Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 48

"This way," said Alastair as he waved the mage over to him, "I think I saw someone."

Just as Farren thought he couldn't sink any lower, he'd proven her wrong. Back pressed against the cold stone of the camp walls, she whispered the most vulgar of curses the mortalkind had possibly ever innovated.

This is how you repay me, you blue-blooded bastard! I was foolish enough to feel bad for you.

The mage was riding up to him, a questioning look on their face. The archer strode forward to tell them something in a hushed voice she couldn't hear, but Farren did not need to hear to know what was being said.

I told them all you weren't an assassin-- when you were spitting nonsense the night they caught you.

I told them you were innocent after I overheard your loving big brother.

With shaking fingers, Farren grasped the nails she'd scavenged from the wanted posters. Holding one between each knuckles, she readied herself for a last, gruesome attack before she would inevitably be dragged to the Council and be thrown into one of their torture dungeons. She wished she had her spiked helm to do it more efficiently.

"This way, quick!" said Alastair, and hurriedly led the mage in the complete opposite direction of where Farren stood hidden.

Both disappeared around the far corner.

Farren seethed in vengeance with her rusty-nail-knuckles for a whole minute before her frayed mind registered what had just taken place before her.

Oh.

With the realization settling in, her head cleared up and off she went, sprinting into the shelter of the shadowy woods, not wasting a moment of the time her unexpected ally had bought her. Farren didn't know what to think of it, and thus was grateful to simply focus on finding her way back to the Witch-doc's cottage.

Yet little did she know, the twilit forest had more in store for her.

✦✧✦✧

Farren wished to be within the safe confines for Ryffin's house as soon as possible, away from the camp swarming with mages and from the woods which were darkening by the minute and coming to life around her. Glowing eyes blinking open from treetops, crickets chirping, wolves howling and trees whispering, the forest stirred like a giant beast with many a gnarled limbs, waking from a slumber.

If one thing her exile in the wild had taught her it was that woods looked lovely only when one gazed leisurely upon them from their window, with a hot mug of tea in hand, a roof over their head and a warm bed to sleep in. To the survivor with skills so poor as hers, it was quite a different tale.

And thus, she chose to take a short-cut, one few of those at the camp knew of, except Farren of course, until she'd later shown it to her trusty little apprentice, Helmer. Down she went the forest trail, dry leaves crunching underboot against all her attempts to tread noiselessly.

Despite being a trail hardly ever frequented by people, today there lay fresh boot prints left not too long ago. Here and there grasses were flattened, branches cut short with precise blows to make away. Unease crawled at the pit of her stomach.

Someone had passed through here.

One thing she could be sure of: these weren't the tracks of the Council Mages. Hardly walk a step without horses, those pompous arses.

Close observation told her at least two people had walked the trail recently. One pair of heavy, possibly studded boots, another smaller, dainty moccasins.