Emmitt is by far the least enthusiastic as the battle starts up, letting out a heavy sigh as he watches Marco and Leylin disappear into the trees. He hastens to follow behind them, keeping his hands raised with nothing to hold.

  He does not have to go very far before he is a full-blown participant in the violence. An arrow flies towards him and strikes an invisible barrier, breaking into splinters. The bandit is already grabbing another arrow as Emmitt catches a glimpse of him in the distance, meeting the gaze of his false eye. Another eye appears at a closer range as a second figure reveals herself. A ponytail hangs out of the back of her mask, swinging back and forth as she brandishes her two knives.

  Emmitt steps to the side as she dives forward and slashes with a knife. The second blade is stopped midair, blocked by the invisible weapon in his hands. He drives his hands forward in a stabbing motion, and a gaping wound opens in her chest. She falls to the ground.

  “Friends! Friends! A gnome is in danger!”

  Emmitt glances at the flooded path, where Gotavv is waving him over. He just manages to catch a glimpse of the gnome in the barrel before he is forced to turn his attention back to the woods.

  Another arrow strikes an invisible barrier before him. Peering through the branches, Emmitt reaches behind his back like he’s grabbing an arrow. Once he has his invisible ammo, he puts one arm forward while the other pulls back and releases. There is a brief pause, and only the clatter of swords in the distance can be heard over the breeze. Then, the bandit holding the bow clutches their chest and stumbles out of view.

  “Friends! Friends! We need help!”

  Emmitt runs towards the sound of Gotavv’s voice. By the time he arrives, the barrel has traveled a considerable distance in the steady flow of the water, and the short creature inside is trying in vain to paddle himself towards the shore. Before he can pass out of reach, Emmitt holds his hand out, and the barrel is stopped. The water gushes around the invisible block in the stream, spraying droplets into the air.

  “Good now, there we go.” Emmitt lowers his hand, keeping the invisible barrier in place. “Think you can get it from here?”

  “It’s certainly worth a try.” Gotavv flings the end of the hook across the water and towards the barrel. Once again, it lands with a splash several yards away. He shakes his head apologetically. “Never was good with the throwing, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, we do have one person who’s good at that.” Emmitt turns to shout into the forest, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Marco! Marco! Over here!”

  No immediate response. Emmitt looks back to the gushing water. Now held in place, the gnome is a little more relaxed than before. He holds himself steady in the barrel, taking deep breaths.

  Marco lands between Emmitt and Gotavv with a thud. “What’s going on?”

  “The gnome in the barrel,” Emmitt says. “He’s stuck. Come on I’ll tag you out.”

  “Alright. Fine.” Marco takes the hook from Emmitt, who then charges back into the forest. With a simple flick of the wrist, Marco launches the hook straight across the water and towards the gnome. The hook bounces off of the invisible barrier at just the right angle to swing down and latch onto the barrel.

  Gotavv cheers and claps his hands together. He gives Marco a hearty slap on the back, almost enough to make him drop the rope. “Now that’s a good arm.”

  “You’re damned right.” Never dropping that perpetual scowl from his face, Marco hands the rope back to Gotavv and runs back towards the forest, leaping ahead as he reaches the treeline. Gotavv gives an awkward wave as he goes.

  Marco lands several yards into the trees, boots hitting the ground with a satisfying crunch. He keeps his swords raised and peers around the area. He finds himself standing behind Leylin and Emmitt, who are slowly advancing up the treeline.

  “How many left?” Marco calls over as he runs up between his companions.

  “Hold on.” Leylin raises her hand in a halting gesture, listening carefully to the sounds of the forest. Slowly tilting her head, she tightens her lips and emits a long, steady whistle. The sound echoes throughout the trees, as though rebounding off of each of the trunks.

  Marco draws his swords and holds them raised, waiting. Emmitt notches an invisible arrow in his nonexistent bow.

  Leylin points at a tree to her right, a thick birch with the bark peeling into coils. “There.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Marco flings his sword against an adjacent tree. The handle ricochets off of the trunk and flies behind the birch, where the hidden bandit lets out an audible gasp and falls to the ground. From nearby the leader of the bandit group darts from her own hiding spot and sprints out of the woods. With a few quick glances to each other, the three of them run after.

  The trees slowly thin out as the chase continues, and soon enough they are back in an open field. The leader gives a quick glance behind herself, careful not to stumble over the uneven terrain. As soon as they are all out of the forest, she makes a turn to the side, speeding down the grassy hill. After a few yards of pulling ahead she slams directly into an invisible barrier and falls to the ground.

  “Gah! Shit.”

  Marco leaps ahead to stomp down on the blade of her sword, forcing it out of her grasp. Emmitt and Leylin follow after with their own weapons raised. Emmitt in particular notes the odd material forming the weapon’s blade.

  “What is that stuff?” he asks.

  “Silver,” Marco says as he leans forward to take a closer look. “The question is where she got it.”

  The leader, still lying on the ground with her arm outstretched, takes a moment to catch her breath. She pulls herself into a half-sitting position, the side of her body now covered in dirt. Leylin puts a hand on her shoulder and rips off her mask. The face staring back is a woman with her hair tied back in a bun. She sniffles for a moment from the line of blood running down from her nose, then regards them all with a defiant expression.

  Leylin raises both tips of her blade to the woman’s face. “You better talk, I’ve got about eight eye-related puns I could use as I kill you, and I’m upset I haven’t gotten to use any yet.”

  Emmitt gives an apprehensive glance at Leylin, then back to the woman on the ground. He crouches to face her at eye level. “Look. You’re the only one left, you don’t have much to lose anymore. Tell us where you got the weapons, and this will all be done with.”

  She stares back at him in disgust. “I got the weapons when I purchased them. It’s well within my rights, is it not?”

  “Silver weapons are quite scarce at the moment.”

  “So? We had the coin. We bought them.”

  “From who?” Marco makes a show of flinging the sword under his boot along the ground behind him, far out of reach.

  “It was a friend of a friend.”

  The three of them exchange looks, unsatisfied. Without a word, Marco raises his sword up to her face.

  “What?” she says. “This is a place where a group of bandits need to distinguish themselves by drawing eyes on their faces. It shouldn’t be a surprise that there’s a black market. Black hells, maybe I got it from my church group.”

  Leylin turns to the others. “So we’re going to kill her, right? We’re going to kill her?”

  “That’s certainly what she’s pushing for at this rate,” Marco says.

  Emmitt sighs and shakes his head. He stands up. “We’re not going to kill her. Executing an unarmed prisoner in cold blood is a little dark for this early in the story.”

  “What are you thinking then?”

  Emmitt takes a moment to consider it, then gestures for the woman to get back on her feet. “Here.” He grabs her wrists behind her and begins to tie them together with invisible ropes. Once they are secure, he nudges her forward and takes a step back.

  She looks at him over her shoulder with an exasperated look. “So what exactly do I do now?”

  Emmitt looks to the others, but doesn’t find much support. Leylin lowers her blade, disappointed. Marco shrugs. Emmitt turns back to their captive. “Just, uh, go to the jail. Yes. Go to jail.”

  The woman looks to the others to ask if he is serious. Marco points off at the distance with his sword. “You heard the man.”

  They watch as the formerly imposing leader of the bandit group stumbles over the hill. By the extent to which she is struggling, it doesn’t look like she’s going to be much trouble for a while.

  Marco takes the silver sword from the ground, examining the shine visible through clumps of dirt. “Suppose we should collect these. Could come in handy. You know, since we may be fighting werewolves.”

  “Or vampires,” Leylin says.

  “Or vampires. Sure.”

  Emmitt examines the woman’s mask, the single painted eye staring up at him. “Might be good to take the masks as well. In case we need to blend in.”

  Leylin starts back towards the woods, examining the jumble of corpses. “Never let a good body go unlooted, I suppose.”

  By the time they have collected everything that could possibly be useful, Gotavv is ready to go, mounted atop the pale muskox at the front of the carriage. The gnome, standing at about two feet tall, is leaning against the side of the vehicle, soaking wet but otherwise unharmed. He has a small sickle tied to his waist as well as a set of bolas on the other side, small stones held together by string. He does not reply as they greet him, instead just giving an uncertain wave.

  “This is Alvyn,” Gotavv explains. “Couldn’t discern much beside the name. I’m afraid I don’t have a gift for languages.”

  “I can speak a bit of gnome,” Leylin says.

  Gotavv shakes his head sadly. “I’m afraid that won’t be much help. The gnome communities in Copenholm speak the language of the Gaulicians, a people long gone from this land. It is a strange, inscrutable dialect, of which very few humans can comprehend.

  “?” the gnome asks.

  “See? Inscrutable.”

  The gnome, Alvyn, climbs into the back of the carriage as the rest of them load their weapons into the trunk at the back. Leylin takes one last look at the silver sword in her hands before placing it down in the pile. “Wasn’t the government distributing these out?”

  “To the garrison, yes,” Emmitt says. “Not to random people.”

  Marco watches the flow of debris floating back towards the ocean. “I think that still has something to do with it, though. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a few bodies floating down the stream there.”

  A collection of grim looks. Emmitt calls over to Gotavv as they return to their seats. “How long do you think, with the detour and all?”

  “It’ll add at least a few hours,” the man calls back, voice reverberating through the carriage. “We’ll probably be cutting it close to sunset.”

  “Alright. We’ll have to make do then.” Emmitt climbs into the seat next to Marco, and they are off, travelling along the floodwaters as far as the stream will take them.