Siege (The Pack/Team Crafted)

Chapter Six

This certainly wasn't what he had been expecting when he had thought of the adventure.

Blue eyes watched the leg of deer roast, Jerome half-heartedly tending the fire. Lachlan sincerely hoped the others didn't think he was the same as the cruel Asumé warrior. He knew he could never be that heartless.

Still, some part of him admired Jerome. He would never have that strength or that courage. Once upon a time, Lachlan remembered having all that, but it had been a long while before the war. The devastation had taken that from him.

Had Jerome ever been like he was now, weak and abused? If he had, had he been feigning it? Putting false emotions into actions and promises he had no intentions of sticking to?

He sighed, letting out a shivering breath. Rob didn't seem all too bad - the people of Nerö were known to be "softhearts" to the primitives. Preston, however...

"Ha! Take that!"

Speaking of the devil, the necromancer was on his feet. The deer that Jerome had caught, killed, and skinned was now shakily standing on three legs. It's head tilted side to side as it tried to catch a scent (Jerome had taken it's eyes and liver for 'religious reasons,' so it couldn't see them) while Preston cackled. Nervously, it tried to bound away, only to tumble to the ground.

"Aww, ain't he cute?"

'Cute' was not how Lachlan would describe it.

Jerome seemed to be transfixed, watching the movements in the visible skin, watching the way the veins pulsed. Lachlan tried to see the interest, but, instead of some wonderment, ended up loosing his lunch. Suddenly, the roasting deer leg smelled like cyanide.

"Here..." Rob was suddenly at his side, looking none too healthy, either. He dug in his bag and handed over a small pill, which Lachlan stared at. "It'll help keep everything down," he explained. Nodding slowly, the blonde primitive swallowed the pill, instantly feeling his stomach relax. He whispered a thank you to Rob, who shrugged and returned to his seat, facing away from the reanimated buck.

Lachlan decided that might be a good idea.

A few minutes later, there was a sickening squelch as Preston cut the spell, leaving the corpse to fall and rot.

"Interesting, but could you please not do that again?" Jerome asked as Lachlan slowly turned to look at the others.

"Fine," Preston huffed. "I'll just let my skills get rusty... Then I'll be of no use when you actually need me."

"It's been four hours since we left Shakel," Rob pointed out. He was still turned around.

"Necromancer powers fade faster than regular magics," the flaming-haired man whined, crossing his arms.

"Yeah. Uh-huh. Hunter's and scout's tracking spells actually tend to fade the fastest."

"Do not! That's just a lie the warlocks put in their scrolls because they hate us!"

Lachlan tried to block their bickering out, putting his palms over his ears. He was a scout, but he had no magic. He never had, although he wanted it very bad.

I wonder if any of them know divination.

Shaking his head, he tried to brush off the thought, but he couldn't do much about it. Instead, he let his hands drop, listening to their voices.

"...have nothing against you! It's something they feed young necromancers to enforce their training," Rob countered.

"Every warlock I've ever met has hated me and my practice." Preston wasn't letting this go. Lachlan doubted he ever would.

"Yes, and how many was that?"

"...Three."

"And three warlocks stand for the whole race?"

"Crux have mercy, would you shut up?"

Lachlan whipped his head around to scan the area. That was not one of their voices. With a sneaking glance, he even noticed Jerome looking.

"Don't try. You won't find me... But you can have him."

A dark-skinned boy stumbled into the little clearing, bound and gagged. His eyes were wide and nervous, wrists and ankles raw from where he had fought the rope. His black hair was streaked with blood.

Rob leaped up and rushed over, quickly undoing the bindings. It was Ty all over again, except it seemed this one would survive.

"Who are you? Who caught you?" Rob asked in a hushed voice.

"That is Vikram Barns, thief of Jüjar, one of the people who will be traveling with you... And the one who caught him is the other one!" The voice chirped happily, having noticeable moved.

"The assassin," Jerome growled, reaching for his axe.

"Hey now, hey now, let's not be hasty," the assassin laughed, then dropped from the sky, landing right behind Vikram. Rob scrambled back, staring.

He was definitely attractive, Lachlan thought, with a chiseled face and jaw, bright hazel eyes and short, trimmed brown hair. His lips were twisted in a playful smirk.

"He insisted on making an entrance," Vikram grumbled. "I didn't really have much of a choice... And please, just Vikk."

The assassin waved him off, offering a hand to Rob. He helped the cavalier up. "Name's Mitch... Lemme guess." He looked around. "Jerome, Preston, Rob, aaaand Lachlan." He pointed to each person as he spoke. "Right? Of course I'm right."

Lachlan was dumbfounded, watching as he strutted over to the spicket, and tore a piece off the deer leg. He dropped it into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully, and shrugged. "Not bad. Whoever cooked this needs a raise."

No, Lachlan thought. This was not what he expected at all.