existence.

"Indeed," he said, with another look over his shoulder. My exclamation had not woken our comrades. "You are surprised?"

"On a number of fronts," I answered when I could trust my tongue. So many questions raced in my mind I could not decide which to ask first.

"That is good, in a way." He settled back, completely relaxed now. He closed his eyes and ran a hand down his face to the end of his beard. "The secrecy in which we operate serves two purposes: it eases the minds of the good people in the land and allows those who seek to do evil—human or otherwise—to become overconfident and lazy. Easy to find and easy—or easier, at least—to stop. But make no mistake, Esmiralda, that the need for the Ministry is great, and times are dire indeed. Most people just don't know it. They go about their daily lives as best they can, not even thinking about the minor misfortunes or tribulations that come their way. They don't understand that each of those things, every tiny slight, is a rift in the benevolent power of the world. We become accustomed to the little evils so the large ones do not seem as frightening—and the goodness in the land evaporates not like a fire doused with water but like a sea shore eaten away by the tide.

"We look at the land like a garden. There are always weeds to pull. Sometimes you can snap off the stem—as we just did with the Hustyn—and make things better for a time. Our goal is to seek the roots of these pockets of evil so that we can rid the land of them once and for all."

I propped myself on my elbow. "But there is always the sea and always the shore. Always thistles among the flowers."

He grunted. "Indeed. So we must be as vigilant as we are secretive, and one who is as observant as you would make a worthy addition to our number."

"A useful tool?"

"More than that, I think. I sense more in you. Do you sense it in yourself?" His gazed pierced me through the gloom.

I didn't answer, because I once again worried that I could not trust my tongue. My heart was leaping in my chest, my mouth dry, my mind whirling with possibilities. I sensed, more than saw, the satisfied smile that spread across his broad, shaggy face.

"Then I ask you again this night: will you join me?"

There could be only one answer and we both knew what it was.

 

Refuge and answers

Previously: after a brief, brutal battle with the giant Hustyn, Mira and her companions flee into the forest and find an abandoned structure that provides some protection from the storm that is raging around them. As Seymuhr and Broo Fang Tane drift off to sleep--exhausted by their efforts in the fight--Esmiralda finally has a chance to take stock of her situation and get a few answers...

Gradually, the storm subsided. The shrieking winds gave to the gentle patter of steady rain as the sound of slow, heavy breathing filled our shelter. Gradually, too, my heart slowed, my ears stopped straining and my body stopped jumping at every cracked branch that fell, waterlogged, from the canopy outside. We were safe.

Seymuhr's rumbling snores would probably keep any small pests away--and give larger, more dangerous animals pause, as well. Broo Fang Tane was as silent in his slumber as he was in movement. Propped up against the far wall, ankles tucked up on his knees and head upright, he might even have been awake but resting with his eyes closed. Only Merrick stirred.

"So what tale will you tell of this night?" He asked as he crouched beside me.

I lifted my arm from my eyes. I was exhausted, but my head too full of such thoughts to find any true rest. I propped myself on an elbow and squinted at him in the gloom.

"I am not certain. Did you know such a thing was going on?" I shuddered again, thinking of the rolling cage and the horror those who were placed into it must have felt.

"I had a hunch. Rumors, if I be most truthful. I had heard a smattering of tales but had no direct knowledge."

"I don't know if it was brave to attempt such a task or foolhardy to look into the matter with only a pair of fighting companions..."

"I have a sword too, you can see," Merrick sounded indignant as he tapped his sheathed blade to prove it. He saw my hands, raised to forestall his protests, and leaned in close with a glance over his shoulder. "No offense taken. You will quickly see--if, indeed, you continue to journey with us--that those two can handle threats that are beyond most men. Rarely have I seen such fighting ability: strength and ferocity or quiet, deadly grace. I had no such fears.

"You asked me earlier why I chose to travel with such an odd group and that is but a part of it." Here Merrick paused and dug a finger into his beard. He sat down and crossed his legs, pulling his sword off his belt and placing it in his lap. He drummed his fingers on the covered blade for a few seconds, then grunted.

"Esmiralda. I sense some goodness in you, a trustworthiness that was absent from your colleague--indeed, that is absent from most women."

My indignation must have shown on my face. "I meant no offense by that--I meant it as a compliment," he added hastily, raising his hands to shield himself from the slap that would have rattled his teeth.

"You failed with that," I snapped. "You travel with kidnappers and brutes and you question my goodness and trust?"

"Forgive my awkward tongue. My words are not always this clumsy. I meant only that you seem like someone I can confide in, someone I can share my burden with. Someone," he took my fingertips in his hands. They were strong and warm, the skin dry but not cracked. "Someone who will understand."

"Understand what?" I did not pull my hands away.

"Our purpose. My purpose, if you want to be truthful. These two are not fully aware of who I am and what I seek to do." He leaned in close and I could smell the faint sweetness of wine on his breath. When had he had time for that? Men, it seemed, would always find time for such pursuits, even as their lives were being threatened. "I want you to know it. I think it was more than just circumstance that brought us together."

"Oh, it was, at that. It was a lout with a smelly shoulder."

His smile held little humor. "Our friend Seymuhr might have been the mechanism, but he was hardly the cause. He has a calling, too, of course. He is the hammer and the anvil in one, I guess you'd say. But I, too, have been chosen--not like the good Queen Phedrea, as you have, and not to record history like you and your friend Malak, but for a purpose just as important--perhaps even more so."

He paused to gather his breath and checked over his shoulder to ensure that Tane and Seymuhr were indeed asleep. I turned back to me, his eyes aglow with some mischief. As strange as this day and night had already been, I had a sudden feeling that the oddities were not yet behind me.

A shelter from the storm

Previously: Down to her last few coins and running out of options, Esmiralda reluctantly joins a group of men on a vague mission near the City of Alt. Following a suspicious man (along with a colleague of Mira's) into the forest, they discovered an evil plot to sell humans to giants for some grim purpose. After a brief, brutal battle, Mira and her companions flee the site of the violence as a growing storm bears down on them...

The wind shrieked around us and the forest offered scant shelter from the rain that drove into our flesh with stinging force. The trees bent and pitched wildly, shaken by winds that pushed them down like blades of grass. I was nearly blind, with my elbow cocked in front of my eyes squinting to see through the gloom. I barely heard Merrick shouting behind me, although his hand on my shoulder was strong as he guided me along. He pointed, and I saw the slight figure of Broo-Fang Tane darting through the churning forest. I lowered my head and ran that way, hoping he would keep his path relatively straight.

I don't know how long we ran or in which direction, I only knew that my breath burned in my lungs and my head swam with fatigue. Finally, I had to slow and halted, bent over and wheezing with my palms on my knees. Merrick was right along side me, his face flushed with effort. He could not speak, either, but pointed a quivering finger ahead and to our left. I squinted again into the night. The rain had settled into a straight, driving downpour that felt like a river flowing down my back. The wind had eased and the forest was silent save for the patter of fat raindrops. Through the dim, waterlogged night I saw the remnants of a forgotten dwelling of some kind. It was merely a vague shape split open by the trees around it, but it looked like it would offer some form of shelter from the elements. Tane was already inside, peering out with a hand cupped over his eyes. I heard Seymuhr lumbering up behind us--it was either that or a drunken bear, from the sound of it.

I willed myself to move toward the decaying structure. Tane bowed as I ducked my head and entered. I sprawled out on my back, panting, and trying to recover my breath. I was drenched, as wet as a fish, and chilly. I pulled my hair away from my face and squeezed enough water from it to fill a small pond. No one spoke. Rain trickled inside somewhere, but the floor beneath me was relatively dry. After a moment I checked myself to see if my belongings were still intact. I felt my pouch with its few coins inside still attached to my belt. My knife was still in its sheath and, more importantly, my Traveling Stone still secured around my neck. Of all, that was my most prized possession, the one thing that could not be replaced. Relief flooded through me and I marveled at all I had been through that night.

Had it really only been a few hours since I had turned in my last assignment—a more accurate depiction of the geography surrounding the Village of Alt? And how accurate had that map been, if we had since blundered into a pair of giants? A pair of giants hinted at the presence of more because it didn't look like they were a couple out on a camping trip. I wondered, not for the first time, if there was such a thing as truth in the world.

Merrick settled beside me, his chest still heaving from our flight through the night. Broo-Fang Tane sat quietly nearby, his ankles tucked up onto their opposing knee. Eyes closed, he leaned against the back of the wooden structure and if his position caused him as much discomfort as looking at it caused me, he didn't show it. I heard steady footfalls outside and saw Seymuhr's squat shape pacing there, a mace in one hand. Still, the wind howled and the rain pelted the side of our makeshift shelter, sounding like stones being thrown against a barn. Reluctantly, I pushed myself off the damp ground and moved toward the opening. I couldn't forgive the way he had tossed me over his shoulder and carried me away from the only scrap of civilization I had seen in the past fortnight, but he had saved us after all, and there was no reason for him to stand out in the driving rain.

"Are you injured?"

He seemed startled by the question. After a quick check of his body, he shook his head. "They barely touched me."

"Maybe so. But they are fearsome creatures that can hurt or maim with little effort."

He smiled then, a mischievous, lop-sided grin that showed gaps in his teeth. "As am I."

"I know now that you are not referring to your poetry." I backed away from the rain, which showed a nearly hound-like ability to track and follow me. "Why don't you come inside? There's room enough for all under this leaky old place."

He looked out into the forest for a moment and then, apparently satisfied by what he did—or did not—see there, followed me through the hole in the wall and settled down on the far side of the structure. He leaned back and his chin drooped toward his chest.

Two words formed at the tip of my mouth, alien things considering that he had stolen me away and put my life in this danger. Still, I felt a bizarre connection to Merrick and his troupe and, for now anyway, I was safe. I said the words anyway:

"Thank you."

If he heard, he didn't reply. Then I realized he was already asleep.

 

The battle, joined

Previously: Following a band of odd adventurers into the wilderness, Esmiralda, a freelance historian down to her last few coins, stumbles upon a gut-churning discovery: humans are being sold to a pair of giants and sent to a horrible fate. Just as shocking, Mira discovers that an acquaintance—fellow Falcuhn Connell Malak—has knowledge of this evil and has willingly led her and her companions into the trap...

Thunder rumbled overhead and lightning split the sky. Above the cacophony of the coming storm, I heard Seymuhr's voice raised in his bizarre battle song. A mace in each hand, he approached the laughing giants.

The wounded man was already dead, his skull crushed by a gigantic hand. Gray slime leaked between the giant’s fingers from which his torso twitched like a dangling puppet. The monster tossed the ruined body aside and swiped a bloody fist at Seymuhr, who stopped short, dodged, then lunged at the towering form. Voice raised in song, he brought the two maces together on either side of the Hustyn's knee. I saw flesh rupture and heard a sickening crunch followed by an inhuman howl of pain. Wild eyed and enraged, the giant toppled as Seymurh leapt aside. The thing struggled momentarily, clutching at its ruined leg, before Seymuhr knocked it completely flat with two more terrible blows. He lifted his head and roared at the heavens, which began to spit rain. His maces dripped with gore.

The other giant swung wildly at the ground and growled with frustration. It took me a moment to realize Broo-Fang Tane had engaged it and had worked it into a state of frenzied fury. Where Seymuhr had been all brute strength and thunder, Tane was as lithe and graceful as a feather on the wind. He slipped out of the giant's grasp and dodged blows that would have knocked him senseless. Like a cat, he stayed beyond the Hustyn's reach—but only just beyond it.

The thing screeched again in rage and slammed its knotted club into the soft earth hard enough to lodge it there. Tane had leapt back in a somersault and landed deftly on his feet. The wind was churning the trees around us and throwing rain that smacked my skin like little stones. Seymuhr lowered his shoulder and jumped at the back of the giant's legs, buckling his knees and sending him tottering backward. It struggled to rise but he was on it in a heartbeat. He swung both maces as one and I heard the sound of bones shattering above the furious wind and rumbling sky.

"Go!" Merrick had appeared and with a wary glance over his shoulder, pointed in my direction. "Our work is done here! We must flee!"

Behind him I saw a mass of clouds darker even than the night around us. It flickered with energy and crashed with violence—some kind of freakish storm that had formed and shook the trees as if they were blades of grass. He ran toward me, and past. Seymurh was right behind him, jogging and breathing heavily. I saw Tane's sleek form ahead of us. Of Malak there was no sign.

I turned away from the dead giants and fled from the coming storm.

Whine, villains and song

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have followed The Wounded Man--with help from Mira's nemesis, a fellow Falcuhn named Connell Malak--into the forest surrounding the village of Alt to get to the roots of a mystery involving missing farmers and villagers. Aghast at the size of the legendary giants known as Hustyn, Mira sees something even more grim and disturbing: a rolling, man-sized cage...
 

My gaze lingered on the prison cart and my stomach churned like a trampled snake. The warped poles were stained nearly black and scraps of cloth and other material were stuck to them, grisly flags torn free from their long-forgotten owners. I shuddered as I imagined the people thrashing against those poles until they broke their own bodies open, desperate to free themselves of the grim fate that awaited them. I no longer wanted to bring the lost majesty of the legendary Hustyn to life; I wanted to warn everyone that vast evil existed and walked the land, and to be careful where they tread--and who they followed into the forest.

For the wounded man knew these brutes. He had a purpose here, a purpose yet to be fulfilled.

Malak had gone silent, his body rigid next to mine. I would have inched away, crept back into the forest like a fox slinking away from a guard hound, if I had been capable of movement—or if he had fled the clearing, as well. Instead I watched in growing horror as the first giant scratched its filthy head, glanced around the clearing, bent toward the man in front of him and spoke.

"You Are AloNge," it said, clearly struggling with human speech. Each word started with a harsh bark. Its voice was thick with mucus and rumbled like thunder.

"For the moment, oh Great One," the man said. "They are close."

The giant leaned in, its face inches away from the wounded man's. I could see the effort it took for him not to recoil from its fetid breath. I looked again at the rolling cage. Is that what this was, then? Was that horrible thing meant to whisk its prisoners off to some horrendous kitchen or human-stained pot? Were these things...shopping? A new wave of sickness washed over me and I nearly gagged aloud.

"Not Closh EnouGH," it rumbled. "WhaTT Trickery is thiSH?"

The man raised his trembling hands. "No trickery, your greatness, I assure you." His voice wavered with fear. "Only. These are special ones, oh strong one. They will  more than suit your needs—for now and henceforth. But the danger to me has increased and my costs have gone up. I grant you this latest group, if you have sufficient additional gold, and wash my hands of it. You'll have no need of me or..."

The words came out in a rush and then were cut short as the giant covered the man's head with a single gnarled hand. Its lip curled upward in rage and the wounded man squealed, the horrified sound muffled by the fingers digging into his flesh. Then Malak stood and stepped into the clearing.

"Stop!" He yelled. "Here! They are here! I have them!"

For a moment, the giant relaxed its grip and the wounded man slouched, limp but breathing heavily. He might have been sobbing. Then the full impact of Malak's words hit me and I was filled with fresh terror and disgust.

"Here? You..." I could not complete the sentence. Malak had a hand in this villainy? And we had followed him willingly...! He turned from my shocked expression and took a few steps forward, pulling off his hat and holding it in front of him. I didn't know what to do. My legs were frozen, my heart beating hard and fast, like a horse at full gallop.

Then another shape broke free of the trees. Short and squat, moving quickly, head lowered and a mace in either hand: Seymuhr, rushing headlong toward the giant. A strange, off-key noise split the night as well and after a bemused instant, I realized what it was.

He was singing.

 

The Rolling Cage

Previously: Mira and her new companions follow The Wounded Man into the night to discover his secret. Hunched hidden in the darkness, they watch as the forest near them shakes as something vast and powerful approaches...

I stared, transfixed at the scene developing in the clearing. The ground shook and rumbled beneath us like an unsettled stomach and the trees groaned and cracked as they swayed beyond their natural bounds. The air had gone silent, still with the oppressive weight of doom, and filled with the earthy stench of grimy bodies--a smell so pervasive I was relatively sure that Seymuhr could not be the sole source of it.

Then came the sound of hoarse breathing, like a wounded bear winded at the end of a long hunt ready to circle round and make a final stand against the hounds that pursued it. Wet with determined menace, it grew louder and louder as the trees across the clearing snapped and wiggled like wheat torn free from a field.

I bit down on Malak's hand, which was still over my mouth. "Did you just call me stupid?" I hissed. "At least I take the time to get all of my facts straight--no matter how little their apparent worth." He and I were Falcuhn, storytellers and historians dispatched by order of Queen Phedera to record the ways of the land and its people in order to preserve them in advance of the growing darkness in the world. We were both Falcuhn--named for the majestic birds that soared high over the land and, swift of wing and sharp of mind, were sometimes used as messengers among the kingdoms--but of varying skill. I took the charge seriously. Malak used the quill mainly to score coins, gain free meals and warm the sheets of easily impressed tavern wenches.

"Not a word, now," he whispered into my ear. Somehow, his breath smelled of mint. Mine tasted like a rusted sword. I trembled with fear and indignation at his rebuke, while he was as steady as a Samorgian fishing board on a glassy sea. "Be still, or we will all perish before the sun rises."

I wrenched free of his grasp and crept closer to the tree line. The wounded man fidgeted, his fingers tickling the hilt of his sword. His gaze was leveled not at the place where the approaching behemoths were likely to appear, but all around him--as if he expected danger from any and all direction. I could see nothing of my other companions, although a short wide shape about 30 yards to my right could have been Seymuhr. Or a rock.

Then the trees on the other side of the clearing bent away from each other, levered by fingers as wide as branches and the first of the Hustyn stepped forth. I inhaled sharply, at once fascinated and repelled by the sight of the thing, and pushed aside my shock and fear and forced myself to focus on it, to memorize every detail so that my depiction of it would be accurate. I could not trust my fingers to even hold a quill right then, let alone write anything that could be read afterward.

Unless it was a small specimen, their size had been greatly exaggerated. In some tales, Hustyn were as tall as mountains, wading through old growth forests and trampling trees under their heels like grass on a prairie. Others had them taller than trees. This one was might have been twice the size of a man, but only just. Leather sandals wrapped its feet and climbed up its shaggy calves, but left its taloned toes open to the air. A garment woven from stinking pelts hung from its shoulder, cinched by a wide strip of some kind of black material that strained against its round belly. Patches of hair stood out in random spots on its bare arms and shoulders. Its face, pinched and squinting in the gloom, was nearly concealed in bristling hair the color of mud. What looked like a twisted, knotted branch hung from its belt.

There was more movement behind it. Another appeared, about the same size as the first, with darker hair and a porcine nose and a flat, yellow tooth jutting up from a lip that was cracked with oozing sores. It pulled some form of wagon behind it, a plain cart that limped along on wobbling wheels, topped with thin wooden spires bound together and capped with a flat roof.

A rolling cage.

Something stirs

Previously: Mira, her concerns and distrust of their 'guide' voiced, reluctantly follows her companions into what she believes will be certain danger...

My legs, watery as they were, propelled me forward. Hustyn. Great, shaggy, man-beasts as ill-tempered as a wounded bear--and about as intelligent. Their reeking kind were not as common as they once were (probably because male and female Hustyn had no stomach for each other) and rarely seen in most civilized lands. In some, they were thought to be mere myths or villains in stories meant to scare children into doing their chores. I knew they yet lived, for I had encountered plenty of strange, dangerous creatures in the course of my travels, but I was be surprised to learn of a settlement so close to an established human town. Surprised and frightened: I had no qualms with admitting that. Hustyn were fearsome creatures, prodigious in strength and driven to acts of unprovoked, unspeakable violence.

And, from the looks of Seymuhr's posture—he moved stealthily, with a mace in each hand—we meant to provoke them.

I had time to think of an escape. We were still among the trees that bordered the town of Alt. Tall and straight with thick branches beyond the reach of any but the tallest man, the trees provided few obstacles but plenty of cover, should we have need of it. We moved with relative ease, although the occasional low-lying twig slapped painfully against my skin. A blanket of last year's leaves softened our footfalls. Soon the trees would grow wider apart and the land would slope up, giving way to the grassy hills where, apparently, our quarry...nested? Lived? What did a Hustyn settlement look like, anyway? Well, now, that would certainly provide for an interesting detail. Perhaps if I survived this mad quest, I could gather enough information to earn a few coins for my trouble. If I made it out alive.

The easiest way to make a hasty retreat was to use my Traveling Stone, a magickal trinket given to me long ago by the priests of Tooman, but I was loathe to use that device for I knew not how long it would last. Surely, the energies infused into it would run out at some point. Besides, it was a better idea to rely on one's own abilities rather than some supernatural artifact. It kept you from getting careless.

Should I abandon my new companions, then? I owed them nothing—less than that, even, for I was brought to them unwillingly. Still, the idea of leaving a man (however repugnant) to face such a horrid fate merely to save my own hide didn't sit well with me. Some type of diversion, then, would be in order. Hustyn weren't known for their intelligence—there was a reason that the phrase 'as gullible as a giant' was heard in so many marketplaces. I would have to take careful note of our surroundings when we arrived to develop an appropriate plan. Still, I felt the familiar, smooth shape that hung from a plain strand of leather looped around my neck. It was good to know that my Traveling Stone was still an option.

We moved silently through the forest for what seemed like hours. It could not have been so long, for the night was still unblemished by any gray trace of dawn and the trees above us were still live with the sounds of night creatures stirring or hissing at our sudden passage. This wounded man must have been deaf as a turtle not to hear the commotion our presence caused—that or he knew that he was not alone in the forest and didn't care. That was a chilling thought, because that meant...

I swore silently and looked around for Merrick, Broo-Fang—even Seymuhr—but didn't see any of them. Then I noticed that the forest had gone silent, at last, and I was the only person moving in the twilight. I paused, holding my breath as my heart pounded in my ears like a drummer on a marching line. Had I somehow veered from our course? Fallen behind? Or had they stopped and allowed me to stumble on into certain danger?

I knew better than to call out and my throat was too tight to try, anyway. I decided that I could manage a hoarse whisper and was about to give it voice when a cold hand grasped my chin and I was pulled roughly to the ground. I struggled, my voice muffled by the strong fingers clamped over my mouth. I kicked and felt my heel bite into a hard surface—a shin, judging from the grunt of pain that followed, and was about to start throwing elbows when I was turned quickly over and found myself staring up into the face of Connell Malak. He held a finger over his lips—which were, in fact, squeezed in an expression of pain—and nodded to see if I understood.

I stopped struggling, and he released me. I rolled away from and spat to rid myself of the taste of his flesh. It didn't quite work. "You keep your lice-ridden paws off me," I hissed.

He rubbed his shin with one hand, an irritated expression on his face and pointed beyond the trees with the other.

"Just be quiet, you stupid woman," he snarled. "And look."

The trees fell away, revealing a clearing that was shaped roughly like a gigantic egg. The grass there was well-trampled and still. A figure cautiously detached himself from the trees on the up and to our right and moved slowly into the center of the glade. He looked about wildly, jumping at sounds I suspect only he heard, and kept his hand on his sword. I could see the bandage even in the wane light of the moon. It was the wounded man from the tavern.

And beyond him, where the trees gathered together once more at the base of a gentle slope, something was stirring. Something big.