Interlude the First I: Unheard Words

  [The day before setting off for Caer Eldralis]

  Hagan traced the contents of the white milky vials; the whirls of an almost hypnotising mist danced in the fluids. The potion dripped carefully into a set of palm-sized containers like a gourmet chef would drape gravy over a dish.

  These bulbs were made of a membrane-like substance that appeared ready to yield to a stray breeze.

  The woodsman poked one; despite its flimsy feel, its strength was enough to hold the liquid until thrown. Upon impact, the container would explode without a sound and dissolve in a flash—the marvellous properties of the Cula Silkworm and its translucent silk.

  When he finished filling the last vial of sleeping potion—generously provided through the Shera merchants’ good graces—the woodsman saw an ivory figure drift past in his vision, through the liquid. The woman paced nervously into the lodge. Hagan’s trusty canine companion, with its mottled grey figure, paused at the door, its eyes searching the surroundings.

  “Ah, back already? Place what you’ve got near the hearth; the table will be clear once I am done with this…”

  Relia cradled a large basket full of foraged mushrooms and a loose collection of pine cones, nuts, and berries from the Shera Woods. Their earthy scent mixed with the strong, minty odour of various herbs needed to mask the scent from the sewers.

  Her face, however, did not bear the triumphant look of someone from a successful forage—despite the large quantity they had acquired.

  No, her face was one of abject discomfort, her body tensed up as she shuffled away from the wolf that was trailing her.

  “Uhm, Hagan…?” as she jerked towards the figure of the dire wolf,

  “What is it, Lass…?” Hagan finally looked up, noticing Emmett at the door, its maws deep into a half-eaten swine carcass, a clumsy blood trail drawn from the lush undergrowth all the way to the front porch of the lodge. With it came the acidic scent of blood and the metallic tinge of the carcass.

  The wolf stared at its tamer, eyes stoic, body still, as if seeking permission to move or approval—if the creature even grasped such concepts.

  “Oh, don’t worry about him, he does this all the time,” as Hagan gestured in the air with a wave.

  Emmett trotted, a proud bounce in its? step as it settled the half-eaten spoils in the kitchen area, next to the hung pieces of cured meat over the countertop.

  “He … does that all the time…?” Relia let the basket down with a hasty thud as she paced away from the door where she had come from. Her body hunched in tension, ready to bolt for the door, as if the dire wolf was one whim away from adding her to tonight’s meal.

  “His handiwork,” as Hagan casually gestured towards the hanging curtain of meat in the kitchen.

  Relia’s face maintained a look of abject bewilderment, but a soft trickle of reassurance from the woodsman’s statement caused her posture to right itself to something resembling normalcy. She remained near the hearth, however, keeping a wary distance from the dire wolf that had found rest next to its spoils.

  “Relax, lass, Emmett won’t bite,” as Hagan began to place the table’s contents into a bag, his secondary pouch.

  “I know … I just didn’t expect him to pounce on the poor creature. Thought he went for me.” Relia replied, her voice inflected with a shade of pity and worry.

  “Trust me, Emmett is smarter than he looks; he wouldn’t harm ya, he protects good folks like you.” The woodsman paced over to the wolf, ruffling its fur by the collar, its tongue stuck out—the only indicator of the glee it received from this gesture, despite its deadpan, almost bordering on bored expression.

  Relia’s voice came, now coloured with casual relaxation, likely spurred by the sight of the docile creature. “Where is Selriph…?”

  “Still out there fixing his blade.” Hagan directed his words toward the wolf, even though they were meant for the woman.

  “What abomination did you two run into last night that got his blade beaten up? That thing could slice through stone.” Relia remarked.

  “Not the creepy-eyed bastard, the boy,” Hagan intoned casually.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “I don’t understand.” Relia’s question cradled in a polite undertone.

  “The boy blew up the bastard while his blade was stuck in it; that thing could not have come out without taking a few scratches.”

  Words did not leave Relia’s mouth, though the woodsman could see the slight bulging of her eye in its socket at the words.

  Hagan whispered under his breath, directed at the wolf. “Saved me from them, too.”

  The woodsman rose to his feet, pacing over to the hearth—towards his main bag, rather than the woman who had found comfort in its budding flames.

  “So, those vials you have, are those part of the plan to rescue Vickthar…?” Her question came meekly, unsure if the woodsman would entertain it.

  “Yes, sleeping vials, with the invisibility potion here,” as he gestured to the main pack.

  “All we need is a way in…” his words trailed off, the first sign of uncertainty reaching him as he pulled out the map he had purchased from Tamros.

  “Does he know about this…?” Relia’s question came with an uncanny firmness, almost bordering on accusatory.

  “About the potions or the way in?” Hagan’s voice was flat and dry.

  Relia fidgeted with her fingers and replied, “Both,” uncertain if she had upset the woodsman.

  Hagan’s reply came softly, almost reassuring. “The lad doesn’t need to know about this now, you said it yourself: he dreads going back to the city.”

  Relia tilted her head in confusion at the answer, which only gave her more questions than it solved.

  Hagan met the young woman’s confusion with a smile. “Don’t worry, Vickthar and I have done this many times. Take out the guards with the vials. Rescued a fair few damsels like you in our day.”

  “But… this is different. Selriph said it is the most guarded prison on the continent. If you have not found a way in, you cannot expect him—”

  Hagan’s response was more of a gentle motion than a firm refusal. “I said all we need is a way in; the boy can easily do it.”

  “What do you mean by that…?” Relia prodded.

  Hagan gestured to the dire wolf. “He showed me what the boy was up to; he is Vickthar’s apprentice after all. The man made a pastime of creating tunnels with his sorcery.” A chuckle escaped his lips; the memory of the pockmarked, strewed clearing flashed in his mind.

  Relia’s expression became less stern, and the following words flowed with a soothing softness. “Even so, best if you tell him about those potions. Knowing him, he’d come up with a foolproof plan to get Vickthar out.”

  “And what about you?” Hagan asked, his voice inflected up.

  “Pardon…?” Relia paused, taken aback by the unexpected question.

  “Say the boy knows all about this, then what? He’d likely put his mind into pulling Vickthar out. First.”

  “I…” Relia stuttered, as a wave of realisation washed over her.

  “I know he has his doubts; half the reason why he is even going is that he wants to see you safe. He pulled you out of those rapids after all.” Hagan replied, his voice assured, understanding.

  “That doesn’t matter; as he said, I can just separate from you two when we arrive,” her voice full of casual dismissal.

  “Can’t risk it, we … no, the lad will see you to safety first; that can happen tomorrow evening. With that, he and I have two days, more than enough time to get Vickthar out.”

  No words came out of Relia, caught between an indescribable mix of flattery, embarrassment, and budding disagreement.

  The following words came to nudge the woman gently further into agreement: “I am no city dweller; once we pull Vickthar out, the city will turn upside down. You need to be with your friend when that happens, not wandering like a lost lamb.”

  Only two words could leave the woman’s mouth.

  “Thanks, Hagan.”

  “Don’t worry about it, lass, remind me of the better days we had with Vickthar, helping folks just like you,” as he gestured to Emmett, who had begun a casual strut over as the words carried into the air by the woodsman’s gruff voice.

  “We? You mean Emmett over there was with you and Vickthar?” her voice spiked in surprise as she slid away from the approaching wolf.

  “Of course, took a real liking to him.” Hagan delivered the words to the wolf which displayed no hint of emotion. His canine companion’s facade a perfect contradiction between the pleasant words and his impassive expression.

  Hagan placed his hands on the wolf’s head. “Would not have looked into the boy’s stuff if it weren’t for him, likely recognised Vickthar’s scent on that dusty ole tome.”

  The wolf let out a low whimper, its meaning lost to the young woman, but perfectly comprehensible to the woodsman.

  “I know you want to come with us, old friend. Vickthar would love to see your face too, but it’s too dangerous.”

  The wolf stared back, although an imperceptible shake of its head came.

  “Don’t worry, Vickthar saved me more times than I can count; it’s time I repaid that.” A trace of pain tinged his voice as his mind flashed with images of a townscape engulfed in chaos: fireballs, lightning blasts, blue waves of arcane energy, and holy-attired figures. Vickthar’s voice faded into the distance as the footsteps of flight rang in his memory.

  The memory faded as the woodsman’s gaze traced to the window, catching the thin silhouette passing through. The estoc hung at his side.

  “Besides, if anything happens to me, at least you will be here to take care of the lad when he returns.” He patted Emmett with earnest affection.

  Hagan rose to his feet, pacing over to the kitchen to prepare the spoils that the dire wolf had kindly bestowed upon them.

  That was the last meal they would share in the lodge, for only one would return.