Strangers
Sabo’s jaw clenched. No.
The blade pressed firmer against his skin, just enough to remind him how fragile flesh could be. The man behind him smelled of sweat and leather, with a faint whiff of iron. A soldier once, perhaps, but definitely someone who was accustomed to using the weapon in their hand. The kind of man who kept his knife sharp, his boots worn, and his trust nonexistent.
“My friend and I are traveling northward,” Sabo said, keeping his voice steady, keeping his hands relaxed. “We’re somewhat lost. We heard your party but wanted to make sure you weren’t of a dangerous sort before we approached.” He flicked his eyes toward the blade at his throat. “So. Are you of the dangerous sort?”
A pause. The blade didn’t waver.
“Might be.” The man’s voice was a low hiss, close enough that Sabo could feel his breath against his ear. “If I must.”
Sabo slowly turned his head, just enough to catch a glimpse of the man’s face but not enough to make a potentially twitchy hand cut his throat. Hard angles. A nose that had been broken and never quite healed right. Stubble peppered with gray. Not old, but seasoned. The man had seen his share of fights, and he looked like he hadn’t lost many. Sabo recognized something else in the man’s eyes, something that he saw in Vitomir. The man was tired. Tired of fighting.
“Two travelers, lost? On foot?” the man pressed. “This close to the Feltura Badlands?” His grip on the knife tightened. “Do you take me for a fool? How many of you bandits are there? Tell me, and I might not slit your throat.”
Sabo let out a slow breath. “Not bandits,” he said, choosing his words carefully. A thought struck him. “We actually ran into bandits passing northward from Hykaera. Left us without our mounts. But we had no choice but to press forward, we need to reach our destination in Valhadryan and weren’t left with much of a choice, you see.”
That got a reaction. A flicker of doubt, a slight shift in the man’s stance.
“Bandits, near the Hykaeran border?” There was something in his voice now, something uncertain. Sabo caught the way his fingers flexed slightly on the hilt of his knife, the way his eyes darted toward his companions by the river. If they were headed south, toward Hykaera, that little bit of news had just made their day a whole lot worse. Sabo could be a source of information for them, if he could seem trustworthy enough.
Sabo almost smiled.
For a moment, Sabo thought the man might actually lower the knife. Then—
The blade jerked away. Yanked through the air as if plucked by an unseen hand.
Reiner sputtered, eyes wide. His confusion turned to rage in a heartbeat. He head snapped back towards Sabo, eyes burning with rage. Any sense of the exhaustion from violence burned away by that anger?
“You lying bandit bastard!”
Well, shit, Sabo just had time to think before he was met with the man’s fist.
The punch caught Sabo square in the temple. White-hot pain exploded in his skull, and the world spun sideways. He hit the ground hard, ears ringing, cheek scraping against dirt and stone.
Sabo groaned, pushing himself onto his elbows, still dazed.
Then, he felt it. The sharp parting of skin, a twisting sensation at the side of his face. A familiar, terrible pressure.
“I would not recommend you continue your assault on my vassal, mortal,” Eater’s voice oozed through the air like thick tar.
Reiner stopped mid-step, his breath hitching.
He screamed. Raw, primal horror tearing through his throat as he stumbled backward.
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“Reiner?!” One of the four travelers near the river called, alarmed.
Great, Sabo thought. The situation had gotten so, so much worse. Was that Hiwot that had stolen the man’s—Reiner’s—blade?
Sabo forced himself up, staggering out of the underbrush. The four figures turned toward him, startled. None reached for weapons—yet. But their eyes flicked between him and the cursing, panicked Reiner still lost in the brush.
Sabo barely had time to register them before another figure came into focus.
A fifth man stood on the riverbank, apart from the others. His hands were steady on a fishing rod, the line drawn taut. At the end of it, gleaming and swaying, was Reiner’s dagger.
How had Sabo not noticed this newcomer before? Was he here the entire time?
The man was tall, nearly as tall as Sabo, his ocher skin kissed by the warm hue of afterglow. Long black curls fell in unruly waves around a bearded face, his pale eyes creased at the corners in quiet amusement. A sheepish grin tugged at his lips.
“I’m sorry, sir, is this blade yours?” He lifted the fishing rod slightly, letting the dagger dangle from the line. “I seem to have overcast my line!”
The four travelers recoiled, looking at the man as if he’d just grown a second head. They looked like a group of hares being cornered by two foxes. The man with the fishing rod was definitely not with this group.
Reiner crashed through the underbrush behind Sabo, breath ragged. His face twisted with fury and fear.
“Stay away from them, you demon!”
Sabo stiffened. His heart pounded.
The man on the riverbank lifted a thick brow at the accusation, his gaze flicking to Sabo with renewed interest. He pointed a finger up at himself and then moved it in Sabo’s direction before pointing at himself again. Then, again, back at Sabo, confused as to whom Reiner was referring to as a ‘demon.’
Sabo clenched his teeth. He felt his skin again—whole. Eater’s mouth had already vanished.
Thank the gods.
“He’s no demon!”
The voice rang out sharp and clear. A voice that promised violence.
Hiwot strode forward, calm as a queen surveying her court. “Though, if you would like to see a demon, please, continue these needless hostilities.”
The air around her shimmered, warping like heat rising from a forge. Red arcs of energy danced over her arms and shoulders, snapping and crackling like a gathering storm. The light caught in her dark eyes, twin embers smoldering in their sockets.
“A sorcerer,” one of the women gasped, stepping back.
Sabo groaned. Just what they needed.
He threw his hands up, palms open. “Really, we mean no harm. We just need directions and we’ll be on our way.”
Silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring.
Then the oldest of the travelers—grey in the beard, lined in the face—sighed and raised a hand. “Enough. If they mean us harm, there won’t be much we can do about it.” He gave Reiner a hard look, then turned back to Sabo and Hiwot. “Directions, you say?”
Tension bled from the group, slow and cautious. Hands drifted from saddlebags, no doubt containing stashed-away weapons. Garuda feathers ruffled as the birds shifted, sensing the change in mood. One of the giant birds resumed drinking from the river, content that whatever tension had built was now sufficiently drained from the situation.
Sabo nodded. “You’re coming from the north, yeah? We need to know if we’re heading in the right direction. We’re looking for Hecate’s Tower.”
The old man clicked his tongue. “Ah, so you’re seeking the Tower. Not surprising. Everyone heading into or out of Valhadryan is either setting out towards or leaving the Tower.” He scratched at his beard. “We’re coming from there ourselves. Sold our wares at the base of the Tower and are heading to Hykaera to catch a ship back home. We’re from Broceliande, you see.”
“How many days to the Tower, then?” Hiwot asked.
“By foot?” The old man snorted. “A good while still. But you’re perhaps two days away from Ramsmeade, which is the closest outpost to the Tower. Just follow this river, you’ll reach it. Once there, I’d recommend finding yourselves some sturdy garuda. Three days by bird to the Tower.”
Sabo frowned. “And it’s safe? The journey from Ramsmeade, I mean. Your friend here seems a little skittish.” He eyed Reiner, who was still stiff with fear at witnessing Eater’s mouth form on the side of his face. Sabo didn’t blame the man.
The old man chuckled, adjusting the straps on his saddle. “Safest stretch of land in all of Valhadryan. Imperial Road runs through it. Plenty of traffic and patrols. Bandits tend to stick to the wilds where it’s easier to slit throats and disappear.”
Sabo and Hiwot exchanged glances. Two days on foot to Ramsmeade. Three by bird to the Tower. He wondered if she was as nervous at the mention of Imperial patrols. Would they be able to recognize two escaped prisoners? What makes you think anyone would be able to trace you to the crashed airship, or that anyone would assume there had been survivors? He thought.
He gave a slight bow at the waist, “Thank you. We appreciate it.”
“Of course,” said the old man.
The travelers mounted their garuda, Reiner grumbling as he clambered up behind one of the women, still throwing Sabo the occasional dirty glare.
“One last thing,” Sabo said, catching the old man’s attention.
“Yes?”
“There are a number of Maldrath we’ve ran while traveling through this forest. I would be careful.”
The old man’s face darkened. “Maldrath?”
“I imagine there may be a Deep—a dungeon—somewhere deeper in the forest. We didn’t have time to investigate. In any case, be careful friend.”
“Thank you for the warning,” the old man said, face softening.
“The least I could do.”
Then, with a few sharp clicks and a tug of the reins, the garuda took off, kicking up dust as they darted southward, quickly disappearing into the trees.
Sabo exhaled. “Well. That could’ve gone worse.”
Hiwot crossed her arms. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Sabo rolled his eyes. “I had it under control.”
Hiwot smirked. “Sure you did, demon.”
“That man forgot about his dagger.”
Sabo and Hiwot both startled at the sound. It was the other man, with the fishing rod. He had pulled the blade from the end of his line and was dangling the dagger between two fingers. His mouth was twisted into a disappointed frown. “Shame.”
How did I forget he was even here this entire time? Sabo’s mind raced.
Hiwot had clearly not noticed the man at all.
The man gave the two a wide smile. “Did I hear that you two are headed to Hecate’s Tower? Mind if I joined you on your journey?”
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