The morning sun breaks faintly through the mist as we ride out. I struggle to keep the gray mare beneath me in check, she tosses her head and shudders every time I so much as touch the reins. Eventually, I give up, letting her fall in line behind the others, she seems comfortable following the pace of the march.

  Edwin leads at the fore, flanked by Gandre and Daniel. Luna rides close on my right, her posture upright, steady. Father Alric also rides with us, to bless the dead I suppose.

  There's bound to be plenty after this is done, I'd wager.

  Around us, about sixty guardsmen keep pace, mounted and fully equipped. Chainmail armor, iron helmets and a spear being their standard kit.

  Trailing behind are about four hundred militia, townsmen bearing axes, clubs, and whatever arms they could muster. Most wear no armor beyond thick cloaks or padded vests. A third of them carry bows, strung and ready.

  Thats good... when the spiders attack, they'll be crucial.

  “Shit!” I bark as my horse jerks and starts to buck. I clutch the reins tightly, trying not to fall. I’ve no idea what I did wrong.

  Gandre chuckles and reins in beside me. “Strugglin’, are you?”

  I growl, “It's my first time riding.”

  He reaches over, grabs my reins with one hand and gently pulls, murmuring to the mare in a low, steady voice. The horse calms beneath me.

  “Too tense,” he says. “Just relax and let her work, she'll follow the rest of us.”

  Behind us, Daniel lets out a smooth laugh. “Perhaps you’d be more at ease on your feet, Seven. It’s far more suited to your... station.”

  I shoot him a glare. He simply smirks, his horse gliding forward with effortless grace, not a jostle to be seen.

  I grit my teeth and face forward again, swallowing my pride.

  Edwin lets out a hearty laugh at our exchange. He glances at Gandre with a grin. "Reminds me of when we were boys."

  Gandre snorts. "Aye, you nobles love rubbin' it in, raised in saddles while the rest of us were lucky to see a horse."

  Edwin chuckles. "You ride well enough now."

  Gandre smirks. "Well enough to whip your aging hide in a race."

  "Oh? Is that a challenge, old man? Last I checked, I was still the better rider."

  Daniel coughs, casting a wary glance at the surrounding troops. "Father, the men are watching."

  Edwin waves him off, chuckling. “Stop fretting, you're too stiff, son. Having a bit of fun won't strip us of our rank.”

  Daniel shrugs, glancing toward Luna with a half-smile. “I find my own fun,” he says smoothly, then adds with a wink, “Perhaps you'd care to dine with me when all this is over, Lady Luna? I promise to behave… terribly.”

  She rolls her eyes without a word, but his smile lingers anyway, unfazed.

  Edwin and Gandre both break out into a laugh. Their spirits have been high since the march began, a strange contrast given how somber he was planning it.

  “Forgive my son,” Edwin says with a grin. “He didn’t inherit my charm.”

  He nods to Luna, his tone more genuine now. “Thank you, for aiding Seven in guiding us. You didn’t have to take such a risk my lady.”

  Luna shrugs, “I’m sure your men are more than capable of protecting me.”

  “True enough... so long as you stay clear once the fighting begins.”

  She doesn’t reply, just turns her gaze to the trees. A rider up ahead pulls back his horse and calls out, “Which way now? We've passed Redwick.”

  I nudge my mare forward. “Left fork, then follow the northern track.”

  We take the path Yurik initially led Luna and I through from Redwick, rather than the road we returned through. Yurik's ambush being far to the east and a long detour.

  It's somewhat... difficult to remember the exact pathing from Redwick, but between Luna and I, we manage fine.

  When night falls, we halt and make camp. A supply wagon pulls to the center of the clearing and the guards begin unloading tents and firewood. Cauldrons of steaming stew line the campfires, and the smell of meat and herbs drifts through the cold air. Edwin calls us to eat with him, Daniel, Alric, Gandre, Luna, and myself.

  We settle around a large fire, bowls in hand. The stew is hearty, thick with potatoes and smoked meat. Edwin leans back with a satisfied sigh. "Been too long since my last march," he muses, gazing into the fire. "You remember the Drakkenfield campaign, Gandre?"

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Gandre grunts fondly. "How could I forget? That last stand in the birch valley. You were near dead on yer feet, and still wouldn’t let go of the banner."

  Edwin chuckles. "And you, still shouting orders with an arrow through your thigh. That was a real fight. Not like this business with the brigands."

  He stirs the stew idly with his spoon. "Back then, things were clearer. March, fight, win. These days, I spend more time wrangling taxes and listening to council disputes about whose goats pissed where. Mayor’s work, they call it. Gods, give me battle over politics any day."

  Gandre turns his attention to Daniel. "Ready for yer first campaign, lad?"

  Daniel huffs. “Was hoping for something a little more grand. Slaughtering unarmored, barely armed brigands is hardly impressive.”

  “Bah,” Gandre mutters, waving him off. “Be glad for the chance to get yer boots muddy. First blood’s first blood, no matter who’s bleedin’.”

  I glance between them. “Do you think it’ll be easy?”

  Edwin leans forward, his expression thoughtful. “It should be. The spiders and the sorcerer you spoke of are a concern, but we’re prepared. Aren't we Father?"

  Father Alric inclines his head, solemn and sure. “We are, the blades are gathered and anointed. The holy incense yet clingeth to the steel. Come highsun, I shall renew the rite, when Lumina's fire burneth fiercest.”

  I raise an eyebrow, glancing at the priest. "So that's why you're here?" Alric inclines his head. "When faced with the dark, it is the light of Lumina that is thy greatest weapon."

  I eye the chainmail beneath his robes. "Will you be joining us on the field?

  He nods. “Yes. In days long past I was a mighty cleric. If sorcery is abound, I will take up my flail once more.”

  I study the old man, uncertain, but say nothing. Edwin chuckles, sensing my doubt.

  “When it comes to facing sorcery, there is no better man to have at your side than an ordained cleric. Any soldier of Lumenon would tell you the same. Isn't that right Gandre.”

  Gandre nods, mouth full. He swallows with a cough. "Aye, you don’t fight sorcery with steel alone. Never know what might happen. The two of us have the scars to show for it."

  Daniel straightens, glancing from Gandre to his father. Luna does the same, curiosity in her expression. “You’ve fought a sorcerer?” Daniel asks.

  “Not directly,” Edwin replies, voice low. “But Lumenon’s enemies are many. And not all walk the righteous path when it comes to the dark arts.” He looks to Gandre. “You remember Alken the Forest Mage?”

  Gandre nods grimly. “Aye. Battle of Greybarrow. That damned grove turned on us. Roots burst from the ground, tangled up half our lines... I watched him spear a warhorse clean through with nothing but a branch.”

  Edwin shudders. “Foul magic. Felt like the trees themselves were against us.”

  Daniel leans forward, eager to hear more. “How did you defeat him?”

  Edwin smiles faintly. “With smarts and faith in the goddess.”

  He shifts in his seat, voice lowering slightly. “We had a detachment of the Radiant Knights with us then. Their weapons sanctified, their shields blessed. Their axes burned with holy fire, real fire, I saw it myself. When they charged into the grove, the mage's magic wilted before them, burning blades carving through his roots and trees like butter.”

  Edwin looks around the fire, eyes shadowed. “Alken fled deeper into the woods, but we didn't let him get far.”

  Gandre grunts. “We lost nearly a dozen trying to reach him.”

  Edwin nods solemnly. “In the end, we surrounded him. Formed a ring of blessed shields, forced him to stay put. And from the ridge above, our archers loosed a dozen arrows into him.”

  Edwin concludes the tale with a firm nod. “The point is, dangerous though they are, sorcerers aren’t invincible. You put an arrow through their heart, or a blade, especially one blessed by Lumina, and they’ll fall like any man.”

  He gestures toward Father Alric. “Fortunately, we’ve a cleric among us.”

  Alric inclines his head solemnly. “Indeed, thou’st nothing to fear. This sorcerer shall be purged in Lumina’s divine light. The world purged of his sin.”

  Daniel, Gandre, and Edwin each bow their heads, murmuring a brief prayer.

  Another avenue for fighting Vael... something I’ll need to remember, when this is over.

  The meal ends, and we drift to our tents. But I remain under the stars, drawn by the clarity of the night sky, the moon full and bright. I slip the vial from my satchel, Zaenith’s warning echoing in my ears. The glass catches the moonlight, casting a faint purple glint across my fingers.

  My pulse quickens. I glance back toward the firelit camp, then turn away, boots crunching through the frost-laced grass as I climb a small rise, out of sight.

  At the summit, bathed in moonlight, I stare at the draught for a long moment, thumb resting on the stopper. Doubt claws at me, but the decision has already been made long ago.

  I uncork it and raise it to my lips.

  The taste is bitter and sour. I drain it in one pull.

  At first, there's nothing...

  Then agony.

  My chest seizes, breath stolen from my lungs as fire blooms beneath my ribs. A hideous crack, my legs convulse, bones snapping like dry wood. I bite hard into my own arm to stifle the scream, taste blood. My shins jut out, white and jagged, then fold, warp, flesh weaving over shifting bone.

  My ribs buckle next, one by one, splintering and knitting anew. Blood pours from my eyes, my nose, my ears, a dozen crimson streams painting the snow. My back arches violently as my spine twists.

  The intent is brutal and precise: break, rebuild, repeat. Let the body adapt to the destruction. Muscle tears, then thickens. Bone splinters, then resets, denser than before. A year’s worth of conditioning, forced into minutes of agony.

  Dread coils in my gut. My future stretching out before me, taking this potion again and again. My brothers endured it over years, fed from childhood. I’ve but begun... how long before I stand where they do??

  Time passes.... and the pain vanishes into the background.

  My mind drifts on as the world swirls around me. I collapse onto my back, staring into the stars. They shimmer and spiral, forming symbols that pulse with meaning. Constellations twist, converge, eerily familiar to the runes I've spent so much time studying.

  I look past the stars...

  And see something beyond, gazing back at me. My skull aches and throbs... my vision fades as darkness consumes my thoughts... I drift off....

  A voice cuts through it.

  “Seven?”

  I stir, groaning. Luna’s hands are on my shoulders, shaking me gently. I blink, vision swimming as I rise slowly to one elbow.

  “What happened?” I croak.

  She frowns. “We didn’t know where you’d gone. I found you here, unconscious, covered in blood. Were you attacked?”

  I shake my head. “No. I’m fine.”

  I think….

  What was that I saw… I… I can’t remember…

  What exactly did Zaenith give me?

  I rise slowly, stretching to my full height. Everything feels... different. I’m taller, just slightly. Luna’s eyes widen as she looks up at me.

  Does she notice?

  My body feels broader, denser, yet light and agile. My muscles no longer lean and wiry, closer to that of a trained warrior.

  It feels good.

  She studies me warily. "What happened to you?"

  Good question…

  I exhale, still adjusting to the sensation. “Just one of Zaenith’s potions.”

  Luna doesn’t press further, but her eyes linger a moment longer. Then she nods curtly.

  “Everyone’s ready to march. We should head back. By tomorrow... we’ll have arrived at Fort Gaellin.”

  Results

  + 3 Strength

  + 10 Life

  -1 Elixir of the Hydra