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Barracks 17 chapter 4
🕑 Added 2025-09-18 20:32:01 +0000 UTCDays later, Arlak got to his feet.
His wounds had healed. He closed his eyes.
The second step and a new dream schematic—turns out all I needed was a good fight.
And the village was getting more people for the Festival of Sparks.
And with the ever-growing numbers came trouble—and that of the severest kinds.
Arlak stepped out of the barracks. He stretched his arm.
No bandages. Uhh, that feels good.
There was a clang. Dust flew.
There were grunts and yells.
Metal scraped on metal.
“Look who’s here!” Gereon yelled, grabbing him into a hug.
“The sleeping beauty is awake,” Serena turned.
“Care for a spar?” Gereon gestured to the sand pit.
Mirard and Nilri were in the sand.
He swung his sword. She jumped back.
He pushed his attack; she twisted her body unnaturally.
An acrobatic feat so rarely seen. She kicked out under him.
He raised his foot. She missed.
But then she spun, her leg raised, and caught Mirard in the chest.
She flipped and landed on her feet.
She weaved her metal, changing it from a sword into her chain schematic.
She spun the chain and launched it at Mirard’s legs.
She pulled.
He strained and pushed his leg down, digging his feet into the sand.
Nilri frowned.
How is he this strong? Am I so weak?
A tug. She winced.
Soul pain.
Mirard swung his sword against the chain on his leg.
He saw her flinch, and he reached down and grabbed her chain.
He pulled back and sent her to the ground.
Her face hit the sand.
“What are you doing!?” Arlak jumped into the sand arena.
He grabbed the chain, stopping Nilri from being dragged in the sand.
“I’m winning.” He turned and looked down at Nilri. “Do I win? Do you yield?”
Nilri got to her feet and lunged at the boy.
She was angry. “You bastard…,” soul pain. “I was refining my core.” She flailed, legs kicking as Gereon and Arlak held her back.
“I won. That’s what matters in any battle.”
Nilri, on the other hand, was furious as she glared at his back.
“If we are keeping count—six wins against the lot of you. One more duel and I will be undefeated.”
Iron gods, I hate this guy.
“Form your blade. Let’s spar.” He twirled his blade.
I really hate this guy, Arlak thought. Fool. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for.
After the fight with the werewolf, Arlak had advanced to the second step of steel.
Not only that.
Arlak also got a schematic, and he had not tried it yet.
He weaved his metal.
Halfway to steel meant he had a lot of iron.
Mirard looked at his sword. “Still bottlenecked,” he chuckled.
Arlak followed it up by forming his Aero Frame chest plate.
It looked different. Complete. Much tighter.
Thinner, with articulating plates covering his lower abdomen.
Arlak took up the Southern stance. Mirard took up the Eastern stance.
Arlak stepped forward, and Mirard moved. Danced.
Closing the distance in a breath.
He’s too fast.
Arlak moved, however, and to his surprise, he managed to block.
His eyebrows raised.
Mirard frowned. He was sure he had the edge.
Mirard raised his sword and swung again.
Arlak blocked once, then twice. He shoulder-checked Mirard.
He felt faster and stronger.
So this is what the Aero Spine Mantle can do.
Mirard narrowed his eyes on him.
There was something wrong—or had he been mistaken?
He levelled his sword at Arlak, then charged. He swung left, a feint.
Midway through the motion, he swung it upwards.
Arlak jumped back and blocked the sword.
He thought he did, but the sword bit and left a shallow cut in his leather.
Mirard smiled.
Arlak frowned, and he looked at the cut in his guard uniform, then back.
“Do you yield?”
Arlak shook his head.
“Fine.” Mirard shrugged with nonchalance.
Arlak focused on his core and weaved.
He pushed all the steel into his sword and the Aero Spine Mantle.
Done, he moved on to the attack this time.
His sword went stabbing at Mirard’s face.
It missed. He reached in, and his elbow made contact with flesh.
And he body-checked Mirard to the ground.
Mirard had seen his chest plate change to a bronze and iron alloy as he focused his steel in his sword.
No… There was something else.
He had dodged the unnatural fast jab at his face, but he hadn’t been able to block the second blow as Arlak sent him to the floor.
He made to rise, but Arlak had his sword at his throat.
“Yield,” Arlak said.
Mirard clenched his jaw.
It’s always me, is it? Mirard thought.
They looked down on his brothers. His father. They all called him.
Now even this fool was doing the same.
---
Today, the inn was packed.
The caravan that had come with the merchant had brought along with it more than just travellers.
Harstad turned to the side. A drunk adventurer lounged forward on the inn’s counter.
On the floor sat a family, a farmer, his young boy and wife.
Why did they move? Monsters.
Someone had disturbed the monsters of the plains.
Ferona came bounding over.
“I prepared your bread and soup.”
“Thanks.” He placed down two blue lithomite coins.
She then walked over to the adventurer and placed a mug in front of her.
Ferona slid back over.
She leaned in and whispered, “Guess where these people are coming from.”
“Monsters attacked the villages to the northwest.”
“Old news.” She waved her hand, dismissing him.
Harstad cocked an eyebrow.
Droplets of bean soup slid down his greyish beard.
“What did you hear?” he asked, starting to dip bread in soup.
“There was a war.”
Harstad coughed. He splattered and looked up at her.
“Well, a small war… a battle… I don’t really know what to call it, but”—she lowered her voice—“the two armies were fighting.”
“How did it happen?”
“Well, the monsters attacked first,” she lifted her finger. “Then the Imperial army came and killed them, destroying the infested villages.”
“Then How did it start?”
“Well, the army chased the monsters back to the Mist Fields.”
“And?” he asked. He had stopped eating.
He was waiting for more answers.
For a man like Harstad, war was not something to be talked about lightly.
Most nights, he remembered his days on the battlefield. He could still see blood and iron.
They both smelled the same.
“Well, they say that an army came from the mist.”
“What colors?”
“They say it was the Mercenary King. The last hand of Eirnvold.”
“Did he fight?”
“No, they said it was one of his armies.”
“Then it’s no war. It’s simply a skirmish.” The old knight looked down and kept eating his morning meal.
Ferona only now noticed the old knight relax his tense shoulders.
“Ohh. Uhm, are you alright?” she asked.
“I’m fine.”
But she did not believe him. Ferona watched him put a hand over his shaking fingers.
She nodded. I should have known. He’s a knight, and old as well. Who knows what he’s seen or done?
She looked back at him from behind the kitchen.
Harstad lifted his hand off his shaking fingers.
“There is no war. There is no war. There is no war.”
He breathed and kept eating his food.
Hoping no one had noticed, Harstad looked to the side.
He looked at the adventurer.
The adventurer was gazing down into her mug, oblivious.
Harstad knew that look.
He had seen it on the faces of knights and soldiers.
She wore leather, and he saw the bloodstain that hung on her sleeve.
She sensed him looking and turned.
“Have you ever faced an ogre?” she asked.
“Hmm.” He nodded.
She looked at his blue leather breeches.
“A guard, are you?” she asked, turning slightly to watch his hands.
“Yes. Imperial guard.”
“I never knew monsters could be so…”
“Monsters are monsters. Better than men who turn monsters.”
“She was young, you know.”
“You lost a friend?”
“No… met her on the caravan.” She looked down at her mug. “She told me that she wanted to see all the lands.”
“There is nothing we can do for the dead.”
“It tore her up like she was nothing.”
“Hmm.” He nodded gravely.
Two men came into the inn arguing.
The adventurer turned at the voice, and Harstad turned as well.
“No, we can’t escort you.”
“I can pay double.”
“And I said we can’t risk our lives.”
“Well, you have to! This caravan is going to the capital.”
“And is that road safe as well?”
The man hesitated. “Umh. Surely it is. The prince would have sent his army to clear out the monsters.”
“Either way, we can’t.”
“We agreed to a journey to this border city, and we are done.”
“But the others have refused to journey back!”
The short merchant followed behind the young adventurer, coming to a stop at the inn’s counter.
“Listen, I will pay you double for the cost.”
The young man ignored him. He rapped on the counter with a blue.
“Coming,” Ferona answered from behind the kitchen.
“Listen, this delivery is to the Baron himself!” he stomped.
“Anyone willing to go back on the road is a fool.”
Harstad turned. He looked at the boy’s fingers.
One ring. The first step of steel.
Again, he rapped on the table with the blue coin.
“Fine, fine, I said I was coming.” Ferona stepped out from behind the kitchen, cleaning her hands on her apron.
“What do you want?”
“I will get whatever she’s having,” he pointed at the female adventurer.
“What if I get more adventurers? That way you and your companion won’t have to fight alone.”
“Get ten adventurers at the Iron rank, then we’ll think about it. Better yet, get five in the Steel rank.”
Ferona came back with a mug of ale and placed it in front of him.
“I will take that, Captain.” She grabbed his bowl.
“Thank you,” Harstad said, cleaning his mouth with his hands, then his hands on his tunic.
“Captain?”
The merchant looked at the taller, older man, his blue tunic, then his fingers.
Gold. A knight.
Merchant Bago saw the opportunity.
“Sir knight, you must help me. It’s imperative you do.”
“No,” he said, standing from the stool and making for the door.
“You are a knight of the Empire, and I have a package to be delivered to the Baron himself.”
“The Baron does not command me.”
“But surely this is a matter of honor.”
“A merchant’s honor is not what I am looking for. Find someone else.” He waved his hand.
“You can’t ignore me!” the short, round merchant said, but Harstad simply kept walking.
“Wait until the mayor hears about this. He will tell the Baron, and he won’t be happy!” he yelled.
He lowered his shaking hand and kicked a stone that lay about.
Two days after that, Harstad found himself in front of the mayor.
On the side, the merchant stood looking all smug.
“What is it, Garling?”
The mayor pushed a letter towards him.
He sighed. He didn’t pick it up. He could see the sigil of the Baron who controlled the borderlands.
“You know I answer to the Imperial throne in Morvain.”
“The letter says that for any urgent matters in his lands, he can call on any knights in his lands.”
“And this?” He gestured to the merchant and breathed. “This is urgent?”
“Yes, the letter says so.”
If he could have, Harstad would have rolled his eyes.
Urgent. What a waste. If he was so urgent, the man would have sent a Strider, Harstad thought.
“Fine. I will give you three of my squires.”
“Squires? But this is a royal decree!”
“I am a knight of the Throne, and I do not move for a Baron.”
The merchant suddenly went pale and swallowed.
“Do not worry. The three he will send fought off a werewolf by themselves.” Galring said.
Harstad narrowed his eyes.
“Knight-Captain, don’t you think that would be adequate protection?” Garling added.
Harstad looked at the round merchant.
He nodded.
At least those three can work together, he thought.
“Yes, those three. And I hope you bring guards of your own as well.”
“Of course!” he chirped. “And when we reach the Baron’s town, I will make sure to let him know how well your barracks is run.”
---
Harstad didn’t know why he hated his cloak and coat. On the other hand, they felt gaudy and too formal for the small town.
Monsters I can handle. Nobles… they are a different type of monster.
He sighed, yawned, and looked to the side.
He never wore his coat and cloak. The last time he had worn them was when he marched into a rebelling town.
“Ahh… Knight-Captain, I have been expecting you.”
“Hmm…” Harstad grunted, but he did not answer Merchant Bago.
He looked at the men the merchant had hired.
Scared fellows. One man had three fingers missing, replaced with a metal weaving.
The other showed no signs of metal, but Harstad sensed it in the man’s mouth.
A trick spies used.
The man lounged against the carriage.
Harstad looked at him longer, then dismissed him and turned to the three.
“You three, escort the merchant to Bullmar Town.” The old knight waved his hand.
He didn’t look like a knight in his simple tunic and blue leather pants. No knight’s cloak.
Arlak, Nilri, and Gereon would not overlook him, however.
They nodded. He walked off.
“We start moving tomorrow morning.” Bago looked at each of them.
It was mid-afternoon, and they were staring up at the merchant's convoy.
“Why do you think he chose us?”
“Yah, why?” Arlak was wondering the same thing.
“That’s easy. We killed a werewolf on our own.”
“That’s what I am afraid of. The new villagers said they were attacked on their way here.”
The two turned and looked at him. He shrugged.
Bago stepped up. Three wagons were arrayed behind his carriage.
The last of his men came running from the inn.
“Everyone is here. Let’s go.” The merchant waved his hands.
He made for his carriage, then stopped.
He turned. “You three… care to join me?”
He looked at the three squires.
“I must insist,” he said.
“Does he think we are his noble guard?” Nilri whispered.
“Let’s see what he wants. We can reject his offer later,” Arlak said.
The three shrugged and entered the carriage.
Arlak didn’t miss the look one of the guards gave them.
The three sat on one side, and the round merchant on the other.
Did they have to be so large? she wondered.
Nilri elbowed Gereon, and he made sure to keep to his position.
Bago raised an eyebrow, and when the three were as comfortable as they could get, he began.
“I was told you three killed a werewolf.”
“Yes. That’s why the Knight-Captain told us to come with you.”
“The mayor recommended you.”
He looked at their rings. Arlak and Nilri had two steel rings each. Gereon had one.
“Is it true?”
“Yes, we killed it. Arlak held it down,” Gereon said.
“And you are all of the steel rank,” Merchant Boga asked.
“Yes, but these two are stronger.” Niril said
“You two are at the second step of steel.”
“How do you know I don’t have steel in my mouth?” Nilri asked.
So she also noticed the guard, Arlak thought.
He waved his hand. “Don’t mind them.”
Arlak stared at the man. Only people with an ill reputation hid their soul metal.
He said nothing, however.
After the praise, Bago told them the journey would take a week or two and that they had to conduct themselves as proper squires.
“What do you guys think about the merchant?” Nilri asked that night as they sat around the campfire.
She looked at the others.
“If I get it with the Baron, it’s not so bad.”
“I don’t think he trusts his guards.”
“Why?”
Arlak shrugged. “He wants us to escort him, not his own guards.”
“What do you think it means?”
“Be careful around them.” He nodded towards the campfire set on the other side of the camp.
When he woke up, Arlak started. His eyes shot open, and he rushed to his feet.
The bald man with a scar on his lips was looking down at him—the same man with hidden soul metal in his mouth.
He smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.
“The name is Telv. Sorry if I startled you.”
Arlak looked at the man. He nodded.
The others had also rushed to their feet when they saw him scrambling.
The sun was barely out, and had the man wanted them dead, they could have been ambushed before it fully rose.
He looked at the hand and shook it.
“We are starting to move.”
“Uh,” he looked to the side at the others, “okay, we’ll get ready.”
This close, the man smelled of lilacs. Odd.
----
The wolf walked amongst its kin. They were dead.
It whimpered, sniffed, and nudged the dead.
The curious wolf had been dismissed by its alpha.
The werewolf smelled the bodies. Soul metal.
As a lone wolf, it felt the madness coming on.
She felt furious.
First, it had been the greater beasts deeper in the forest. Then the humans of the forest.
She growled.
She sniffed the air, and the scent led back to the village she had visited a few nights ago.
She would hunt to kill whoever had done this to her pack. But first, she looked down at the alpha.
She tore into him and ate his heart.
---
Deep in the woods, the bandits laughed around a campfire.
His band patrolled the forest that bordered the empire and the kingdom of Karundar.
Garrick placed a wooden flask to his lips and sipped the wine.
“The beasts have gone deeper into the forest.”
“Good. Celebrate.”
“For what, sir?”
“I heard word that the caravan we saw passing by the forest will do so again.”
“So we can hit them again?”
“Yes.”
"fools." one of the bandits said.
He smiled, and it was ugly.
Before, they hadn’t been able to with the number of adventurers and mercenaries escorting the group.
Even the number of people escaping the skirmish and monsters had been a problem for his small band.
“How many?”
“The stupid merchant is moving with a smaller caravan. And fewer guards.”
He looked at the man who asked.
“Enough to make them remember us.” He smiled.
The men yelled, raising fists, mugs, and swords of soul metal in the air.
“Will there be women?”
“Of course there will be.” He raised his mug and started walking around the fire. “And if there aren’t, we’ll make them bring them to us.”
“How?”
“Word is, the caravan has something the Baron wants. We can use it.” He folded his fist, his eyes reflecting the red and orange flames.
“To the women and riches!” one man yelled.
“Yes! We march,” Garrick yelled.
---
Far from them, the creature stalked the settlement that bordered the forest.
It sniffed, then growled. The werewolf smelt the blood of its kin.
It also smelled soul metal. Not weak either.
She had learned to avoid soul metal that strong. She couldn’t.
She would die.
She sniffed around again.
Her head turned. Along the edge of the forest, she caught a stronger scent.
Another kin-killer was moving away. She would deal with them first before the madness took hold.
---
It was a few days before Arlak saw something odd in the forest.
If it were a creature, then it did not think it could take them on, so he shrugged.
At least it’s not stupid enough to attack us.
He relaxed. Sure, there were beasts in the forest, and the forest was unnatural.
Don’t jinx yourself. Make the trip there and get back to the barracks—that’s all you need to think about, he told himself.
The next night, he was not so sure anymore.
He was not seeing things—or that’s what he believed—but the creature seemed to show itself only to him.
He had asked Gereon and Nilri, but they had seen nothing.
It’s probably nothing, he thought.
The caravan did not see the creature leave the forest.
It slunk along the tall bushy grass.
She remained low, like a predator, and hoped they would not see her.
One of the humans smelt of her kin. She would kill him first.
Arlak was sitting around the campfire when he saw the darkness shift.
He looked back at the darkness. It was silent.
You’re acting paranoid. Yah. It’s probably nothing, he thought, and turned back.
“What’s wrong?” Gereon asked, looking past him into the darkness behind.
“It’s nothing. It’s the beast he’s been seeing in the shadows,” Nilri said, moving over and handing them each a bowl of soup before sitting next to the fire.
“Don’t worry, I will protect you,” Gereon teased, hand going to his chest in a salute.
Arlak scoffed.
Bago walked over.
“I see you’re all looking well, I hope.”
The group exchanged looks.
“What can we do for you?”
“I’m here to offer you praise and encouragement.”
“The night isn’t over yet.”
“I came to see if you had changed your minds about being my escorts.”
“No,” Gereon answered, shoving a spoon of soup in his mouth.
“Well, we’ll be there in a few days”,—he lifted a finger—“and I hope there will be nothing to interrupt the journey.”
“And I thought I was jinxing.”
The merchant paused and squinted his eyes.
“What is that?” he asked softly, looking into the darkness.
His face went pale. He stepped back. His body felt heavy.
“Mon–monster,” he stammered, his eyes widening.
Nilri moved. The creature moved. The ring on her finger shifted. Metal poured out on her hand and built itself.
She stabbed forward, pushing Arlak to the side.
She was pushed back as the creature aimed to rip her face.
Arlak and Gereon jumped back, their soul metal weaving and morphing.
Gereon had his shield up and sword ready.
Arlak aimed his sword at the werewolf.
He looked at it, then frowned.
“Kill it, kill it!” Bago said, falling on his ass and crawling in the dirt away from the creature.
The werewolf had tears in its eyes. Its saliva was coated with green, and its eyes were nearly feral.
“It’s rabid. Don’t let it bite you.”
So this is the last survivor the captain killed. There was sadness as much as he could see, and Arlak realised it had come for them.
“Get up.” He pulled the merchant to his feet, his eyes never leaving the creature. The sword in his hand also remained steady.
“Go back to your carriage.”
“Why is it here? Why didn’t it run?”
Nilri tried to hack at it. It stepped back and snapped at her.
Gereon moved to slash, but the werewolf was faster and swung a clawed arm out.
He raised his shield, the glancing blow stalling him.
It growled, but Arlak still did not move.
It was rabid. And the tears did nothing but remind him of those he had lost.
He realised it had come for them—for vengeance.
Nilri’s sword turned into a chain. It wrapped around the creature, and she tried to pull.
The creature pulled back and jumped on her.
It tried to bite her face off, but got a hand instead.
Nilri screamed out, and for the first time, Arlak moved.
The werewolf saw him move and swung a clawed arm out.
Arlak deflected the blow, leaving a cut on the creature’s arm, then stabbed it below the ribs.
The creature howled, letting go of Nilri and swiping at him.
Gereon pushed the creature away and stood in front of Nilri.
The creature growled, touched its side, then looked up at them.
And they felt the sound in their chest and heart.
The werewolf stepped back.
Nilri was looking at her in shock. She trembled.
Noises came from behind them, and the other guards came running.
The werewolf looked behind them, then growled.
It looked into his eyes, then stepped back and ran into the forest.
“What, by the gods of iron, was that?” the merchant stammered.
“Arlak, help!” Gereon yelled. “She got bit!”
He turned and watched Nilri tying cloth around her arm.
“Gereon, do it tighter,” he said, rushing over and holding Nilri’s arm.
He looked up at the rest of the caravan guards, and he saw pity.
“It’s no good,” Telv said, shaking his head and walking.
“No…” Nilri began to say, her head shaking and her body beginning to tremble in their arms.
They held her tight.
Arlak looked at the short merchant.
“We keep moving. There is a healer where we are going, isn’t there?”
He didn’t wait for the man to respond. Neither did Gereon. They pushed their way through the camp and straight for his carriage.
Gereon carried the girl in his arms, and Arlak, for his part, pushed the small gathering out of the way.
“Wait… wait, you can’t do that,” the merchant began as he watched them open the door to his carriage and place Nilri inside.
Arlak turned. “We have to hurry to the town; otherwise, she may die.”
“We can’t do it now. Who knows what else is in the darkness?”
“He’s right,” Telv said, folding his arms.
The gathered travellers all looked at the darkness warily.
“If we start moving now, it won’t come back to find us.”
Those travelling with them started murmuring again.
“You chased it off. I doubt that.”
“He’s right. I say we stay,” Merchant Bago said sternly.
“How many guards do you have?” he asked.
“Enough,” the merchant said, looking up at him.
“Then you can protect this caravan without us. We are going ahead.” Arlak said.
“You can’t do that.”
“Listen, if you can’t help us, then we can’t risk our lives for you.”
“Let them go. They’ll be dead in a day.” Talv said
Arlak looked at him, then back at the merchant.
“Your guards—are any of them stronger than us? Think about that.”
Bago’s face fell. He saw it.
---
Nilri groaned. She had stopped shaking and trembling.
That had all been fear.
She looked at her hand and cursed.
Black lines had started spreading across it.
She tried moving her arm, but the pain was still the same.
Her eyes were dull. She thought she would die in a cell, arrested for killing some noble her queen wanted dead.
She didn’t want to die of poison.
She summoned her chain and looked at it with disgust.
A chain. Not even a string.
I need more schematics. I need armour.
Well, it’s too late now. She gazed up in the carriage.
There was a knock on the carriage, and Arlak looked inside.
“Oh, you’re awake.”
“She is.” Gereon pushed the door open even wider and looked inside. “Does that mean you’re alive?”
She waved at them.
“You looked bad yesterday. Are you sure you’re fine?” Gereon asked.
Nilri shook her head and rolled her eyes at the other boy’s exaggerated worry. A faint smile crossed her face.
“The werewolf was rabid,” he said, looking at her.
She nodded. “I know.”
“Arlak talked to the merchant, and we are moving as fast as we can to Bulmur.”
“You think there is a healer?”
Arlak’s jaw clenched, and his eyebrows furrowed. He looked her up and down.
Nilri was smiling, and that bothered him.
She could die.
Why is she acting like this?
“We have been raiding all night. Right now, we are letting the horses rest.”
“How long until we reach?”
“Five days.” Arlak looked at her.
He watched her glance down at her arm, her eyes shifting.
“If we keep at our pace, we can make it in three,” he assured her.
“And the merchant?” she asked.
“He agreed.”
“I think you should refine your core. It will help stop the spreading.”
---
The caravan was moving fast, and Garrick and his band had almost missed it.
Since they were not a caravan, however, they held an advantage.
Garrick and his men set up the ambush at least three days from the town of the Baron.
This close to the town, he knew he would have to be careful.
“Should we cut down a log in the path?”
“No.” He smiled, arms crossed, as his men rested by the path.
“Then we play the injured traveler, asking for help?”
“No, too close to the town.” He nodded at the tall chimney smoking in the distance.
“Then what?”
“We use the dead foxes.”
“Isn’t that too dangerous?”
“No, it’s perfect. They are in a rush—they will overlook the men,” he said.
His second put on a smile, teeth black and brown.
His men would grow stronger, and he would grow stronger as well.
With his intent of freedom, he would free the coin from the greedy nobles.
He would reach gold, and then he would be a true Bandit King.
---
They rode fast past the forest.
The wagons clanked and shook, the goods being carried loud enough to be heard from a distance.
Merchant Bago sat in his carriage, and he was not having a good time.
Sure, they would arrive on time, but he was still not happy.
The knight’s squires thought they were in charge.
They didn’t even know how to lead a caravan.
“Is there a problem?” Nilri asked, sitting opposite him, her legs crossed, fists held together.
He huffed. “Do your friends even know what they’re doing?”
She opened one eye and looked at him.
He rolled his eyes.
“The horses.”
“What about the horses?”
“I’m going to have to get new ones after this,” he grumbled, looking to the side.
“Why? They seem fine.”
“No, they are not fine.” He lifted a finger and shook it. “They are too old for this type of journey.”
“Would you rather I die, then?” she glared at him.
“You don’t seem to mind it.” He looked at the dark blood coating the cloth bandages.
She paused. Her core stopped spinning, and the pain came.
She looked at him, but he continued talking.
“You’re a soldier. That’s what you’re for.” He crossed his arms.
Nilri didn’t want to die, not for some fat merchant.
Father, please. I’m sorry, she thought.
She didn’t need such thoughts right now.
She wouldn’t panic.
She began to speak—then the world became a haze.
The merchant blurred. Her head hurt, and before she knew it, the world went dark.
There was nothing. Only darkness.
