On their fourth day of travel they passed through the quaint village of Clndthik, a name that Danadrian had a very hard time pronouncing. He had to ‘swallow’ part of the vowels? Regardless, the people there had been less than friendly to three foreigners passing through, but Velandus insisted that they needed the supplies. He’d had some prepared, but the situation had gone much farther south than even he had anticipated.

  Alleria seemed the most surprised when he opened up several of the crates stored in the back of the cart to reveal produce and materials he traded with the local merchant. When asked why, she just shrugged, “I assumed they were all for show. That’s what I would’ve done at least, but it seems I underestimated the old man’s greed. Never passes up an opportunity to make a coin or two.”

  Danadrian was willing to put aside any perceived avarice, as coins spoke louder than words to many, and Velandus was a haggler to be feared. Once restocked, they continued down the dirt road, having long since departed from the Great Southern Road. They were now heading roughly north-east, in the direction of the Keloweyne River.

  His spirits were beginning to improve, especially because he’d found amongst their new supplies a flask of orange juice that was absolutely delicious, but naturally, Alleria had to scuttle those feelings with the reminder that yes, they were still being actively hunted.

  They hadn’t encountered any more Talradians, and travellers they’d passed hadn’t so much as batted an eye, but it didn’t mean they’d lowered their guard. They alternated watches at night, with Alleria taking the most of them due to the fact that she needed less sleep than they did. When they rode, she would spend most of her time in the back.

  “Rather this than having to stuff my horns under a hat all day. Honestly.”

  “Is it an unpleasant feeling then?” He asked, taking a sip from his flask.

  “For a couple of minutes? Not that much, but for hours on end? Imagine having your ears stuck behind a strap or an uncomfortable itch just out of reach on your back. It feels like that. Spare me a sip?”

  “Sure.” He handed it to her, “And you never answered me, but is it real fire? I mean, would I burn my hand if I touched them?”

  “Well, besides the fact that touching each other’s horns is reserved for intimate occasions, no, they’re not real fire.” She took a sip from the flask and her eyes widened, “This really is quite good.”

  “I know, right? Do all Demon horns look like yours, or are there variations?”

  “Variations. Mine are actually on the small side. You can expect more curls, fewer curls, pointy ones, flat ones, there’s a lot of different styles actually.”

  “Interesting-”

  “Danadrian!” Velandus stuck a hand through the tarp and waved, “Why don’t you come sit out here for a bit, there’s something you might want to see.”

  “Okay?”

  Alleria shrugged as he pulled himself out the cart and into the seat beside Velandus. Outside, the never-ending trees and hills of the Crynmon Forest continued their advance around them. When he sat down, he winced, feeling one of his bandaged wounds strain.

  “How are they feeling?”

  “The same as yesterday.” They hadn’t been willing to look for a healer in Clndthik, too many questions would have been asked, and any Talradians who may come by in search of them would have an easier time determining if they were there or not. “What did you want me to see?”

  “It should be just around the bend if I remember correctly… ah yes.”

  The cart skirted around the edge of a hill before being engulfed in a shadow. Danadrian frowned, looking up and expecting some chance cloud or larger-than-usual tree to be the source. His eyebrows shot up.

  A great stone arch loomed over the path. It was crafted of red and grey stone and several, several times larger than any building he had seen in Fordain. Velandus slowed the horse down to a trot the closer they got, allowing him to get a more detailed look. Athniuthian symbols dotted it, paired with the imagery of long-lost stories. Parts of it were flaking away, and at its sides he saw pieces of stone that had been weathered down against the test of time, but its base was so large that he doubted it could be broken for more than one hundred years.

  “Magnificent, isn’t it?”

  “…What is it? A monument?”

  “You could say that. It is one of the Oridaethian Waystones, crafted by the Carathiliar when they first came to live in this forest. It has stood tall for over two thousand years.”

  “Two thousand… how? Such a feat of architecture to be done that far back in their history is incredible.”

  Velandus chuckled, “That’s the question that has plagued the Carathiliarian Kings and masons for dare I say just as long. History says that nine once stood across the Crynmon, now there are only eight.”

  “One was destroyed? How?”

  He shook his head, “Forty years ago, when the Demons destroyed Talradius. It was the closest one to the border.”

  His heart clenched when he heard that, even as they passed under the great arch, and he saw the symbols and carvings that were etched onto the underbelly above them. He heard shifting behind him and watched Alleria stick her head out of the tarp.

  “Oh, an Oridaethian. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one.”

  “You’ve seen the others?”

  The shifting of the cloth told him she’d probably just shrugged, “Three or four, I think. I’ve seen the ruins of the destroyed one near the Dead Pool.”

  “I assume that’s near the border, then?” He really needed to absorb a map of the region, or rather, an accurate map. The few he’d seen were either vague or badly drawn, and his sense of geography was middling to say the least.

  “Yes. It was Lord Wrathius who broke it down into only a pile of large stones. Locals still leave offerings of remembrance there when they can.”

  He felt a chill go down his spine. He looked back at the massive arch of stone that had stood for thousands of years, weathering wind, rain, and storms.

  Broken down by one Demon…

  “How did he do it?” He asked against his better judgment.

  “House Wrathius are natural-born destroyers, and so more than their Lord. As I understand it, all he needed to do was lay his hand upon the stone before the entire thing began to fall apart. The lower half literally cracked under its own weight.”

  “I… see.”

  Alleria retreated her head back into the cart after that, which was good timing because they passed another traveller on horseback soon afterwards. They exchanged polite greetings as the two horses sniffed one another, and Danadrian learnt that they were within a day’s ride of Tathlani, a small town beside the Keloweyne River.

  “Do you think we’ll make it before nightfall?”

  Velandus scratched his head, “Maybe if I push it, but the roads around here are in rough shape, if you can even call them that, and the last thing I want is cracking a wheel.” Danadrian stifled a yawn while he was talking, which made him pause. “You took the longest watch last night, right?”

  “Yes, I decided to let Alleria sleep a little longer.”

  “Good of you to do so, I worry that she may push herself too far in that regard.” He nodded to the back, “I think a nap will do you some good then, at least until we get to Tathlani.”

  He saw no reason to object to that, so he clambered back into the cart. Alleria was sitting at the far end of it, staring off at nothing. She snapped out of it when she heard him sitting down.

  “Resting?”

  “Yes. Keep an ear out while I’m asleep and wake me if anything happens, will you?”

  She nodded, “You should’ve just woken me last night.”

  “I’d rather you were at one hundred percent readiness if we need to fight. And besides, you take more night watches than Velandus or I combined. You still need sleep, even if it is little.”

  He found a spot between the now-empty crates and leaned against it. Not a very comfortable experience, but over the last few day’s he’d had to get used to bedless sleeping, and though it didn’t agree with him, it was a necessity he was forced to live with. He closed his eyes and immediately felt the grip of sleep on him.

  “I will wake you up when we’re close to Tathlani. Velandus will probably want you to see it.”

  “Why is that?” He whispered.

  “You’ve never seen a baile before.”

  He was going to ask what that meant before he slipped into unconsciousness, and a dreamless sleep took over him.

  .   .   .

  When the passing breeze became a little chillier, Alleria laid a blanket over the sleeping Angelica. Though she did wonder if he even needed it, as always, he slept as still as a rock, unbothered by his surroundings. After also stealing another sip from his flask of juice, she sat down beside Velandus. Reluctantly, she’d also put a hat on to hide her horns.

  “Any sign of them?”

  “Nothing. If they’re out there biding their time… well, we’d be as good as dead anyway.”

  She chuckled, though without any humour, “How positive of you.”

  His horse grunted and flipped his ears as a couple of birds dared to land on him. The Crynmon Forest was about as wide and varied in its fauna as any forest was, but the lack of tuffhorns had been a blessing. That would’ve been a nightmare and a half to deal with.

  “What’s the plan once we get to Tathlani? I assume you’ve been cooking one up?”

  She winced, “Trying, at least. Best I’ve got is we try and find a boat willing to ferry all four of us south.” She nodded to his horse, “Brakenus is persistent, but if we get enough of a lead, he’ll have to break off his chase.”

  “Which we’re assuming is still happening.”

  “I’d have poorly misjudged him if it wasn’t. Letting a Demon slip through your net is tantamount to treason for Demon Hunters. Not finding them or chasing after rumours, that’s fine, but having them in your grip and letting them get away.” She snorted, “I heard they flogged one of their ‘younger’ members for it once.”

  “I heard that was a gross exaggeration.”

  “Yes, well, something bad had to happen for that sort of story to pop up.”

  Velandus reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of dried meat. Knowing him, he’d probably left it there for days by now. In between chews, he continued talking.

  “What about Danadrian? Have you talked to him about this?”

  “I… haven’t got around to it, no.”

  “Well, you should.” He nodded his head to what she vaguely understood to be north, “The missionaries of the Church should still be in Tandrias City, last I heard of them. He will probably want to go there.”

  She nodded, “Yes, that would make the most sense in his mind. But… Velandus, it’s right there.”

  “I know, but I doubt he knows that. And it’s likely that it won’t deter him.”

  “No, it probably won’t.”

  .   .   .

  When Danadrian was woken again, the Sun had disappeared behind the trees, and only the faintest glimmers of its light remained. Stars flickered into being in the sky above, and Cerelain was beginning to disappear behind the larger Murlan.

  “Are we there yet?”

  Alleria scoffed, “I wouldn’t be waking you if we weren’t. Go take a look, while there’s still light to see.”

  He was still rubbing his eyes and yawning when he took a seat at the front of the cart. He flinched when another rider passed them by, but it was just a Carathiliar, probably a local. Nothing to make him stare for more than a second now, he’d become so used to them. What did make his draw drop, however, was when a dark shadow passed over him. When he looked up, he saw a man leaping down the hill. In seconds, he had disappeared from view.

  “By the- what in the- how?”

  It had been little more than a couple seconds before another figure fell from the sky in much the same manner as the first.

  “Carathiliar.” Velandus' wide grin made his amusement clear, “I forgot you’ve only been to Fordain. I always considered it the strangest, or at least the most boring of the Carathiliarian towns. Although they would never admit it, they took many aspects of foreign cultures and ideas there, and I feel it restrained their freedom quite a bit.”

  He heard a cackle behind him.

  “He hasn’t seen one of them jump before?!”

  “It would seem not,” Velandus replied.

  “How are they doing that?”

  “It is a trait unique to their race. While Talradians can see in pure darkness and Moren from leagues away, the Carathiliar are blessed in another way. And that would be their legs.”

  “They can leap farther and higher than anybody else,” Alleria explained, poking a finger through the tarp to gesture with.

  Rather unnecessarily.

  “The trees here would probably be akin to us jumping over stones or small rocks, to the best of them. They’ll ascend so far into the sky that there’ve been historical accounts of people thinking they were actually flying.”

  Still trying to wrap his head around it, Danadrian nodded, “Right, that makes a little sense, but I hardly see how it would be practical. Unless they’re hunting birds instead of beasts, why would they need to get that high up?”

  As an answer, Velandus pointed ahead of them, where they were quickly reaching the crest of the hill, “Because the Carathiliar fight more than just birds up there.”

  They came over the top of the hill, and that was when Danadrian saw it.

  “Dragons.”

  A town lay before him. On one side was the river, which he assumed to be the Keloweyne, and on the other were the hills and forest the town was nestled against.

  And curled above it was the skeleton of a dragon.

  It was enormous, and if the Sun were out, would likely have kept many parts of the town in near constant shadow. A thin head lay on the southern side, whilst its spine curled into a tail that rested in the west. Then its wings, made of jagged slices of bone that connected to the main body, stretched out on either side, blanketing most of the town.

  “A dragon. They live under… a dragon’s bones.”

  “You need to read more, especially if you’re this uninformed.” Alleria’s muffled voice told him.

  Velandus just laughed, “It was worth it to see your expression. What use did the Carathiliar find with their ability to leap to such great heights? Well, they found a way to fight their natural enemies. The Carathiliar, dear Danadrian, are a race of Dragonslayers.”

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “How many towns are there like this?”

  “I couldn’t tell you that, there are quite a few. They are not exactly common, per se, but you wouldn’t have much trouble finding one when travelling across the kingdom. Hat on, Alleria?”

  “Got it.”

  He got a better view of the town itself as they came down the road. It was all built in the same, classic Carathiliarian style, but there was much to distinguish it from what he’d grown used to.

  Tathlani was smaller than Fordain, which he’d expected, but it was also more dispersed. Where Fordain had many alleyways and slim gaps between buildings, here those gaps were large enough to be considered paths in their own right. There was no bustling main road filled with activity that ran straight through town, and instead, the road they were on broke off into multiple, snaking throughout. And where the houses met the skeleton above, where he expected them to build around it, they had decided to build with it. Edges of the bone melded with the houses, and he even saw some of them build up, guided by it.

  Velandus didn’t lead them into the town itself, instead stopping the cart on a relatively flat patch of land outside of it.

  “Aren’t we going to look for an inn?”

  He shook his head, “Why waste coin when we’ve got perfectly good patches of grass and tents to us?”

  “Well, I personally wouldn’t discount the luxuries of an actual bed and a roof over my head for a change.”

  “Settling in at an inn makes us noticeable.” Alleria said, now wearing her wide-brimmed hat again, “It’s common for travellers to camp out here, and as long as we don’t get up to anything shady, the local watch won’t bother us.”

  “And we won’t be getting up to anything unscrupulous, right?”

  “… Not today, no.”

  “Alleria…”

  “I have things to do, okay?” She huffed, “It shouldn’t get us into any trouble, and even if it did, I know better than to link it back to you two.”

  Velandus was busy piling stones into a fire circle and preparing something for supper, whilst he and Alleria were putting their tents up. Once done, and after getting assurances that she wouldn’t be doing anything untoward that evening, he found a spot on the grass that gave him a view of the town. He’d agreed to take the first watch that night, after recovering his energy with the nap.

  “Are dragons native to this part of Loromire?”

  “As far as I know.” She answered, sitting down beside him with an apple in her hand, “Want one?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She shrugged and took a bite, “But you know, I haven’t ever had the chance to see one. It isn’t as common as you’d think, especially here. I think after who-knows-how-many years the dragons have started to learn that the Carathiliar can be pretty deadly for them.”

  “I am more impressed they’re able to slay them in the first place.” He nodded up at the skeleton, which even here was starting to loom over them, “And to then build a town around its corpse. I’m… not really sure how I feel about that.”

  “Dragonslaying is as much a part of their culture as the True Chaos and Kraton are. I have it on good authority that their track record in that regard is solid.”

  “I remember only a little about the nature of dragons. Do you know if they’re intelligent?”

  She scratched her head with an unoccupied hand, “Not really? At least as much as a carnivorous animal would be. They don’t have minds like we mortals do, if that’s what you’re asking. They are closer to tuffhorns and bears than people.”

  “And they’re destructive. That much I do remember.”

  She nodded, “Velandus would know more details, but I’d say that a creature that big in a pretty flammable forest would do quite a bit of harm.” She took another bite and wiped at her mouth. “Wait, why does it matter?”

  She frowned when he didn’t answer, “You weren’t seriously considering if their mortality played into this, right?”

  “They are Derumani and Chaos worshippers. Everything they do should be questioned on the moral scale.”

  “Gods be- you Light-worshippers and your beliefs. The Carathiliar are no friends of mine, but I know a monster when I see one. Does religion change anything when you're about to be charred to a crisp?”

  “So do I. I was simply considering it, that’s all.” He didn’t voice some of his thoughts out loud to her. It was better that way. Some of them… some of them worried him, and others questioned why that was the case. “You should get some rest, once we’ve had supper. I promise to wake you up for a watch this time.”

  “You’d better.” She stood up, “If I need to be at a hundred percent readiness, so do you.”

  When she walked away, Danadrian was left with extra time to think. Which didn’t mean much, since that was quickly becoming the norm. And it was all he could really do, anyway.

  .   .   .

  Alleria the homeless vagrant staggered through the streets of the waterside town of Tathlani. Beside her, she saw similar groups of begging peasants. Food was the barest commodity many achieved, and even a single copper meant more than the world to people like them, the downtrodden and forgotten. Even if it was a Dragonslayer Baile, that didn’t change the fact that this was a poor Domain, and at the bottom of this town’s economic ladder, you suffered. Even here, many locals would find solace in sticking their noses up and ignoring the plight of their fellow man, as if it made them feel better about themselves.

  She spat on the ground and grumbled to herself, mulling over those thoughts of indignation and cursing the injustice of the world.

  Practically speaking, mimicking a vagrant was not her first choice. A local peddler or merchant, sure, that made sense, it gave you ample excuse for arriving as a newcomer in the area. A swordsman or guard gave you an edge in a fight, and even the most mundane of professions, like a baker or a messenger, let you slip in and out of the crowds without anyone noticing you were there.

  But a vagrant, in specific situations, could be better than all those combined. In a well-off city where the homeless were not as numerous, perhaps she would’ve been more obvious, but here, in these years, there was no better disguise than the poor man, down on his luck. People stuck their noses up and avoided eye contact with you, which in Alleria’s case was exactly what she wanted.

  She shuffled along the dirt roads that ran through town, head hung low under her hat, which she’d dirtied with mud along with most of her attire. Even her face, as disgusting as it felt, had been coated in a layer of mud and ash from their camp, making her light skin less noticeable. It wasn’t perfect, but it would suffice. Her sword she’d carefully slung across her back, under her cloak, so as to avoid any prying eyes that might ask questions.

  A well-dressed man, well-dressed for Tathlani that is, sauntered down the road, and she immediately cowered and raised out her arms, begging him for a coin to feed her ‘family.’ She got the response she expected, which was a sneer and a wave of a hand before he kicked some mud in her direction.

  She continued on her way, passing under the shadows cast by the dragon’s skeleton. If the circumstances were different, she would’ve been looking up at it more often.

  Having stumbled her way through much of town already and muttering with her dirty brethren, she was now close to certain that there were no Talradians currently staying here. At least none that anyone knew of.

  That meant the riverside next. Shuffling her way there slowly, and with seemingly little purpose, she came to the most affluent area of the town. It's dockyard. A stretch of wooden planks and small huts running along the edge of the water, where various river boats were tied up, ranging from large vessels to local fishing boats.

  And as was the case with river towns throughout Andwelm, this was the economic hub, and the perfect place for beggars to find some coin.

  There were well over a dozen milling around here, some dressed about as well as she was, others with slightly more spring in their step. They no doubt carried a rich sum of a single silver coin as a reward for their efforts. Then, of course, there were the barely awake bunch groaning beside buildings and using the walls for support, retching, puking, and smelling more of ale and beer than people. Such was the life of a vagrant.

  She stumbled over to a grey-faced man who was currently waving his hands at a pair of dock workers. Once done with that, he pulled a long scroll of parchment and was about to start reading from it. She coughed roughly and lowered her voice, “Pardon me, sir.”

  He looked her up and down before wrinkling his nose. “I don’t have any spare coin for you.”

  She belched and laughed, “I got enough coin for my next drink, sir. I was wondering ‘bout those boats.” She pointed at the largest one.

  “Ship.”

  “Pardon?”

  “That’s a-” He shook his head, “Never you mind, what about it?”

  “Would there happen to be a vessel departing south anytime soon?”

  He squinted at her, “Hoping to stow away on one? That’s a crime, you know.”

  She grinned despite him assuming the absolute worst. “Perish the thought, I’m simply looking to smell the fresh air of Carlifwen. I’d give my left foot to be read of the muck and gunk of this place.”

  One look at the harbourmaster’s face told her that, if nothing else, he agreed with the sentiment, “Blunt, but I get it. That slim one over there? Her captain’s taking her down to Fort Aladwine. It’s not Carlifwen, but it’s close enough. It’ll cost you quite a bit, though.”

  She grinned, “But of course, I’m rolling in coin, kind sir. Thank you for troubling you.” She stooped her head and stumbled away, impersonating the half-drunken dance that he expected.

  So, there was a ship that could take them south to a town free of Talradians. That was as good an outcome as she could’ve hoped for. She hadn’t asked about a ferry that could possibly take them north to Tandrias City, which would’ve made the harbourman suspicious.

  Danadrian can ask for himself.

  Her mood lifted somewhat when she got back and saw that Velandus was stooped over their fire. The smell drifting down was mouthwatering, and she immediately sat down on her knees beside him. The vagrant left her.

  “You smell awful.” He sniffed with a look of disgust.

  “That was sort of the point.”

  “This food is reserved for Alleria, not a wandering beggar. Wash yourself up a bit before you eat.”

  “Oh, come on, it isn’t that bad.”

  He turned to look at her and winced, “At least your hands, Alleria. Your entire arms, for that matter. The Gods don’t even know where they’ve been.”

  She scowled at him but retreated into the cart to find some readily accessible water. Once she was done cleaning up and had replaced her dirty attire with a clean… a slightly less-dirty one, she returned to the fire and the waiting hands of Velandus, who handed her the leg of meat.

  “What is it?” She managed right before shoving it into her mouth.

  “Roasted colokipil. I bought it from Clndthik, and it’s kept well.”

  She nodded in agreement. It was delicious, just the right amount of tenderness and flavour, not too gamy either. It was a local bird, and quite a large one at that, which meant the leg she was eating was nearly three times the size of a chicken’s. For a moment, it allowed her to forget the worries gnawing at her, starting to plague her mind. Here was a meal that could fight them off like a knight against monsters.

  While absorbed into eating, savouring, and digesting this meal, she heard shuffling amongst the grass behind her. One look later, and Danadrian was reappearing from the forest.

  Wandering about or something.

  Perhaps he’d been scouting or had taken watch duty. She was starting to think he hadn’t fully acclimated to a mortal body and was pushing himself a bit too much. He wasn’t nearly as protective of it as he should be, and as if to confirm her point, when he stopped behind them, he was wincing and rolling one of his shoulders.

  “Bruise still?” Velandus asked.

  “I think it’s one of the cuts, I’ll need to check the bandages again.”

  “We could go into a town and ask for a healer. There’s a small building allocated for the Company of the Gethanhol that might have one. Right, Alleria?”

  She shrugged and nodded, but didn’t respond out of fear of choking.

  “It shouldn’t be too bad.” He protested, “I suspect they will heal given some time.”

  Her back was still partially to him, but even while focusing on her meal, she could feel his eyes settle on her back. Call it second nature after years of practice. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking.

  That’s an understatement. We find him hard to read even on a good day.

  She begrudgingly admitted that and took another bite out of the colokipil.

  “How well can you actually use that?”

  She shifted herself to look at him while remaining seated and replied with her mouth still full, so it was incomprehensible. When he frowned at her, she swallowed and said it again.

  “Use what? The leg?” She waved the almost-eaten meat at him.

  “No, no.” He pointed next to her, “Your sword. How well can you use it?”

  She looked down at the blade, still the sword she had stolen from the Carathiliar in the library. She’d unstrapped it before eating she’d started eating. When she looked back up, she fixed him with a hard stare.

  “Does your amnesia come and go, or is your memory periodically resetting itself?”

  “What? No.”

  “You’ve seen me fighting up close. I distinctly recall blocking a blade that would have cut you open if more than you already are. I don’t understand the question.”

  “I have seen you mimic Talradians and Carathiliar and use their own skills against them. But I don’t know if I have ever seen you display your own skill with the blade. I might’ve, but I cannot be certain.”

  There was a loud cough as Velandus choked a little on his food. “Count yourself lucky.” He muttered just loud enough that it was entirely pointless.

  She threw a pebble at his head. “Shut it, old man.”

  He smirked while dodging it. “Then answer the question.”

  “Fine.” She turned back to Danadrian, “You haven’t seen it before because there isn’t anything to see in the first place. I don’t have any skills when it comes to fighting.”

  “None at all?”

  “Practically speaking, none. I can hold the sword, but that’s pretty much it. I need someone to mimic, and when you’re in a fight, it’s sort of a given that there’s someone there.”

  “You admit that quite quickly.”

  “I’m not a warrior.” She scoffed, “And my House prides itself on our adaptability. It’s the truth, simple as that.”

  He nodded, putting a finger on his chin. “Even still, it is not a given that you would beat someone with their own abilities.”

  “How so?”

  “If you match their skill in a fight, then you bring yourself onto equal ground with them. Equal ground does not mean you will always win, as a matter of fact, I believe the tide could turn in either person’s favour.”

  “Yes, of course I know that.” It came out a little harsher than she’d intended, but she didn’t like the tone he was taking. “There’s no point in lecturing me about that, we were all taught it when we were young. It’s a fact we learn to live with.”

  He shook his head, “But it needn’t be. If every exchange you make in a duel has you balancing the scale, then you simply need to add a little more to tip it in your favour.”

  She already knew where he was going with this.

  “Learn a thing or two, pick up even a modicum of skill. If you have just a little more of your own strength to add, it could change entire outcomes. I could try and teach you a few things, and maybe Velandus even has a few-”

  “No.”

  “Alleria, maybe you should consider what he-”

  “No.”

  This would be very beneficial to us if we-

  “Not happening.” She whispered, then locked eyes with him, “There’s no point, what’s some minor skill when I can mimic mastery?”

  “You won’t even consider it?”

  She dropped the bone on the ground and stood up, dusting off her legs. “I have considered it, and there’s no point. What bare little you hope to teach me wouldn’t equate to anything in the end. Thanks for the food, Velandus. I’ll be in town if either of you needs me.”

  She broke eye contact, adjusted her hat, and turned away from them. Then she walked away, congratulating herself on having effectively shut down the conversation. She really didn’t have time for it. Gods only knew how far behind the Talradians were, and being bogged down in Tathlani of all places was not on her to-do list, especially not now.

  He’ll probably keep at it and bug us for a few days. Good thing we alternate shifts, he’ll have less time to-

  Grass crunched behind her.

  -duck.

  She threw herself down and drew her sword at the same time. Danadrian was standing over her, his sword ending a slash aimed at her back. The rusted blade arced down again. It struck the ground and sent dirt flying as she rolled out of the way and got to her feet. Levelling the blade, she tried to slow her rapidly beating heart. When she caught a glance at his face, he looked…

  Resolved.

  He came at her in a flash, his feet closing the gap between them. This time, it was a thrust aimed at her stomach that she was forced to deal with. She briefly considered knocking it aside with her sword, but the useless thing felt like an iron bar in her hands, and she had to try her best not to simply drop it to run faster. Instead, she sidestepped, keeping his thrust on her right as, not fully understanding what she should do, she threw herself and her blade forward towards his arm.

  Hopefully, the damage we do won’t be too bad.

  That turned out to be a bold assumption on her part. Before she even got close enough to him, Danadrian’s eyes snapped to her, and his thrust turned into a swing. A swing into the side of her stomach that sent her flying across the patch of grass and tumbling back onto the ground.

  Her vision swam as she felt at her side and coughed up spit. It would probably develop a bad bruise if she didn’t heal it soon. Her head hurt, and the lack of focus meant that she almost missed him approaching her again. She heaved herself to her feet, ignoring the pain, and prepared to duck away from him again.

  “When are you going to stop running?”

  She froze.

  He couldn’t have known where those words hit, and yet hit they did. Her heart was pounding as loud as drums in her ears. In her mind, his figure was replaced by one taller, clad in darker colours, repeating the same words to her.

  When are you going to stop running?

  The same words, and yet they sounded so different.

  She almost missed what he said next.

  “You’re holding it correctly, but… I think you should bend your arms more and straighten your back.”

  She glared and opened her mouth to protest.

  Then she closed it.

  He wasn’t glaring at her, admonishing her lack of technique, or even berating her, really. Instead, he seemed to be as uncertain as she was, but nonetheless tried to demonstrate what he was saying.

  “It should be something like this, I think? I wish I had a mirror or something to see what I was doing.”

  He nodded, “Now bend it a little more like… yes, like that.” He began to talk her through how to hold her sword correctly, the proper posture and the spacing of her legs. The longer he talked, the more confident he began to sound, and the more specific he became.

  “You adapt to the posture and positioning well. Were you actually trained before?”

  “I… they tried to. It never got further than this.”

  “I see. Now that sidestep into an attack was good, but if you want it to work, you need to be faster; otherwise, a swordsman of skill will do exactly what I did to you, but with a sharper blade.”

  “Did you really need to put all your force behind that, by the way?” She put a hand on her side, which she’d slowly begun to heal.

  He frowned for a second, but then the frown reversed into a small smile. “It would be improper for me to use my full strength against a beginner.”

  She stared at him for a second before groaning, “You aren’t as funny as you think you are.”

  He chuckled and continued to try and coach her. When she tried to strike at him again, she thought she got a little closer before being forced to dodge out of the way of his swing.

  “How do you even remember all of this?”

  “I honestly don’t have an answer to give, it comes to me as naturally as breathing. Voicing and trying to teach it, however…” He winced and smiled, “We’re both learning here.”

  Her movements still felt clunky, and the blade was, as always, heavy in her hands. She didn’t even feel that used to it in her grip. Alleria the Demon wasn’t a swordswoman, not even close.

  After a few more minutes, Danadrian paused and frowned. He looked at her as if for the first time seeing her, and said, “You aren’t mimicking me, are you?”

  “If only I could.” Her chuckle was actually genuine, “You’re an enigma, Lightbringer. The only person I’ve ever tried to copy and failed. At the time, I couldn’t fathom why.”

  “And now?”

  She waved her hand, “Maybe it has to do with your memories, maybe it’s part of your Angelic nature. I can’t be sure. But trust me, if I could have copied you, I would in a heartbeat.”

  He then had her swinging her sword up and down, down, and up, side to side, many, many, many times, ostensibly so her mind would get used to the feeling and the movements. It was strange, she thought, that it hadn’t already all.

  He definitely wasn’t a strict teacher and looked like he was getting the hang of it the longer time passed. He was endlessly patient and repeated what he’d said if she asked him to. Even when she finally cut his arm, all he did was nod and congratulate her. It had been a fluke.

  “You are very evasive, and I suspect that if you married that more to your blade, the end result would be devastating.” He rubbed his chin again, “But I wonder if that sort of speed would be for the best.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Just a hunch, a little nagging thought. Have you ever tried other styles before? I assume not.”

  She shook her head, “Again, I only know basics, and I know them badly. Contrary to what you may think, House Elevar isn’t specialised for combat. We thrive more in passive settings.”

  He nodded and continued to talk her through some steps. But as he did, she started to notice his arms were slowing, and he winced more and more. Then he stumbled and had to steady himself with his sword.

  “Are you okay?”

  He grimaced, “I might have opened one of my wounds again.”

  “Well, what are you still doing here?” Velandus looked at him incredulously, his staff resting in his lap as he tended to their fire. He’d been watching them go at it with amusement. “Go look for a healer.”

  “It really should be fine.” He protested, attempting a smile. Then he winced, “Okay, maybe not.”

  She sheathed her sword, “Please go. There’s no point in training if you’re left worse off.”

  “I don’t think there has ever been a man or woman who left the training grounds without their every muscle on fire. At least not those who made an effort.” He muttered.

  He strapped his sword to his back and began to walk down the hill and towards the dirt road. Then he paused and turned back to look at her. His mouth opened, closed, and then opened again.

  “I don’t know sword styles other than the one I use, and even then, names are pointless for me. But the sword you wield is best used for thrusts and stabbing movements, which you seemed to have inherent trouble with.” He paused before continuing, “That other sword you have-”

  Her body went rigid.

  Wasn’t sure he remembered.

  “-when you fought with it outside Fordain, I saw its shape and length, as well as the one-sided edge. It matches better with slashing, which you seem to have a better time doing. Just… think about it. If you are so committed to slaying every Talradian you see, then perhaps choose the weapon with which you may do so effectively.”

  He turned away and left Alleria standing there. When she finally restored motion to her body, she spun around and walked away. And again, that damned blade pulled at her.