By lunchtime, Reed finally decided to look at the paper Hans had shoved at him. It was something like a map. If one is no fool, the location was easy to find. Reed thought for a long time about what to do with it. On one hand, the south and a final farewell to Emeron awaited him. On the other, there was a chance to do something decent for free. His soul was torn, and Reed himself didn't truly know what he wanted.

  He had already paid once for his own indifference by ruining Meredith's life. What if this time, too, his inaction destroyed someone's life? The innocent would die again, and there would be executions, severed hands, and foul violence once more. The memories of the hunt in Bradenmain made Reed shudder. This time, there would be no second Reed among the mercenaries to yield to an impulse and save at least someone.

  After a while longer, his decision took clearer shape. He knew where the hunt would take place and had enough time to get ahead of the thugs to give the mages a chance to escape. Perhaps it would be the right decision, but Reed tried with all his might to talk himself out of this reckless idea. Then a new thought flashed in his head.

  Meredith had already lived like that, hiding in old villages. What stopped her from leaving the boarding house for her former life? After all, he hadn't heard from her for many years. Who could give any guarantee that she hadn't gone back to her own people? For a while, Reed brushed off the troubling thoughts, hoping for Meredith's prudence. She had received an education and knew how to hide her nature, so why would she risk herself like that? Why join those being hunted all over Forfield? On the other hand, she was all alone. It probably seemed logical to her, as Meredith already knew such a life and likely even missed it despite all the dangers.

  Swearing foully, Reed jumped on his horse as the sun was already setting. If he were lucky, he would arrive by twilight. He left Bragos quickly and without delays, not even taking supplies for the road. He was in a hurry, hoping that his doubts had not already sealed the fate of the kreyghars, who were simply trying to exist.

  If Hans's poor excuse for a map wasn't lying, he had to ride through the forest and then head west toward an old village near Eisen. It was a good thing Bragos and Eisen were close, Reed thought. With enough effort, he could make it in time.

  The forest was like a pauper, sparse and almost lifeless. One couldn't even hide should the need arise. The horse galloped along the old trail while Reed still tormented himself with doubts. Was it worth it? What if this was a trap? Brushing away the troubling thoughts, he pushed the mare as hard as he could while the sun threatened to drop behind the horizon at any moment.

  Finally, a village loomed ahead, and Reed let out a sigh of relief. He stopped, letting the horse rest while he looked around. The surroundings were silent, as if everything around had died. No voices, no sound of hooves. For a moment he feared that it was already over and he was too late, but then he remembered how it had been with the Wasps.

  Mages wouldn't just give up. Had he been late, he would have been met by fire and the stench of corpses and blood, not the silent peace of the forest and desolation. Exhaling, Reed decided that he still shouldn't let his guard down. An ambush could be waiting for him specifically, and it would be foolish to dismiss such a possibility.

  He dismounted when the nearest houses were no more than fifty meters away. He left the mare nearby so he could leave at any moment and headed toward the very first house on foot. Trying not to make any noise, he easily hopped over a crooked fence and peered into a dusty, moss-covered window. Grimacing, he concluded that there hadn't been a trace of inhabitants there for thirty years, if not more. The roof had sagged, and the walls were decaying under the onslaught of rain, moisture, and harsh winds.

  The second house was slightly better, but it showed no signs of life either. The entire village looked like the massive skeleton of an ancient monster, its bare bones shining for all the world to see.

  A string of vulgar curses escaped his lips as Reed headed down the overgrown path deeper into the village. He swore heartily, the way only he could, using the entire vocabulary of profanity he had managed to accumulate during his years of service in Antari. He drew his blades just in case, stopping at the next house. Empty. The small path to the lopsided door was overgrown with garrey and mistaline, which sadly bent its heavy-berried branches toward the ground. The windows were smashed, and the western wall was held together by little more than a prayer.

  "Fucking hole, forgive me Mother," Reed swore again, rolling his eyes in frustration.

  He continued to grumble angrily as he returned to his horse, but to his great displeasure, the horse was no longer there. He remembered clearly leaving it right there. Yet the horse was gone.

  Reed raised his hands, clenching his teeth so hard in irritation that his jaw ached.

  "A fine night to walk to the capital."

  Sheathing his daggers, Reed tiredly covered his face with his hands, but he didn't have time to voice a new round of swearing. A sharp pain pierced his back, and with a cry, he collapsed to the ground, right into a thicket of weeds and steppe grass. The thud of hooves sounded behind him. Groaning, Reed tried to stand up but quickly thought better of it as pain flared from the other side. He gasped, turning his head to see the cause of his sudden suffering. Two arrows were biting greedily into his back. His body burned, and he could already feel the sticky moisture under his armor.

  There was some good news. Back in the day, Reed hadn't spent enough money on his armor, so he was a bit luckier than he might have been. The arrows had lodged in his muscles but hadn't pierced his chest. The thick armor and the plates sewn between the layers of leather had slowed the impact. It was also lucky that they had been shooting from a distance. Had the archer been close, the armor wouldn't have saved him. In any case, he couldn't pull the arrows out himself, but he could break them. With a groan, Reed turned onto his side, circles already swimming before his eyes. He chose an angle. When the shaft of one of the arrows pressed against the ground, his back erupted in pain, and Reed slumped sharply onto his back. A sharp snap echoed as the arrows broke off. There was bad news too. The tips had driven deeper into his body.

  Reed gasped for air, trying to dull the pain. Blood was already seeping through the seams and flowing from under the collar of his armor. They had aimed well. Reed had almost stood up when someone's boot pinned him to the ground knocking the air out of his chest. The wounds on his back sent a wave of sharp pain that brought tears to his eyes. Someone's hands turned Reed onto his back, and in the deepening twilight, he saw three men.

  "So much for helping kreyghars," he groaned, pushing away the foot that was about to stamp him into the ground again. The answer was a blow to the head that felt as if his skull would split in half. Reed could no longer resist. He only gave a foolish smile, wincing in pain.

  "You bastards, you should be on the gallows yourselves," Reed grumbled angrily. Hans's master's mercenaries had been waiting for him, apparently. What a touchy ghoul that turned out to be. "Have they already cut off everyone's hands?"

  Reed laughed in despair. It was unclear what was more in his laugh, pain or fear. The men looked at each, alarmed. The voices rang above, but Reed could no longer make out the words. Sinking into a pool of pain, he relaxed, letting go of consciousness.

  ***

  When Reed woke up, faint candlelight reflected off the stone walls as shadows danced erratically in the corners. He lay on his stomach, the coarse fabric of some pillow pressing unpleasantly into his face. The pillow stank of herbs and something alcoholic. The scent was similar to tsipur, and he knew that smell too well to be mistaken. He had once used the same remedy. It was excellent for cleaning wounds. A shiver ran over his back, and Reed realized in a panic that he was wearing only pants and boots. The familiar weight of weapons on his belt was also gone.

  Forcing his eyes open, Reed tried to stand, but a hand stopped him. It was warm and soft.

  "Stay down," a high-pitched female voice commanded.

  "Where am I?" Reed squeezed out, his voice barely audible.

  "You’re safe. You were wounded." Her hands returned to his back but did not touch the wounds that made themselves known as soon as Reed came to his senses.

  He jerked, pushing away the stranger. He was unsteady. A metallic taste flooded his mouth, and his vision swam. His legs felt like lead, and this weakness was irritating.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "Stay still!" the girl snapped. She was sitting beside the bed where Reed had been lying.

  "Who are you?"

  "Iris. Calm down and let me finish, will you!" she ordered, grimacing in indignation.

  "I'll kill you," Reed exhaled, falling to his knees. The weakness spread, robbing his muscles of strength and agility.

  "And who is going to stitch your wounds then, huh?" Iris stood up, caught him by the arm, and forced him to lie down. "Stay there, or I’ll slap you, you hear?"

  "You didn't say where we are," Reed mumbled. His lips barely obeyed him, but he managed to force out the words.

  "I can't say. Maró will come and tell you everything. Lie still." She tapped Reed on the shoulder, noticing him trying to get up again.

  When Iris began to stitch the wounds on his back, Reed no longer felt anything. He was falling into the darkness, returning only for brief moments that were not enough to realize or feel the pain. A thick gloom enveloped his consciousness, and no matter how much Reed wanted to stand up, he couldn’t.

  When he woke up again, no one was nearby. A bandage was wrapped tightly around his chest, his back ached, and his mouth was parched. Raising himself on his arms, he fell face-first into the pillow and screamed in frustration. He was shaken not so much by the wounds as by the realization that he was left unarmed.

  He managed to get a drink on his third attempt. Apparently, they had hit him quite well if his body refused to obey. The bandages stank of something herbal, but the pain was not as blinding. Reed lay there and listened to every sound.

  The wait squeezed the last drops of peace and self-control out of him. Just as Reed prepared for more attempts to stand, there was a click, and the door opened. Reed did not see his visitor until the man approached him. It was a well-dressed and not particularly old man. He had short brown hair and grey, squinting eyes.

  "My name is Maró," he said quietly, crossing his arms over his chest.

  "Thrilled for you," Reed growled, angrily scanning the visitor's face. "What do you want?"

  "For now, it is you who needs something." A smile slid across Maró's face, his gaze passing over Reed like a heavy stone. "You are wounded, and for now, it is you who needs our help."

  "Remind me, who did the wounding?" Reed countered sarcastically.

  Maró pursed his lips, admitting defeat. "I offer my apologies for that. We thought you had agreed to the hunt."

  "So why the change of heart?"

  "Someone asked on your behalf."

  "And you were so touched that you put me under lock and key? Go pour your nonsense into the ears of the port sluts. They will show you something interesting."

  "It was a precaution. We didn’t know why you really used the map. Be so kind as to clear up any doubts, Reed."

  "Clear up doubts?" He chuckled. "The truth is, I am just an ordinary idiot. I thought I would go and warm mages before those bastards sent the krey... people to the gallows, but you are doing just fine without me."

  "You came to warn us?" Maró grimaced.

  "Are you deaf?"

  "Why did you decide it was worth warning us?" There was still a shadow of distrust on his face as he spoke quietly, almost in a whisper.

  "Because that kid, Hans, told me where to go if I changed my mind. I sent him off but did not throw away the paper. I thought inaction would be complicity. I know what the hunt is about."

  "And you were ready to fight the mercenaries if they were here?"

  "I hoped it would not come to that. I thought I would get here first," Reed coughed, cutting himself off. "But all I managed was to get hit. I will remember all this for the future when some benefactor starts messing with my head again."

  "You are not a prisoner here." Maró stood up, adjusted the folds of his expensive cloak, and headed for the exit. Before leaving the room, he turned around. "Someone asked for you, Reed. Perhaps not in vain?"

  Reed only grimaced in response. He sincerely did not understand who could have asked Maró to save his life or why. Who was this Maró, and what was the purpose of this whole performance? Before he could catch onto any thought, Iris entered, the tormentor of his aching back.

  "Came to torture me?" Reed grumbled, scanning the girl.

  "Yeah, just don't kill me, master," a hint of mockery flashed in her voice.

  "I will kill you tomorrow," he played along.

  "Did Maró visit you?" the girl inquired. Receiving no answer, she continued, "He ordered not to lock you up anymore. What did you tell him?"

  "I revealed the secret to a thick, lush beard," Reed dismissed her with a frown.

  "Elves do not grow beards," Iris giggled.

  "But grow enough secrets."

  "Prickly," Iris sighed and began removing the bandages. The familiar herbal smell immediately hit his nose, mixed with the stench of blood.

  Iris cleaned his wounds, applied a clean bandage, and left without a word. She did not lock the door. Reed remained lying alone, lost in speculation about Maró, this strange place, and the equally strange circumstances that had brought him here. He went through various options, but only one seemed likely. Maró was a mage, and Reed was now in his hideout. The reasons why he was brought here remained unclear. Obviously, they wanted something from him. A chill ran over his skin as Reed considered what they might do to him if he refused to help.

  ***

  Three days later, Reed sat in a small stone-walled room and listened to Maró, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Somewhere deep down, a sense of pride flickered because both of his guesses had been correct. First, Maró really was a mage and Reed was in a hideout. Second, they really did want something from him. Specifically, they wanted a massive favor that Reed was in no position to grant.

  He couldn't even think about getting involved in their mess, considering the heavy moral battles that had preceded his decision to come to the village where he was shot. Reed looked at Maró with skepticism, for they were asking for no small thing. They wanted the king's advisor dead. The mage went on for a long time about the importance of the task and the number of lives that could be saved. The advisor had already closed in on them, he claimed.

  Reed listened and then let out a sigh of relief and rubbed his legs with his palms, preparing to stand up. A charming smile lit up his face. Maró smiled back, apparently taking the reaction for consent. Iris sat in the very corner, doubt written in her eyes. Enjoying Maró s illusions, Reed stood up, and his smile turned into a sly grin.

  "So, who's going to show me to the exit?"

  Reed was ready to give a fortune just to see the joy vanish from Maró's face again, replaced by confusion and then displeasure. He was ready to endure all the trials of Haderat, walk all of Emeron on foot, and put manure in the Emperor's boot if it gave him the chance to witness something like that even once more in his life. Pleased with himself, Reed let out an arrogant laugh as he studied Maró's sour face.

  "And I haven't forgotten about my weapons. I expect them back."

  Maró waved his hand, and soon Reed was armed again. The weight on his belt gave him a sense of confidence.

  "You're just going to leave like that?"

  "Yeah," he replied, not hiding his malice. "Listen, pal, I have nothing against hit jobs. They pay for my life. But this offer is too rich for me."

  "What's wrong?" a woman, whom Maró had introduced as Tallis, unceremoniously cut into the conversation. Reed only twitched his cheek in annoyance, giving her a brief glance.

  "Everything. It's bold, but not my style. I don't want to poke my nose into business where I'm more likely to die than to succeed."

  "But you helped mages before!"

  "I did, yes," he dismissed her, "but those are different things. The scale is completely different, and it takes too much time. I won't be able to take other work besides yours, and a man has to eat."

  "Is it just about money?" Tallis grimaced with disgust.

  "And did you think I'd get my ass into this for a 'thank you'?" He couldn't help himself and let out a sharp laugh. "I'm a mercenary, not an adventurer. It's all too long, too complex, and too unpredictable. I can't guarantee a result."

  "We all understand the risks, but we need help," Maró intervened again.

  "And who doesn't need help nowadays?" Reed asked, spreading his hands as he headed for the exit. "So, who's going to show me how to get out of this crypt of yours?"

  "At least think about it," Maró shot Reed a strange look.

  "I already have," Reed said, spinning around sharply. He took a few steps toward the table where his companions sat. His previous amusement suddenly vanished. Anger took hold of him. "I doubt you've thought about it the way I have. This isn't just a murder. It's a declaration of war. Between you," he pointed a finger at everyone present, "and the king personally. And I'll be caught between the hammer and the anvil. I won't be able to just walk away. They'll come looking for me, and I dare say they'll find me. I'll be dragged into a war that doesn't concern me, and you don't have enough money to pay for my involvement."

  Reed fell silent for a moment to catch his breath. Maró stared at him gloomily, studying him. He evidently hadn't expected such an analysis, hoping that Reed was just some thick-headed thug with no brains or wit. Their eyes met, and the damned mage couldn't take it. Maró looked away. That meant victory.

  "You'll stay on the sidelines while I become enemy number one. You'll sit here while I buy your safety with my blood."

  "But..." Tallis began. She looked as if every word Reed spoke was a slap to her face.

  "Shut up," Reed ordered, raising his voice. "You certainly won't be coming with me, and you won't be the one to bail me out if I get caught. And you," his gaze locked onto Maró, "don't have a single compelling reason for me to even consider it. And you don't have enough money."

  "And what if I do?" Maró finally said quietly.

  "And what about reasons?" A nasty smile slid across Reed's lips, leaving behind a shadow of dark amusement.

  Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed his cloak and, casting a dark look at Maró and Tallis, headed for the door. Suddenly Reed turned around again, as if he had forgotten something, and addressed Maró.

  "I won't tell anyone what we talked about here."

  Giving a theatrical bow, pleased with himself, he jerked the door open. Reed didn't even have time to take a breath before a slap burned his face. His head snapped to the side, and his vision swam. Reed squinted, putting a hand to his face that burned from the blow. When the haze cleared, he reached for his blade but couldn't strike back. The girl who had slapped him seemed like a mirage, and Reed struggled to recognize her.

  "You?" He blinked several times, as if he truly feared she was a figment of his bruised head.

  "Me," Meredith cut off coldly, measuring him with an incinerating glare.

  "Dita," he said softly, but he caught himself in time and straightened up. He pulled on his familiar mask and hid behind it. "Well, the years haven't been kind to you."

  "Ten years have passed."

  "Pity it wasn't twenty," Reed grumbled, looking away.

  Carefully pushing Meredith aside, he walked out. Maró followed Reed with a surprised look but said nothing. Reed wanted to run and hide just to avoid seeing the unspoken accusations and old, painful grudges in her eyes. He had a rough idea of what she would say and what questions she would ask, but he wasn't ready for their conversation, no matter where it might lead. The meeting was as unexpected as a punch to the gut. He needed more air and time to catch his breath.