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rockscanfly · 7 years ago

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Heir’s Revolt Part 2: Illuminations

Fire! Betrayal! Fight scenes! Smoldering glances! UST! Even more fire! After two and a half years, the second chapter of Shades Ninde's and RocksCanFly's epic adventure is finally out!

Join us in a ridiculously convoluted and expansive four-part epic tale of harrowing moral choices, whirlwind romances, thrilling adventure, and a truly unnecessary amount of snark.

Title (part two): Illumination

Authors: RocksCanFly and Shade’s Ninde

Rating: M (violence, language and eventual sexual content)

Characters: Kaldur'ahm, Roy, Artemis, Conner, M'gann, Klarion, team, etc.

Words: 51,000

Part Two Summary: Separated from the rest of his party, Prince Kaldur'ahm of Raya pursues the Fiend of Mists into the Reginian forest. Roy Harper, disgraced ward of King Oliver, leads his prey into the woods of his homeland, intent on destroying the invading prince and his army. Meanwhile, Artemis and Conner are left to guide the rest of the troops around the mountain, meeting treachery and a mysterious new ally. Allegiances are set, then questioned, and soon the assumptions that our heroes has built their lives around will burn in the light of new information.

Read at AO3, FF.net, or under the cut.

Missed out on Part 1? Here’s the link!

Roy Harper was not, technically, Prince of Reginia. For starters, he wasn’t the king’s real son, just his ward (and a disgraced ward, at that). More to the point, for Roy to have been a prince, Oliver would have had to be a proper king, which was...a stretch, to put it generously. Oliver spent about as much time overseeing the kingdom as he spent overseeing Roy’s schooling -- not much -- and was better known for gallivanting around the realm to meddle in his citizens’ daily lives than for any sort of royal presence or leadership.

Fortunately, Roy had long since shrugged off any formal association with the Crown. No longer did he find himself known as the Bastard Prince or the False Heir, titles that were muttered behind his back at court. Now, most of his titles were whispered in fear or shouted in anger to his face -- Reginia's Shadow, the Crimson Death, Death's Arrow, The Fiend of Mists, assassin, plague, coward…

These titles, grand and ignominious alike, had been earned in service to his people, and the world. In perfect honesty, Roy was quite proud of them.

When he was very young, Roy had learned well the costs of war. As he grew in the Reginian court, he had learned the causes. Wars were not fought for the sake of the people, Roy had found as he attended meetings at Oliver’s side, as he studied history and politics and was subjected to the rants and rambles of the bloated, powerful men and women who came to and from Oliver's court. Rather, he learned that wars were often fought for power, or pride, or to bring wealth to a few fortunately born people who would themselves never be forced to suffer the horrors of a battlefield without the safety of fine armor, good horses, and expensive protective magic.

To fight in a war, Roy had decided at the young age of sixteen, would be a useless and selfish thing to do.

To stop wars from occurring? That was a much more useful calling.

So Roy took it upon himself to become an assassin, akin to the famed archers and knifemen of the Shadowlands in fighting style if not in purpose and allegiance. Where those warriors often allied themselves to rulers for power and money, Roy allied himself to no one, not even his own king and guardian. Using the considerable resources and training afforded to him by his upbringing, Roy had set out on a lofty mission to end war.

Or, failing that--and Roy had seen by now that it was inevitable that he would fail, because no matter the number of greedy, power-hungry bastards he put in the ground this hydra would always sprout more heads--at least balance the scales a bit.

Frustratingly, he found he was failing even that secondary mission at the moment, as signaled by the continued presence of the spoiled twit chasing him into the forest.

Roy leapt lightly through the trees, cognizant of the enraged, gullible princeling who followed. Smiling to himself, he fired an arrow wildly behind him, more to keep the prince aware of his position than anything else.

He wouldn't want the idiot getting lost in the forest all alone, now would he?

No, Roy thought, leaping forward again, snatching up a refill of arrows for his quiver from one of the various stashes he'd left for himself on the way to his destination. We wouldn't want that at all.

He continued forward for another two miles, dodging lightly from tree to tree, swinging on ropes attached by quick-fired arrows where the gaps were too large. He made sure to stay just in front of the prince, moving in a pattern of twists and curves that would hopefully shake off any loyal soldiers following their commander. Roy was uninterested in killing them. They were fodder, pawns in a game they couldn’t hope to understand. He had no quarrel with them.

If the Shadowland assassin or the brutish young lieutenant followed, however, Roy wouldn’t hesitate to put an arrow through their throats alongside their leader.

Grabbing a last stash of arrows, Roy noted that he was closing in on his destination and surged forward. He entered the clearing just ahead of the prince--who, he noted begrudgingly, had kept up very well. Roy dodged into a large tree, disappearing behind the thick foliage and camouflaging cloth he had set up for just this moment.

Settling into his position, Roy fired a single arrow--scarlet fletched--into the middle of the field, and waited.

Seconds later, the Rayan prince came running into the clearing. Swords up in a guarded position, he scanned the trees, searching for Roy. Failing to spot the archer’s hiding place, the young, dark man stepped forward and plucked the arrow from the ground.

“Is your plan to allow me to chase you until I die of boredom?” he said loudly, snapping the arrow between two mailed fingers. “Or is it to shoot me down from the trees, like the coward you are? It would be a fine example of Reginia’s usual snivelling, cravenly tactics, I suppose,” he mocked, obviously trying to draw Roy out to meet him. The prince likely assumed that Roy was totally unskilled in close combat just because the archer didn’t run up to every enemy and bare his throat to their swords in that magnificent stupidity that Rayans oft mistook for bravery.

When Roy did not appear to rise to his bait, the prince seemed, oddly, to grow calmer rather than more agitated. He shifted his weight back on one foot, better settling himself to dodge any arrows Roy sent his way.

“I suppose it must be expected,” he said coolly, with all the superior arrogance that Roy had come to expect from his kind, “That an assassin in service to craven King Oliver, nutless paper tiger of Reginia, would use such gutless tactics.”

Up in the trees, Roy managed to suppress a guffaw of laughter. Why the little prince thought Roy would rise to such common, uninventive insults to King Oliver was beyond him. The man acted as if any member of Oliver’s court hadn’t heard the same and worse every day for years. He supposed that he expected Roy to leap down in a fit of indignant anger to avenge the insults, as if Roy were one of the Rayan’s own stupid, honor-obsessed countrymen. Pah!

“Or perhaps you serve another power, hmm?” the prince continued as his eyes continued to scan the trees, mouth twisted in an angry line. “Oliver’s silver-tongued harlot, that common crow who thinks herself a noble raven?”

Oh, Roy thought, seething as he slung his bow on his back, drawing his short sword. I’m going to make you eat those words, you little worm. Ollie is an ass, but no one talks like that about Dinah of Lance and lives.

Kaldur was unused to feeling overcome by emotion of any variety. Fear, joy, sorrow, anger, it didn’t matter what – since he’d first been able to speak, he’d been able to hold his tongue, to school his words and his countenance to keep his true feelings advantageously hidden.

The sensations that had gripped him as he’d chased the Reginian assassin through the woods, though, were like nothing he’d felt before. Not even when his father had first told him the tale of his mother’s treason had he felt such fresh rage and deep betrayal, and with them, a raw bloodlust he’d never experienced had come rushing into his veins, sending his mind over the brink of reason. On some level he could sense he had been led somewhere, that if his enemy had planned well enough to use Raquel against him, this was certainly some kind of trap as well. But that suspicion had been thoroughly obliterated beneath his desire to see the man’s body relieved of his head.

Breathing heavily, Kaldur glared up into the trees, the sound of his last insult fading into the forest as he mentally prepared a new one – anything to draw the bastard out. But before he could voice his next slur, a disturbance in the boughs of a particularly large tree drew his attention and as if out of nowhere, the red-cloaked man dropped out of its foliage to land lightly on the floor of the clearing. The sudden movement dislodged the man’s hood, and for the first time, Kaldur locked eyes with the enemy.

He was surprisingly young – for some reason, Kaldur had pictured the Fiend of the Mists as a grizzled old soldier, someone who’d seen many seasons of war, many years of death. But the figure before him – a tall, lean man with a hard jawline and eyes of startling blue – couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Kaldur himself. His bow, an impressive weapon of reddish yew, was slung across his back, while he lifted a plain short sword before him and assumed a defensive stance.

Come and get me, his gaze seemed to invite. Kaldur was more than happy to oblige.

“Decided to act the man after all?” Kaldur challenged, advancing with both swords drawn. The blood was rushing fast in his ears, but he forced himself to breathe evenly, to think clearly enough to note the subtleties of his opponent’s movements - at Kaldur’s approach, the Fiend had circled to the right, his footwork clean and practiced - this was a man familiar with the sword as well as the bow. Kaldur adjusted his course in turn, and the two fell into step, slowly rotating around one another as each waited for an opportune moment to strike.

Finally, sensing that neither was going to do anything so stupid as edge too close to the tree roots or take a full frontal swing, Kaldur slashed up with his left blade at a diagonal, following up quickly with the right when his opponent moved to deflect. Their blades met in a cascade of sparks, the Fiend twisting his sword to block the first blow and his body to dodge the second – a split second later Kaldur had retracted both his weapons and they were back to circling, neither worse for the wear.

Irritated, Kaldur grit his teeth and tried a different tactic, feinting a downward strike to lure his opponent down and then sidestepping to swing at his shoulder, hoping to land a hard enough blow to disarm him. But the Fiend simply executed a quick backstep and watched both blows cleave the air before him, a ghost of a smile flickering across his face.

“Clearly you enjoy playing games,” Kaldur spat as he brought his blades back to his chest and fell back into step. “I wonder if you would find a real fight half so amusing.”

Grinning nastily, the Fiend ducked down, sweeping out a leg in an attempt to knock Kaldur off balance. But Kaldur, well-acquainted with that move (a favorite of Artemis’s), held his ground and drove his right sword straight down in response, hoping to skewer the offending limb. In that he failed, but the tip of the weapon sank a few inches into the ground and blocked the oncoming kick. Regaining his footing quickly, the Fiend attempted to capitalize on Kaldur’s temporary loss of the one sword by taking a stiff swipe up at the prince, but Kaldur’s left sword was already in place to defend against such an attack, and once more they returned to their defensive prowl, neither staying still for even a moment.

“Nothing to say, Reginian scum?” Kaldur mocked, trying to mask the rage still quickening his breath. He took a slashing jab forward that once again, his opponent deflected cleanly. “No excuses to make for failing to kill me three weeks ago?”

The Fiend ducked back as they neared one edge of the clearing, deftly stepping backwards over a gnarled root and placing himself just outside the open area, where the trees began to close in. Kaldur, sensing that his opponent was maneuvering for tactical advantage, lifted his swords and executed an aggressive triple swing, attempting to get close enough to the other man to redirect him back into the clearing. But the assassin was too clever by half and dodged sideways into the protective arms of an old oak tree – Kaldur’s assault clipped the leaves and sent foliage raining down around them, but never made contact. To add insult to injury, a moment later the red-cloaked man had spiraled around the tree and landed himself on the clearing side, forcing Kaldur to pivot to block his next swing, and to take a step further into the forest on the one after that.

“Fight me in the shadows, then,” Kaldur growled. His opponent attacked again, a light thrust that angered Kaldur more than it endangered him, and he retaliated with a series of fierce swings, each of which met the other man’s sword with a loud clang. “Hide behind your mountains and your mists – your cowardice disgusts me.”

The man just smiled again, a cold expression that never reached his blue eyes, and Kaldur felt fresh wrath erupt inside him.

“What did you offer her?” he demanded, throwing his full strength into the next thrust of his right blade, which grazed past assassin’s shoulder as the man deftly dodged away yet again. “What lies did you tell the healer to buy her loyalty?!”

The Fiend said nothing as the two continued to dance ever deeper into the wood, the clashes of their swords muffled by the thick growth of the Reginian forest.

As the fight had drawn on, Roy found himself becoming more and more begrudgingly impressed with the prince's skills. Against most opponents, Roy usually would have found an opening by now, but the other man held fast. As it quickly became apparent that Roy had dangerously underestimated his opponent, he had turned to the trees. He wasn't going to retreat and take the man out with a well-placed arrow, not yet. The man had insulted Dinah --he deserved the humiliation of dying by the blade of a "Reginian coward".

Now Roy was still being beat back. The Rayan prince was that dangerous breed of swordsman who was as agile as he was powerful, and utterly relentless. Roy felt himself tiring as he blocked yet another set of blows from those sharp, gleaming swords. His only saving grace was the prince's anger, driven by Roy's own silence, which seemed to be making the man's offense sloppy.

If only it had the same effect on his defense, Roy thought to himself as he swung down hard to the Rayan’s unprotected side, only to have the blow blocked with one curved blade as he was forced to duck a swipe from another. I could land a blow and finally be done with this pontificating prick.

Roy considered, despite his earlier bravado, that he may be forced to flee into the trees at this point. His rage at the insult to Dinah aside, he’d worked too long and too hard to kill this son of a bitch to let himself sacrifice it all in the name of pride.

And, despite the advantage the trees gave him--allowing him to duck and dodge through the foliage, leading the prince over tricky roots and praying for him to stumble so Roy could relieve him of his beautiful, arrogant head--he was uncomfortably close to being outmatched.

Parrying yet another strike, Roy twisted around a large tree in hopes of catching the prince from behind. As he turned, he paused, catching a whiff smell of smoke on the wind.

That’s no good, Roy thought.

When the prince twisted to face Roy, the man was met with a smoke bomb to the face rather than the blade he had been expecting to block.

Leaving his opponent coughing and cursing angrily, Roy quickly disengaged himself from the fight, shooting an arrow with line into a tall tree. He went over the possible explanations in his head as he shimmied up the rope to the safety of the highest branches.

Smoke in a forest was not, under normal circumstances, anything unusual or worrying. Many Reginians in these parts made their livings producing charcoal or by hunting--but no one should have been close enough the Roy would be able to smell their campfire or the smoke from their kilns. This particular forest was abandoned, left deserted a few weeks ago after Roy had convinced the denizens of the nearby village, through various means (including one memorable night spent covered in flour and stips of gauze), that the place had become haunted.

It was a necessary deception meant to keep them away from the fight he knew was coming. If, by chance, he and the prince had stumbled across a wandering peasant in their battle, Roy would not have put it past the prince to take a hostage.

Apparently someone isn’t afraid of ghosts, Roy thought to himself wryly as he scaled the tallest branches. Up here, he’d be able to find the source of the smoke and steer the fight clear of-

Fuck all gods.

A column of thick, black smoke rose up in the distance, about two miles away. It was enormous, far too large to be anything as innocent as a simple campfire, and only seemed to be growing. An errant gust of wind blew soot towards Roy’s face, stinging his eyes red.

The village was burning.

Something like terror chilled down Roy’s spine. The Rayan armies weren’t have supposed to have made it this far into Reginian territory yet. His network of scouts throughout the borderlands hadn’t warned him of any approaching forces, he was supposed to have more time to evacuate the village, no one was supposed to be here -

But they are, Roy cut himself off. Someone’s here, someone’s burning the village. Someone’s killing the villagers.

Drawing an arrow from his quiver, Roy shot it to the farthest tree, about ten feet lower than he himself stood. Then he staked the end of the line into the branch above him, hooked a large, complicated metal hook with rolling wheels and a handle that was designed precisely for the purpose onto the rope, and launched himself into the descent. The world blurred around him as he sped off in the direction of the smoke.

“You have got to be--Get back here, you craven sack of cowardly shit!” The prince bellowed after him.

Roy ignored him.

He had bigger concerns.

Someone’s going to pay.

Watching the Fiend’s figure whistle by him and into the trees, Kaldur felt a fresh wave of rage surge through him, an exclamation of disbelief and anger ripping from his mouth unbidden. After all that chase and combat, the cur was fleeing back into his precious forest?

It didn’t even occur to him to let the matter drop. Swords still out, Kaldur tore into the forest after his foe, slashing at the foliage in his path as he kept his eyes on the taut rope above. He might not have been able to see the Fiend anymore, but he could deduce where the bastard would end up, and if he was quick enough, perhaps he could catch him before he could get much farther. There was no way he would let the sun set with the both of them still breathing – the northern scum was going to pay for playing games with his inner circle.

Only after several long minutes of running through the forest, fighting against the fatigue of bearing himself and his heavy armor quickly enough to keep a prayer of catching his enemy, did Kaldur himself notice the smoke on the wind.

So the coward is running for his allies, he thought grimly, pressing himself to move more quickly – the terrain made it difficult to keep a quick pace, as did the challenge of keeping the rope in sight through the thick evergreen boughs above. But he didn’t relish the thought of facing the assassin with whatever backup he was seeking to find. It would be more honorable (and much simpler) to finish the duel man to man.

Then as suddenly as he’d had the thought, Kaldur was bursting forth onto the crest of a low hill, the edge of the forest as abrupt as the Fiend’s flight. The faint scent of smoke had become an overwhelming stench, the air thick with the stuff, making him cough and turn away slightly. Before him stood a small village – some thirty humble houses and shops of wood and thatch. As he raised an arm to shield his face from the smoke, Kaldur spotted its source – the central square was on fire, flames already leaping from the roofs of two or three buildings toward the bellies of the rain-swollen clouds above. Even from a distance, he could hear the crackle and feel a tinge of the heat, but even more jarring were the frightened screams and shouts of the villagers as they fled their burning homes.

And suddenly Kaldur’s heart leapt, though whether in pleasure or dismay he was suddenly unsure. There were soldiers in the town below, soldiers with pikes and swords menacing frightened huddles of townsfolk, soldiers bearing torches toward the next closest row of houses. Others stood over the still bodies of those who seemed to have resisted. All wore the tunics of Savage Land mercenaries, the forces Raya’s allies had reportedly sent to assist in the Reginian invasion some weeks ago.

Momentarily forgetting about the Fiend, whom Kaldur had lost in the chaos below, Kaldur rushed forward, reaching the bottom of the hill and proceeding into the outer ring of the village.

“Soldier,” he barked to the first armored man he encountered. The man, face hidden by his helmet, looked up at him, but neither bowed nor saluted as he halted with torch in hand by the entrance to what seemed to be the apothecary. “What are you doing so far from the capital? Where is your commander--stop this senselessness and take me to him immediately !”

He hadn’t been tracking his own movements with nearly enough care, but he had studied this region extensively, and had been kept informed of all Rayan and Savage Land military movements via hawk and scout. There were no soldiers in this area - it was a rural outpost, with no military value; its people were unlikely even to produce soldiers to send to the capital, much less to host a garrison of them.

The man looked him briefly up and down--pausing to note the crest emblazoned on his armor--then stepped toward the apothecary without response, extending the torch in his hand towards the thatched roof. Kaldur sheathed one sword and shot out a hand, catching the man’s wrist.

“Soldier,” he repeated, voice laden with threat this time. “By the authority of the King himself, I order you to stand down.”

Out of nowhere, an arrow sang toward them both--Kaldur dropped the man’s arm to dodge it, rolling to the side and back upright. As he’d expected, the Fiend of the Mists stood at the end of the lane, already notching another shaft to send their way. But closer to home, the soldier who’d disregarded Kaldur’s question had reached up and, without hesitation, lit the edge of the roof.

Realizing that the point of hesitation was past, Kaldur stepped forward and lashed out at the man with his right sword, dealing him a blow to the arm that send the torch flying out of his grip. Taking a split second to see it land a safe distance from the buildings, Kaldur proceeded to disarm the rogue soldier with a series of quick slashes and thrusts, even as he lifted a hand to the sky and focused his energy on the imminent rain there. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the Fiend lifting his bow, a fresh arrow nocked, but the man seemed to hesitate, as though waiting to see what it was Kaldur was actually doing.

With a grunt of exertion, Kaldur capitalized on the flickering connection he felt to the water floating above him and brought down a short burst of rain. It didn’t seem to hurt the fire much, but the immediate dampness of the rest of the roof gave the nascent blaze nowhere to go, and a moment later it had vanished into smoke.

The man he’d disarmed, who now stood against the apothecary with Kaldur’s blade tickling his throat, gave a bitter laugh.

“You waste your time, Rayan,” he spoke, and though Kaldur still couldn’t see his face, it sounded as though he were smiling. “It will all burn, in time.”

“Who sent you here?” Kaldur demanded, still acutely aware of the Fiend watching him with arrow drawn. He would take care of him in a moment--first, he wanted answers.

“An authority greater than your own,” the man replied.

“I am Kaldur’ahm, Crown Prince of Raya and general to the northern division of this army,” Kaldur spat. “In these lands, there is no greater authority.”

“I take no orders from northern pond scum,” the man sneered back. In the background, new screams of terror pierced the air. Giving up on the brute before him, Kaldur drew back his sword, then plunged it forward - he didn’t have time for this. The villagers needed him. As the man’s lifeless body slumped to the ground before the apothecary, Kaldur turned himself in the direction of the screams, drew his other blade, and took off. The Fiend would have to wait.

Roy had expected the princeling to follow him to the village--an annoyance, sure but keeping him from following would have taken precious time that Roy just hadn't had , not with innocent lives in danger.

It had taken him only a moment to locate the center of the fire--in the town square, because where else do invading armies ever light fires?--and only a moment more to recognize the cause.

Savage Land mercenaries. Vicious, destructive brutes infamous for their cruelty and destruction. And far, far from where they should be, if Roy’s sources in the Rayan-Savage alliance were worth a damn.

Fantastic, he thought to himself as sighted a mercenary setting another roof ablaze. I needed a little target practice today, and the prince certainly wasn’t polite enough to oblige me.

But as he took aim he saw a large brute of a man pull a child from the arms of her screaming father. The thug kicked the man in the chest, then wrestled the girl until he was pressing a filthy knife to her throat. Seconds later an arrow sprouted from his own, killing him instantly and drenching the crying child in blood. Roy was already reloading-- strategic targets aside, he needed to put down the mercenaries who posed an immediate danger to the villagers first.

Three targets later and Roy was hiding out on top of one of the roofs, cursing as an arrow sailed over his head. The bastards had him pinned down from two sides, and he had no reinforcements, no cover. His best bet would be if one of the villagers--

“--Soldier! What are you doing so far from the capital?,” a voice--the prince--shouted. The man went on to berate one of the mercenaries, from the sound of it. Peeking over the roof, Roy observed the prince shouting, furious, at an unresponsive mercenary.

Now or never. Roy leapt down from the roof, running around to flank the unsuspecting prince and avoid the enemy’s archers.

Then, to Roy’s shock, the prince ordered the man to stand down, going to far as to disarm and kill the man when the mercenary set another roof ablaze.

Had that really just happened? Had the Rayan prince gone mad ? Maybe it was because the mercenary hadn’t seemed to respect his orders, whatever they had been. Yes, Roy thought to himself. He’s Rayan, so of course he’d value his pride over the life of one of his allies. That has to be the answer.

Thoughts still unsettled, Roy climbed to the next adjacent rooftop, staying low and following the prince into the town’s square. The rest of the village seemed to be abandoned but for a few villagers gathering animals and children in preparation to spirit them into the forest. The mercenaries had all gone to the square, abandoning the easy targets for something more important.

As he crested the last rooftop, ducking low into the shadow of an overhanging tree, Roy saw what that thing was.

A woman, wearing the traditional robes and iron chain of a village mayor, had been tied to a tree in the center of the square. Hasty kindling--broken crates and barrels, thatch from roofs--had been piled up around her. The Savage land mercenaries were gathered there, cowing a crowd of villagers into a huddle next to the tree.

They were going to make the villagers watch while they burned the mayor to death.

Seeking out the leader of the band, Roy cursed himself. He’d never taken the time to learn much about Savage Land mercenaries--he’d never thought he’d have to deal with them. His specialty was powerful, highly guarded targets. Not roving bands of murderers.

He had no way to tell which one of them was the leader, and he needed to solve that fast. The moment whoever was behind this gave the order, he had no doubt the mayor would go up in flames before he had time to do anything to save her.

After a few seconds he spotted the prince in a tangle of mercenaries. He was arguing loudly with one of them, making sweeping gestures with his swords. He seemed angry, as if he disapproved of what was happening. Apparently frustrated, he made a move towards the tree where the captive was held--four mercenaries came up to block him, swords drawn.

Just what the hell was going on?

The moment the Savage Landers’ blades had turned on him, Kaldur lost all hesitation. With a short, impatient jab of his sword, he sent the first man’s weapon spinning out of his hands and onto the sod below, leaving him with no way to parry the full-weighted swing of the prince’s second sword. He crumpled to the ground a moment later. By this time the others had deduced that Kaldur was not, in fact, going to hold back, and had launched attacks of their own, swinging for the vulnerabilities in his armor.

Realizing there was no way for him to block all three blows at once, Kaldur dodged backwards, mindful not to trip over the flammables piled around the area. He could take on three ordinary men, certainly, but these were cutthroat soldiers, practiced agents of death - he would need to separate them or risk leaving himself open to attack.

Gritting his teeth, Kaldur parried a swipe from one of the men and sidestepped another from a second. A third blow glanced off his pauldron, sending shockwaves down his arm as he tried to maneuver himself so that he wasn’t in the center of all three.

Turning to defend himself, he was surprised to see and arrow tip burst from the other man’s throat.

“Duck, you crazy Rayan bastard!” a voice called. Kaldur managed to duck just in time, dodging a swipe from behind by yet another soldier and, incidentally, the arrow that flew from the sky to bury itself in the man’s unprotected eye.

The archer-- the Fiend , of all people-- continued to lay down suppressing fire on the mercenaries around him with nigh impossible speed and accuracy. The man seemed to have abandoned their animosity in favor of protecting the village.

Not one to complain about good fortune, however baffling, Kaldur took advantage of the archer’s help, tripping one mercenary and stabbing him through the thigh as he hit the ground – the man wasn’t dead, but he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. Kaldur kicked his enemy’s sword out of reach, ducked another arrow, and took the luxury of looking around for the Savage Landers’ squad leader. The man had been there but a moment before. What was he–-there, by the pyre from which the goons had been taking their torches. The man was dipping an oil-ragged length of wood in the blaze.

He was going to ignite the kindling, fight or no fight.

“Reginian!” he called out, distracted by the two newly arrived soldiers who’d just set upon him. “The torchman!”

He was too far away to reach the man in time to stop him from lighting the thing up, but perhaps the archer could delay him.

An arrow sailed through the air, only to bury itself uselessly in the ground. The squad leader seemed to be significantly better at dodging than his underlings. The Fiend nocked another arrow, took aim--

And was ruthlessly attacked from behind by a mercenary. The man must have snuck up behind the Fiend in the chaos. Cursing and dodging the man’s knife, the Fiend was unable to focus on bringing down the squad leader before he reached the pyre.

Kaldur sprinted forward, rolling under yet another blade. As he ran towards the pyre he saw the Fiend plunge a short sword into his assailant's neck. Freed from the threat, the archer snatched his bow from where it had dropped on the rooftop. He hastily nocked an arrow and swung it up to take aim-

But it was too late. The squad leader had made it to pyre. As he thrust the burning rag into the center of the kindling , he shouted to the still-huddled crowd of unarmed villagers. “Look on your leader and despair, people of Reginia,” he crowed, face lit up demonically by the rising flames. “Your precious democracy cannot save you, your heroes cannot save you, your nutless king cannot save you! King Vandal is coming, and all who do not bow to him will burn like this weak, screaming bit--”

The man was cut off when an arrow buried itself in his chest, punching straight through his rusted mail shirt. With a soft, choked sound, he fell backwards into the flames.

“Rayan, save the woman,” the Fiend shouted, leaping down from his perch. “I’ll work on rescuing the villagers!”

Kaldur’s first impulse was to bristle at the order – who did the rogue think he was, commanding him to do anything? But the feeling was quickly lost in the urgency of the moment. This was no time for pride. There were lives on the line.

Faced with a snap judgment – douse the nascent flames or pull the mayor from their path – Kaldur opted for the more direct rescue. The Savage Landers had piled up an extraordinary amount of flammable debris, making for a very awkward scramble; Kaldur found himself hacking at the wooden barriers with his swords even as he clambered over each piece, trying to reach the woman bound at the center of it all. All the while, he could feel the heat flickering before him, the threat ever closer as he neared his target.

As he finally crested the last of the piled crates and branches, Kaldur locked eyes with the mayor, who even now viewed him with a lifted chin, suspicion and fear in her expression.

“Be still,” he ordered.

He swung his left blade in a powerful arc, aiming for the rope just behind her right arm. It was a good blow, but even so, only the first few lengths of rope broke, so he took to sawing, swiftly sheathing his other sword to hold the length steady. With every hack of his blade, the heat grew stronger, making sweat bead on his forehead. He hardly dared look up from his task – he knew that what had been little more than a campfire a few moments ago had already turned into a steady blaze.

“It seems inefficient to save me here only to kill me later,” the woman spoke, her voice strangely calm–calmer than Kaldur felt, at least.

“I never intended harm on you, northerner,” he replied, focused on the ropes – just a few more lengths, and they’d be…

At last, the last of the twine split and the woman sagged forward. Being bound had sapped her strength--or at least her circulation.

Without hesitation, Kaldur dipped down, flipping the woman over his shoulder as he turned just in time to see a knife flying his way. The Savage Landers didn’t quit, apparently. Striking the projectile down with his blade, Kaldur quickly assessed the path before him, took a bounding leap up onto a barrel that stood higher up in the kindling, and hurled himself and his burden away from the flames.

Almost immediately he was set upon by another mercenary, this one wielding a cruel, heavy mace. Smiling at him viciously, she advanced, raising a small round shield to block any preemptive strikes he might use to defend himself. Shifting, Kaldur considered dropping his burden so as to better defend them both.

But, in an almost predictable move, just as she reached him an arrow sprouted from her throat, sending her toppling to his feet.

“Get the mayor to safety and evacuate the village!” the Fiend yelled from across the courtyard, where he was still managing to hold off a pack of mercenaries that were trying to herd him into the corner between two cottages. “This place is done for now that the fire’s going!”

Flipping-- flipping , like some sort of court acrobat--the Fiend managed to escape the mercenaries closing in on him. Ignoring them, he drew his sword and ran forwards towards the three Savage-Landers holding the group of villagers prisoner.

“Get the hell out of here!” he shouted at the villagers as he engaged one of the guards, briefly locking short swords with him before pulling a dagger from his belt and slashing the man’s throat.

“There’s only two of them! You need to run or you’re going to burn here anyway!” he snarled at the group.

One villager--a younger woman with a grubby child gripping each of her hands--snapped out of her terror. Picking the smaller of the children up, she dodged behind one of the guards, barely escaping the man’s wild stroke at her head. Still gripping the older child, she sprinted out of the village, heading out towards the forest. The rest of the group shook their own stupor off as she made her escape, and the lot of them headed for the safety of the trees.

One guard, the one Roy wasn’t currently grappling with, managed to grab one young man by the waist. Holding a wicked dagger to the boy’s neck, he backed away towards one of the few building that wasn’t already burning.

Spotting something behind the man, Roy dropped his sword to his side. To the great concern of the mercenary and his captive alike, the redhead grinned.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said loudly as the man inched closer and closer to the building, clearly intending to round the corner.

“You so much as draw your bow and the kid’s dead, Reginian shit,” the mercenary growled.

“I wouldn’t worry about my bow if I were you, fucknuts. You’ve got bigger problems to worry about,” Roy said smugly, gesturing for the mercenary to look behind him.

“Like I’m gonna fall for that one. What do you think I am? Some kinda wet eared moro-”

In a pleasant reversal of events, it was not an arrow but two slashing swords that seemed to sprout for the mercenary’s throat, sending his head tumbling to the ground.

The kid, free of danger, stood frozen, eyes wide and fixed on Roy.

“It would be wise for you to find your family in the forest while we attend to the mercenaries and the fire,” a smooth voice counseled him. The Rayan prince emerged from the shadows he had been hiding in, stern faced and, frankly, intimidating in the firelight. The red flames that surrounded them reflected off his black armor, giving the man an otherworldly appearance.

“Drama maven,” Roy scoffed at him even as the boy, terrified, fled into the forest. “Are you actually incapable of showing up to a fight like a normal person? Or is dramatic flair one of the many frivolous things they teach in the Rayan courts?”

“You are one to talk,” Kaldur spat back incredulously, but once again, found himself swallowing his pride in the face of what lay before them. The fire had already leapt to the rooftops surrounding the square and was spreading rapidly outward. The clouds above, though heavy with rain, seemed no closer to delivering a saving downpour than they’d been. And, true to form, the mercenaries had begun to loot the village, pilfering what little of value remained from the burning buildings. Most of the villagers had run, but a few, including the mayor, lingered behind, watching the blaze spread from rooftop to rooftop.

“Why do they stay?” Kaldur asked, brow furrowing as he watched the scene. Any sane person would have run by now.

“Where would they go?” asked Roy, expression twisting. “It’s not like they’ll survive in the forest long--winter is on it's way. And even if they do, no town within a ten day’s march of here could possibly support them all. Most of them may as well be dead,” Roy continued bitterly, eyes fixed on the raging blaze. “I-- we-- were too late.”

Kaldur’s expression darkened. He eyed the underside of the clouds. They were so close – he could practically feel the hydrokinetic energy humming within them. But it was a much larger fire than the one in the mess tent had been (the one a certain infuriating archer had set, he was abruptly reminded, and shifted himself out of swords’ reach of the other man). Could he possibly…?

But he had to try. If he didn’t, then their rescue of the townspeople had only deferred their demise, not prevented it. Sheathing his swords, he resolved himself to the task at hand, even as he realized that his plan would require he place his full defense in the hands of the man who, not a half an hour ago, had been attempting to kill him.

“I am going to draw down the rain,” he said firmly, turning to the archer. “I trust you will postpone your next assassination attempt until I am finished.”

“You’re going to what ?” the other man asked, tone incredulous. “Wait, you’re a sorcerer ? No one told me you were a fucking sorcerer. Wait,” the Fiends eyes narrowed, tone suspicious. “Isn’t sorcery illegal in--”

“Just cover me while I save your people’s village,” Kaldur snapped, suddenly uncomfortable. Sheathing his swords on his back, he stripped off his gloves. He didn’t like exposing his hands when he used his magic, but with the size of this fire he was going to need as little interference between him and the water in the air as possible. He wouldn’t risk stripping away his armor to uncover his arms, though - not with the assassin so close, and the mercenaries doubtless regrouping somewhere. His hands would have to be enough.

Raising his arms above his head, he imagined physically grasping the water in the clouds above him, visualising it condensing and pulling down in a stream towards the spreading fire.

“A motherfucking sorcerer,” Roy whispered to himself as he watched the prince. The other man’s face had smoothed out into a cool mask of calm as he reached up towards the sky, fingers appearing to grasp for the clouds above them. No wonder my plan for their mess hall didn’t work, he mused to himself. He must have put the flames out before they could reach the oil Raquel had told me of.

Shaking off his bemusement- and annoyance, because frankly Roy was a little pissed that none of his informants had bothered to mention that the prince could do magic --magic being a skill you should know about if you’re planning on assassinating someone--Roy sheathed his short sword and drew his bow. He scanned around the burning square, trying to guess which direction the mercenaries would eventually attack from. After a quick look over the rest of the quadrants, he turned back towards the prince to check behind them.

Despite his long years in the Reginian court, Roy had never seen any sorcerer do anything like what the prince was doing.

The man’s hands glowed with a pale blue light that emanated from glowing symbols- like the heads of snakes or eels- that appeared on his hands. That same light shone in the large column of water that twisted its way down from the sky towards them. Roy watched, entranced, as the prince directed the snaking stream over the furthest edges of the fire, corralling the blaze in like wayward sheep or cattle. His eyes, focused wholly on the blaze before him, shone bright green with the reflection of the light.

For the first time in all his long weeks of observing the prince, Roy looked on his sworn enemy and was struck not with rage or vengeance but with admiration.

“Die, Rayan dog!” a voice shouted, and Roy had only a second between hearing the familiar twang of a bowstring before he was spinning, spreading his hands outward automatically to block the incoming arrow.

Kaldur had never attempted to manipulate such a volume of water before, and the strain of it was making his arms shake as he extended them skyward, but at the sound of the shout, he turned his head slightly, trying to divert just a fraction of his attention from the water over which he was barely maintaining control. His eyes found the source just as the arrow found the Fiend’s hand, the head slicing across the man’s palm and spiraling away, diverted from its intended destination, which by the looks of things had been Kaldur’s own head.

Before the Savage Land archer could knock another arrow, Kaldur flicked one hand down, bringing a great cascade of water pouring down over her. It wouldn’t be enough to knock her unconscious or even slow her for long, but perhaps it would be enough to give the Reginian time to apprehend her, if he was still in a condition to do so. Against his own better judgment, Kaldur felt a pang of concern for his momentary ally, but had to release it or risk losing control over the entire mass of water that still hung over their heads, slowly dampening out the fire that threatened to consume the village.

Roy cursed, clutching his hand as it began to drip blood into the dirt of the square. The cut felt deep, but thankfully not deep enough to have severed a tendon. Quickly digging a strip of cloth from his leggings pocket to staunch the blood, he ran forward towards the archer and her fellow mercenaries while the Rayan prince distracted them with the water. The archer was the greatest threat to the sorcerer, skilled swordsman that he was, and Roy’s best chance of eliminating her as a threat would to be at least get close enough that she was forced to defend herself.

He could only hope the prince finished with the fire in time to help him with the rest. He was a competent swordsman against a lone opponent, but he’d made it a point throughout his combat experience to never get stuck against a large number of enemies at once for a reason.

Roy reached the archer just as she managed to fight free of the water. She went down instantly, sodden leather-and-cloth armor smacking wetly against the dirt as she fell, clutching her slashed throat. Roy moved instantly into an offensive position as the Rayan redirected the water back to the fire, managing to take out one more mercenary as the lot gasped for air. The others recovered quickly, however, and soon it was all Roy could do to keep the rest of the mercenaries- four here, and hopefully the last of their force- at bay.

Kaldur gritted his teeth as he focused on the last of the blaze. Just the square, the center of it all, remained alight, but these flames were the most persistent, the hottest and the tallest in the whole fire. Worse still, the water from the nearby thunderclouds was nearly depleted, and he wasn’t nearly a skilled enough mage to reclaim the water from the ground or from the clouds beyond the boundaries of the village. Aware that time was of the essence - out of the corner of his eye he could spy the Fiend doing his best to ward off a group of several Savage Landers, but it was clear his hand was hindering him - Kaldur focused his energy on the dwindling cloud above him and spread his fingers wide and down, bringing the last of the water crashing down onto the blaze.

In an explosion of steam and smoke, the fire flashed, flickered and went out, hissing and sending clouds of hot, moist air billowing out all through the village.

Taking just enough time to ensure that the blaze was well and truly quenched, Kaldur drew his swords, pivoted towards the fight and took off at a run.

Back turned to the Rayan as he blocked the entrance to the square, Roy didn’t notice that the fire had been extinguished and that the prince had rejoined the fight until one of the two mercenaries attempting to hack him up with swords was suddenly engaged with the prince. Blades dancing, the prince managed to quickly disarm the man before slicing neatly across his throat with one curved sword.

Roy, who had in the few brief seconds of panic caused by the prince’s reappearance in the fight, just managed to notice the last two mercenaries, who had largely hung-back, begin to flee into the forest.

“Oh, no you don’t you little shits,” he muttered. Deciding that it would be quicker and far more satisfactory to shoot them then run them down, he drew his bow and quickly did exactly that. One arrow caught the shorter man in the chest, who crumpled immediately. The next two caught the last man in the legs, crippling him.

“Your aim seems to be off,” the prince commented from the side. He was busy wiping his blades clean with a cloth while he surveyed the ruined square. Prick hadn’t even turned to see the mercenaries escaping, seemingly trusting Roy to take care of it.

“I wasn’t trying to kill him,” Roy snapped back, advancing on the fallen man. “You of all people should know that Savage Land bands never attack just one village when they’re pillaging countrysides.”

Kaldur bit his tongue and didn’t reply to the other man’s quip. Yes, he knew of Savage Land bands by reputation – on the border with Centralia, a country far to the south, they were known to be barbarously pitiless, indiscriminately murdering citizens and razing entire villages to the ground as they tried to do with this one. Yet he’d never seen it happen until now, because the Savage Landers’ blades had been promised to his father, and had been acting under Rayan command. This group, intent on slaughter rather than conquest, had clearly had other orders.

Sheathing both his blades (but keeping a close eye on the Reginian), Kaldur watched the other man approach the fallen mercenary and stood off to the side a ways, close enough to hear what was said. He too wanted answers, though he was hesitant to ask the questions he had in front of an enemy spy. No need for the Fiend of the Mists to have intelligence on the state of the Rayan chain of command, which had apparently corroded.

Reaching the fallen man, Roy flipped him over and pressed a knife to his throat. Rather than ripping into him with threats and questions immediately, he allowed a few silent moments to pass. An old friend of Ollie’s had once taught him that stone faced silence and the gentle edge of a knife is an infinitely more efficient approach to interrogation than screaming. The advice had worked so far, and judging from man’s whimpering and unpleasant smell of piss emanating off of him, it was continuing to do so.

“Okay, asshole,” Roy said lowly, twisting the man’s arm behind his back in a hold. “Let's talk about which of my villages your friends are visiting.”

An uncomfortable silence hung between the two men as they made their way through the trees.

“The northern climate does seem to foster a sense of...creativity,” Kaldur finally commented as they hurried up the side of a steep hill, dodging foliage and using sturdier branches for handholds. The Fiend was a half a step in front of him as they made haste toward what the other man had promised was the next village under threat, and in a strange land with a new, common enemy, Kaldur had had no choice but to take his word. “Some of those threats had never even crossed my mind...not even with regards to you.”

Their temporary alliance aside, he wasn’t about to cozy up with the bastard.

"Just because you and your allies can't ask for directions without cutting someone's tongue out," Roy grunted as he ducked beneath some low hanging branches, "Doesn't mean the rest of us have to be so quick to bring out the knives and branding. We're a more civil sort."

The Rayan took in a deep breath behind him, obviously readying a rebuttal. Smirking, Roy let the branch he'd been holding out of their path go. It whistled back into place, smacking into the other man with a heavy wumph .

Kaldur muffled his own noise of surprise, eyes narrowing in annoyance as he pushed the offending branch aside.

"Your actions belie your words," he grunted when he’d recovered. “Were there not a horde of rogue soldiers for us to engage on the other side of this mountain, I would abandon my good manners a moment and let you taste my blade.”

Roy tripped over a root, surprised. When the Rayan did not continue the joke, he was forced to evaluate two possibilities. Either the the prince was flirting with him, an assassin bent upon his death, and doing a terrible job of it; or, perhaps even more ridiculously, the prince was so sheltered he didn’t see the blatant innuendo in his own words.

Steeling himself, Roy tested the two options. “I’m pretty sure I can handle your blade,” he scoffed. “Let's see how much you have to say with my shaft in your throat.”

“You can hardly hold a bow at the moment, much less fire it,” Kaldur shot back, using one of his swords to hack down a branch in his way. “I should hardly think us an even match, for which you might be grateful. I’d have had your head an hour ago if I thought the fight fair.”

He let out a curse, frustrated at the relentless wildness of the landscape, and switched topics: “Are there no roads in your godsforsaken country?”

"In the parts that aren't here to make life difficult for invading armies? Yes,” Roy chuckled. “Will I ensure that you never live to set foot on one unless it's to offer a peace treaty to the council? Absolutely,” Roy continued after catching his breath. “You invade, you trample through mountains and thick forests. That's how it goes."

Kaldur muttered another curse below his breath, glancing up through the trees at the ever-darkening sky. The Fiend had told him the next village over was at least a five-hour journey through the wooded mountains, and while Kaldur was certainly up to the physical trek, even after their fight back in the valley, the prospect of spending another several hours in the company of this insufferable cur was making his head hurt.

But there was no point in cursing fate – right now, a duty lay before him, and before he could consider the day’s terrible luck he had to guarantee that no more Savage Land demons dirtied his country’s name. They had come to Reginia to unite the north under the Rayan flag, not to watch the mountains burn.

The Fiend, on the other hand...well, he could burn, when this was all over. It would be a pity to lose a warrior of such skill and versatility, but Kaldur was not one to indulge pity for long.

"Shit," the Fiend muttered, right before stopping abruptly at the edge of a clearing. "Storm's coming in. We need to hurry if we're going to make it down there in time."

"Afraid of a little rain?" Kaldur sniped.

"We have to climb down a cliff to get the the village, unless you want to take the half-day's journey down the east half of the mountain. I don’t fancy trying to scale down wet rocks, but if that’s a Rayan water-mage specialty then be my guest."

“I am not – “ Kaldur began, then shut his mouth. He didn’t need to defend what he was or wasn’t to the Fiend, of all people, but in his homeland it was true that magic was considered a low art, something used only by people of ill repute. For the most part, he’d kept his sorcerous proclivities a secret (with his father’s encouragement) but in any case, he wasn’t skilled enough to combine mystic arts and mountaineering. “Let us make haste, then.”

Skirting around the clearing out of mutual caution, the two hurried towards the village. Kaldur could still not discern just how the Fiend knew where he was going through the thick foliage. It was not as if the man could use the position of the sun, what with it being hidden behind clouds.

True to Roy's prediction, rain began to fall on them less than twenty minutes into their dash to the cliffs. The water fell gently at first, but it slicked roots and dead leaves, making running more difficult than it already had been. By the time they emerged on the cliff, overlooking a rushing creek and a steep drop, the drizzle had become a downpour.

"Fuck," Roy cursed, staring out over the trees. He couldn't spot any columns of smoke rising up in the distance. That wasn't saying much, considering how little visibility they had with the downpour. But it settled his racing heart, of only a little. “We’re going to have to hole up for the night.”

“Hole up?” Kaldur repeated incredulously. “Surely we don’t have time for such – “

“ –it’ll be faster,” Roy cut him off. “In this weather, it’ll take just as long to go around as it will to wait it out, and this way we can get some rest.”

“There is no guarantee the storm will pass by the morning,” Kaldur argued, glancing down the cliffs. The rain had only just begun, perhaps it was still dry enough to...but suddenly he remembered the Fiend’s injured hand and bit his tongue. There was no way. It would be risky enough for them to climb down even at full strength, but exhausted and wounded, they were almost guaranteed to fall.

“It’ll pass,” Roy said confidently. “I know these storms. They come quickly, they leave quickly. Now come on--I know a place.”

Roy lead the way to a rise in the rock, receded a little into the forest. There was a cave entrance, situated on higher ground and protected by an overhanging boulder. Set a few feet back from the mouth of the cave was a crude wooden door.

"To keep animals out," Roy explained as he produced a key to the rusty lock. "No one really comes up here but me and the occasional crazed hermit, but finding a bear nestled in with one of my stashes is the last thing I want when I'm hiding out."

"You have multiple such places in these mountains?" Kaldur questioned, stopping in the doorway. Mostly, he was hoping to stall while he evaluated exactly what he was walking into - a trap? An ambush? The culminating step in an elaborate snare, laid by the archer before the day’s events had even begun?

"Shit," Roy muttered, groping along the wall for a torch. "Probably shouldn't have told you that."

Kaldur squinted into the darkness suspiciously.

“You will forgive me if I stand in the rain a moment longer,” he said at last, folding his arms over his chest but keeping them loose so he could draw his sword in a flash if the need arose.

"Okay, Princess, it's not that bad," Roy said, grunting in satisfaction as he found the torch. He dropped to the dirt floor, clenching it between his knees as he attempted to light it with a flint and steel. "Sure it smells ghastly and the hay in the mattress is probably moldy, but it's better than the rain and there's a vent up top so we can have a fire."

“It is not the smell that made me hesitate,” said Kaldur, peering into the space now that the torch made it possible to see inside.

It was definitely cozy-- probably no room to hide a slew of murderous Reginians further in, unless there was some kind of hidden door, but that seemed overinvolved. Deciding it was unlikely that the Fiend had thought this far ahead, Kaldur finally stepped inside, keeping one hand on his sword hilt just in case.

"If I planned on killing you I would have just let you try to scale the cliffs," Roy scoffed. Placing the torch in a hole dug for the purpose, he set about getting the fire started. His clothes were soaked through, and he didn't fancy fighting the Savage Land mercenaries with a wounded hand and a fever. "Make yourself useful and gather some kindling, will you? It's over in the corner there,” he suggested to the prince as he lugged a few small logs over to the fire pit. “You can set your stuff down over near the gear.”

Inwardly bristling at being given orders, but recognizing the sense in them, Kaldur decided to heed just the direct one, and headed to the corner to fetch the kindling.

He had to hand it to the Fiend – odd smells aside, the little hideaway was well-stocked, not just with firewood but with spare clothes, armor, fletching equipment, and what looked to be (hopefully imperishable) food. Whoever and whatever else the man was, he was intelligent and thorough...which, of course, only made him more dangerous.

Declining to strip off a single piece of his armor or weaponry, Kaldur hefted several large lengths of firewood and some smaller pieces for kindling over to the pit and set about arranging them for a proper fire. His inclination toward civility urged him to close the door while he was at it, but he wasn’t about to shut off his escape just yet, so he left it standing for the time being, silently focusing his attention on the nascent fire.

While the Rayan busied himself with trying to coax the slightly damp wood into a flame, Roy began stripping off his wet gear. At this point he was certain he could trust the other man not to murder him in his sleep--the foolishness that passed as honor in the prince's nation was a better shield against the man's swords than plate armor.

"The storm will be over in no more than five hours," Roy commented as he shucked off his various layers. The buckles for his leather bracers were tricky when slick, and having his hand stiffened by injury and bandages wasn't helping. "If we wait an hour after that the cliffs will be dry enough to scale safely, especially once we get the ropes rigged up. After that it's an hour or so to the village. We eat, set our gear out to dry, and try to catch some sleep," Roy continued, bending to unlace his boots. Once they were off he saw to his trousers. He elected to leave the short underclothes alone--he'd change them once the prince was asleep. "I'm guessing you'd want first watch?"

“Certainly,” said Kaldur, eyes flicking over to where the other man was undressing, it seemed, without hesitation or even caution. Kaldur swallowed, suddenly more aware of the way his cold, soaked clothing clung to his own skin.

Clearly, the Fiend was either very foolish, very confident, or very certain Kaldur wouldn’t try to kill him with his britches down. Which, to be fair, Kaldur didn’t plan to do. He turned back to the fire, feeling its heat reach his face at last (yes, it was definitely the fire).

“If you think that exposing yourself will prompt me to do the same, you will find you are mistaken,” he muttered. Sure, the prospect of sleeping in armor was hardly appealing, but neither was the prospect of sleeping at all, with the man who’d almost succeeded in killing him watching just a few meters off.

"I'm guessing the phrase 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours' isn't a thing in your culture?" Roy teased. "Don't worry, little prince. If I wanted to kill you tonight you’d already know. But you can keep your clothes on if it makes you feel safe from the fearsome ‘Fiend of the Mist’.”

The prince glared at him, refusing to dignify his teasing with a response. Shrugging, Roy shucked off his undershirt, lining it up with the rest of the clothes near the fire to dry. Making his way over to one of the sacks, he withdrew a small bag of dried fish, some hard tack biscuits, and a few hard, withered apples.

"It's not what you're probably used to," Roy commented as he approached the other man crouched by the fire, "But it's better than going hungry. Dig in. I promise it's not poisoned."

“You will not mind if I ask you to eat it first, then,” said Kaldur, watching the Fiend out of the corner of his eye as he prodded the blaze and hoped the other man wouldn’t notice he was actually pretty wretched at firebuilding (he was a water mage, dammit, and Artemis had always taken over before he’d learned to improve).

Roy rolled his eyes as he sat down beside the prince and crunched off the end of one of the biscuits.

"If you can't get over the idea that I'm going to kill you--before we save the village, you fuck, don't glare--then this is going to be a very long night," Roy complained. "If you don't sleep you're going to be useless to me, so what do I need to do? Let you tie me up for the night?"

The prince’s eyes shifted down to Roy's hand, lingering on the bandage.

“Allow me to put a salve on your injury,” he said quietly, after a pause. “Without full use of your hand you're as useless to me as you claim I would be to you. Trust me to heal it, and I will consider extending the courtesy in return."

"I'm not letting you slather that gunk on my hand," Roy retorted, scooting back. "Raquel told me that a Savage Lander gave it to you. Sentiments toward you aside, I don't trust Savage Landers. No deal."

“You will not trust a Savage Land salve, which restored me the use of my shoulder, yet you would have me trust you, the one who destroyed my shoulder in the first place,” Kaldur summarized dryly, unimpressed.

“I need you alive for now. I don’t know what the Savage Land’s plans are for the Rayan Prince, but judging by those mercenaries they aren’t going to be pretty. Didn’t your mother ever warn you not to take healing salves from desert dwelling psychopaths?”

“No,” said Kaldur curtly. He hesitated a moment before opening the clasp on a pouch that hung from his belt, beside his sword. Reaching inside, he withdrew two small glass vials, each marked with Raquel’s neat script. At that thought, his stomach gave an angry turn–this was the man who had turned his friend against him–but he swallowed the feeling and turned back to the Reginian, who was still watching him intently in the firelight.

“Not of the Savage Lands,” Kaldur explained, uncorking both bottles to let the other man smell their contents and trying to hide the bitterness in his voice. “Raquel’s, Kodatan. She used them to treat my wound before the Savage Land envoy arrived with their own medicines. Though perhaps they were actually designed to slow my recovery, since I know now she was your agent all along. You may make up your own mind on that risk.”

Roy took in Kaldur's glare, the defensive hunch to his shoulders and the bitter downturn of his mouth. "So it's still about her, huh?" Roy asked.

When the prince did not reply, Roy shrugged.

"Believe me, I asked her to poison you--but it wasn't with that. All it would have taken was a couple pinches of powder in your camp’s stew every night for a week to take the lot of you down, and bam ,” Roy chuckled, sliding a finger across his neck in a quick gesture. Then he sighed, settling back to rest on his elbows as he faced into the fire. “But she wouldn't do it,” he said softly. His voice was gentle, even fond.

��She didn't want any part of it--the killing, the invading, the wasted lives. That's why she needed me to help her get out. Living under the thumb of the Rayans,” here Roy turned his head to return Kaldur’s accusing glare, blue eyes steely in the firelight. “Your father and his conquests --there's no way she and her kid were ever going to have peace."

“She has a child?” Kaldur asked, his voice quiet, controlled. “She never mentioned such a thing.”

Raquel had refused to poison him. She had tried to help him recover, even though she had–

Her words from just after the rockslide suddenly came back to Kaldur. He’d been running and fighting nearly without cease since she’d spoken, but now he remembered her stinging condemnation of his father’s kingdom, of the Rayan annexation of Kodata, which Kaldur had always understood to be peaceful and voluntary...

"Yeah, she does,” said Roy. “Cute kid, complete pain the ass to travel with though. He'd sing this one song she taught him, all the fucking time--but he was a good kid. Less of a pain to travel with than you are, that's for damn sure. Even if it was a two week trip from Raya to Atlantis, it was worth it."

“So that was the deal?”

“About the sum of it. I arrange for safe passage for both her son and herself to Atlantis, she hands me intel about your movements and your plans for a few weeks. That and a few extras from her medical kit. What I didn’t anticipate was her hand delivering you to me.”

Kaldur scowled at the reminder. Thinking of the events of that morning – already they seemed so distant in the past – made him wonder where Artemis and Conner were now, if they were safe. They could have traveled leagues by now, and in any direction. Even if he made it out of his current predicament, would he be able to find them?

“Give me your hand,” he finally said, finished with the topic. He didn’t want to dwell on Raquel’s betrayal. It only drove deeper the conflict he felt within. “Let me see if I can make it fit to turn against me tomorrow.”

"Was that sass, your highness?" Roy quipped as he handed over the offending appendage. The prince's hands were firm but cautious as they unwrapped the wound. Roy winced as the tacky fabric pulled away from the long cut.

"It does not appear to be infected," the Rayan commented, ignoring him, before reaching into a side pouch. He withdrew a simple copper vessel, about the size of a pillbox. Opening it, he revealed a light green powder. Carefully, took a pinch of the powder in one palm, mixing equal measures of liquid from the vials into it until he had created a smooth paste.

Corking the vials and shutting the vessel, Kaldur dipped one finger into the paste. He gathered up as small amount of the stuff before working it into the skin around Roy’s cut, careful not to disturb the scab and restart the bleeding. "This should speed the healing process and keep infections at bay," said the prince. "I found that it also relieves the tightness as the skin regrows. Raquel was-- is --a skilled healer. You should be fine in a few days."

"I thought you didn't intend to let me live past tomorrow," said Roy. A strange calm had sprung up between them in the crowded space. He wouldn't call it intimate--they were still enemies, stalemate or no. But there was something peaceful about the other man, his hands cradling Roy's wrists in the light of the fire. It was... pleasant.

Dangerous.

Kaldur released the other man’s hand as he finished rewrapping it and sat back.

“I will not kill you while you cannot defend yourself ably,” he said, taking one of the dried strips of fish from the bag between them. “I know you think me a barbarian and a fool for this. Fortunately for you, I do not particularly care what you think of me.”

He took a bite of the fish and settled back against the wall of the little cave, eyes lifting to the other man’s challengingly. Once again, Kaldur was struck by how young the Fiend was, though the scars that littered his chest and arms hinted that he’d lived plenty in his time.

“Do you have a name?” Kaldur finally asked, figuring that it was only fair – clearly the other man knew his.

"Roy Harper," Roy grunted as he examined his hand. The bandages were wrapped neatly. More neatly than he himself had ever managed, at least.

“Roy,” Kaldur scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “ The king. Well, I suppose your country is in need of one.”

“There’s that sass again--you’re far too puckish to be the son of David of Raya. Your mother--where was she from? Somewhere with a superior sense of humor to Raya, I’d wager.”

“My mother is dead,” Kaldur lied evenly. He had no idea if his mother lived or not, and it wasn’t like her heritage was a well-kept secret in the Rayan court, but if the other man--Roy--if Roy didn’t already know, he saw no need to inform him. It had stung enough to know that Raquel was running away to Atlantis, just as his mother once had.

When the Reginian didn’t respond, Kaldur let the silence continue, feeling deeply weary, perhaps wearier than when he’d first awoken after being laid low by Roy’s arrow. Part of him wondered if the day hadn’t all been some sort of fever dream, that the Savage Land salve had indeed addled his mind and he’d awaken to Artemis’s incredulous rage that he’d ever do something so stupid.

Finally, with the prospect of a long night ahead, Kaldur decided that his odds of being slain in his sleep were slightly outweighed by his odds of contracting hypothermia should he stay in his soaked gear. Reaching beneath his pauldron to feel for the first of the many buckles that held the heavy plate in place, Kaldur began the slow, methodical process of removing his armor. Roy watched on without comment, blue eyes reflecting the firelight, until Kaldur had stripped down to just his tunic, at which point the Rayan prince hesitated.

“Do you mind?” he asked pointedly.

“Not at all,” Roy replied. “For a brainwashed fool, you’re not horrible to look at.”

Kaldur felt heat rise to his cheeks. “I suppose that,” he spat, “Is another tidbit you learned from your informants?”

“I don’t need informants to tell me that,” Roy replied as he stretched out by the fire, tugging one arm across his chest to pull the weary muscle. The light of the fire highlighted the sharp planes of his biceps and lent a glow to his red hair. He smirked up at Kaldur, mouth twisted in a mocking grin. “I got that after the first five minutes of talking to you.”

“I am betrothed, you know,” Kaldur shot back tightly, turning his back when he realized the other man wasn’t actually going to look away. As soon as he’d laid the garment out to dry by the fire, he reached for his mail shirt and slid it back on, not just for modesty’s sake but because the present conversation had done little to put him at ease. Not that he cared what the Reginian thought of his inclinations, but he had no energy to put up with being mocked at the moment.

And yes, so his betrothal to Artemis was hardly official, more something their fathers seemed to think was inevitable than an official contract, but he owed his would-be assassin no such details. Resuming his seat by the fire, Kaldur cast one more glare toward the other man and reached for his water satchel.

“I don’t know what that has to do with anything,” Roy replied. He was honestly a bit bewildered by the prince’s reactions. Roy had made no secret that he thought the Rayan a fool for his whole-hearted belief in his father’s good intentions. Shrugging it off as a sign that prudish youth was simply unused to taking a compliment, Roy wandered over to the sleeping pallet. “Wake me in two hours,” he demanded. “If you give yourself the whole watch I might just let you fall down the cliffs when we scale them. You’d be about as useful.”

“I would not put it past you to push me,” muttered Kaldur, settling back against the wall of the cave and straightening his posture – always easier to stay awake sitting up properly. “Sweet dreams, northern scum.”

“Right back at ya, you prissy bastard,” Roy threw over his shoulder as he settled on the musty straw pallet. Tossing and turning, he found that the only comfortable way to sleep was on his side, facing the fire and the prince. Drawing the ratty blanket over his face to block his eyes, Roy settled in to sleep. The last thing he saw as his eyes drifted shut was the prince’s pensive face, golden in the flickering firelight.

Mid-morning saw the two men--neither any more dead than he had been the day before, much to their mutual surprise--traversing through yet another deep, gnarled wood. The cliffs were behind them, having posed only minor difficulty after Roy had procured a rope from his hideout and used it to aid in their descent, which had taken the better part of an hour.

Now, without the difficulty of scaling down a rock face not quite dried from the previous night’s rain, Kaldur found his thoughts wandering in unpleasant directions, pulled this way and that by the events of the last two days.

Yesterday morning, he had been a prince in command of an army, healed and moving toward what he felt had been certain victory on the Reginian front. Yesterday afternoon, he had been a man consumed by rage and betrayal, driven only by the desire to separate the Fiend’s head from his shoulders. Yesterday evening, he had been a traitor to his allies and an ally to his assassin. And today, he was...well, Kaldur had no idea what he was, today. The task before him was simple enough: ensure that no villagers fell to the Savage Landers’ blades. But the task after that…

For probably the eighteenth time in the last hour, a twisted root seemed to lift out of the forest floor and snare Kaldur’s foot, wresting his thoughts back into the present moment as he caught his balance and glared down at the damnable plant. It was as if even the very land wanted him dead.

"You're not very graceful, are you?" Roy quipped from ahead. The archer was stepping lightly through the forest, dodging hidden roots and vines with supernatural ease. "Did they not tell you there'd be plants before you charged forward to lead Daddy’s army to ‘glorious victory over the savage horde’? Maybe you would have reconsidered the war if they'd only told you there'd be vines?"

Kaldur remained silent, focusing his attention on keeping his footing. He'd not rise to the man's obvious baiting.

Rather than sink into blessed silence, the Fiend seemed to take his own quiet as encouragement. "Maybe I should write to the king," he said as he hopped over a large log. "Dear sire, I've made a discovery. Simply lay the path of the Rayans with a tangle of vines, and they shall become hopelessly enmeshed so that they cannot even swing a sword."

“You know these parts,” Kaldur said defensively as he hacked aside another branch. It wasn’t his fault that Raya was mostly flat, fertile farmland, and that his people had had the decency to lay down roads. “Are we close? I am eager to be done with the Savage Landers so I can turn my attention to silencing your insufferable chatter.”

Roy smirked in front, glancing up through the trees to orient himself with respect to the mountains.

“We’re close,” he confirmed. “Very close. The woods should start thinning soon. Maybe you’ll even be able to walk without embarrassing yourself.”

Kaldur bit back his retort, wondering more and more if it wouldn’t be worth it just to cut out the man’s tongue - he’d still be able to fire a bow, after all. But probably he’d be less amenable to a partnership against the Savage Landers. And besides, Kaldur wasn’t certain he had the stomach for that sort of thing, anyway.

True to the Reginian’s word, as they walked the sunlight began to filter through the foliage above just a bit more, and the trees began to slim, and finally Kaldur was pretty sure he could see the end of the forest ahead - a warm, shining pool of light at the trail’s end. The unnerving total hush of the wood began to lift. And then--

“Do you hear that?” Kaldur asked suddenly, stopping in his tracks to silence his own movements.

He could have sworn he’d heard the tell-tale sound of clanging metal from up ahead.

"Yeah," Roy whispered. "Looks like they didn't stop for the storm. We need to make this quick and sneaky if we want to beat them, so follow my lead."

With that he took off, eating up the ground between them and the village in a furious sprint. Kaldur followed as he was able, internally cursing his armor for its weight and its noisome clanking.

As they approached the village they began to hear more of the battle. Rather than the screams of villagers being slaughtered, the noise seemed more natural to an actual battle. There was the clanging of clashing swords and shields, the thud of arrowheads piercing through armor, the shrieks of dying and injured combatants.

The moment the first hut came into sight, Roy halted, ducking behind a large tree. Signalling to Kaldur to follow him, he clambered up into the tree's thick foliage to get a better view of the scene.

What he saw as he rose over the hut's roof wasn’t exactly what he’d been expecting.

There were Savage Landers, that was for sure. But the people fighting them weren't men and women of the village, or one of the border patrols that frequented those parts. It was a group of three warriors, two of whom he recognized as the Rayan prince's own companions. The woman was laughing, perched up on a rooftop as she rained a hail of arrows down at her enemies. The man was laying into a group of mercenaries, roaring with rage as they tried to overwhelm him with sheer numbers.

And there was another person, a cloaked figure who seemed to be herding the villagers away from the square as the other two held the mercenaries back. Occasionally they would throw up a hand and a stray arrow from the mercenaries would be deflected aside, right as the archer who fired it was either shot through by the woman or hacked to pieces by the man.

Kaldur’s eyes widened in astonishment as he finally hauled himself up high enough to see what the Reginian was seeing.

His first feeling was of deep, deep relief - Artemis and Conner were safe, they were well, they were if anything, acting more like themselves than they’d had a chance to since they’d departed on this ill-fated journey. Artemis in particular looked almost gleeful as she fired off arrow after arrow, her blonde hair spilling from her grey hood.

His next feeling was curiosity - who was the newcomer with his friends? He was sure he had never seen the person before, as their cloak - long, and midnight blue edged with brilliant red - was quite distinctive.

After that came a pragmatic sense of satisfaction as it dawned on him that this meant he no longer needed the Fiend’s assistance, and could proceed to dispose of him as originally intended. Unfortunately, this thought was immediately followed by an internal reprimand that damped his excitement down to embers - the man was still injured. It wouldn’t be fair to kill him right now.

“Shall we join them?” Kaldur suggested, though it seemed the two of them were handling the situation perfectly well. “Many hands make light work.”

"I don't see why not," Roy sighed, dropping back to the ground. “Just to be safe though, I'm going to stick to melee. I think if your assassin friend sees my arrows she's as likely to kill me as thank me for the help."

"I'd not permit her to steal that honor from me," Kaldur replied as he drew his swords. "But far be it for me to keep your cowardice from hampering you in battle."

With that, the prince darted toward the fray, quickly taking down one woman zeroing in on Artemis as he hurried to Conner's side.

"Little shit," Roy muttered, drawing his short sword.

If Kaldur heard the jab, he didn’t respond to it, instead lifting both his swords as he neared the melee surrounding Conner. His friend was surrounded on all sides by Savage Land mercenaries but was holding his own valiantly, broadsword cleaving through the pack as he unleashed his remarkable strength on his opponents. His face was contorted in a familiar expression of rage, as though the attack on the Reginian village was a personal affront to him. Biting back a smile--such an angry countenance oddly brought Kaldur great comfort--Kaldur threw himself upon the back and quickly fought his way to Conner’s side, leaving two brutes felled in his wake.

“Good morning, my friend,” he greeted as he drew up a blade to block a spear thrust from one of his adversaries. “I see you have not let the day go to waste!”

"When we finish here," Conner growled, decapitating one of his foes. The man didn't miss a beat, continuing to swing his broadsword with a lightness that spoke to his incredible strength. Temporarily disengaged, he stepped to aim a sharp, painful kick and Kaldur's calf. "I'm going to let Artemis torture you. Where have you been?"

Kaldur winced and staggered back a step as the blow connected. Conner was not one to hold back. He would certainly have an attractive bruise to nurse later.

“Your friend always this cheerful?” Roy commented when he appeared at Kaldur’s side. He’d chosen to sneak around the back of the huts to stab an archer whom he’d spotted aiming an arrow at the knight’s throat.

“You picked up a stray?” Conner questioned, eyeing Roy as he stabbed a man through.

“It seems you did as well,” Kaldur deflected, cross-stepping in front of Roy to block a mace blow that would would have forced the Reginian to counter with both his hands, a painful feat with his bandaged palm. “This is one is not so much a stray as a horrible beast. But let us discuss all of these matters when the battle is over, yes?”

The whistle of an arrow had him ducking behind a foe, but it was one of Artemis’s - finished with her own targets, she’d apparently moved on to aiding them with theirs. Only a few goons remained, and it seemed their fear of the combined strength of their opponents was beginning to outweigh their bloodlust.

“If that’s who I think it is,” Artemis shouted down to him, “I’m using one arrow to shoot you both through the throat.”

"If your archery is anything like your tracking, I don't think I have anything to worry about," Roy sniped, immediately cursing himself afterwards.

"Never mind," Artemis shouted down to Kaldur. "I don't care who he is- I'm killing him anyways."

"We will discuss it," Kaldur shot back. "Do you see any more combatants?"

Artemis did a quick scan above the rooftops. "No, I think we're good."

She hopped down, jogging over the other three.

"I should go check on M'gann," Conner grunted, yanking his sword from a woman's chest. "She was evacuating the villagers- a group may have snuck around to get to her--"

"M'gann can handle herself, lover boy," Artemis commented, reaching the group. She immediately drew Kaldur into a careful hug. "Which is more than I can say for you, you idiot. "

Kaldur couldn’t help the broad smile that crossed his face as he returned the embrace, dropping both his swords to pull Artemis firmly against his chest. Fake betrothal or no, she was the closest thing he had to a sister, and he would never have forgiven himself had anything happened to her during his errand of revenge.

“I was worried about you, too,” he murmured, too quietly for anyone to overhear (except perhaps Conner, who had exceptionally good ears).

After a long moment he finally let his friend go, turning to face Conner.

“M’gann,” he repeated curiously. “I presume that is the other traveler with you. Is she - “

But he was abruptly cut off by a loud sound from somewhere around the corner, a series of sudden screams that came immediately followed by a loud thud.

Conner had taken off before anyone could so much as open their mouth; Kaldur immediately bent to retrieve his swords and gave chase, Artemis on his heels.

The scene that greeted them when they rounded the last of the village huts was a confusing one, to say the least: fifty or sixty villagers huddled in the shade of a grove of oak trees, all staring in shock at a pair of figures before them. One, the stranger in the blue cloak, stood with a hand outstretched and a grim expression on her otherwise gentle face. The other (or what remained of him, a Savage Lander by the look of his equipment) lay beneath a rock twice the size of a human man that seemed to have dropped straight out of the sky.

"M'gann!" Conner shouted, running to the stranger. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?" he questioned, stopping before her. He settled his hands on her shoulders, eyes scanning her as if inspecting for damage.

Kaldur shot Artemis a bewildered glance but received only a long-suffering look in return. Apparently this odd behavior was no surprise to her. Roy, ignoring all of them, headed over to a woman who appeared to be the village elder. He pulled her aside and struck up a quick conversation. From his gestures to the crushed mercenary and to the wider village, Kaldur surmised that he was attempting to discern where the Savage Landers had come from.

An easy laugh pulled Kaldur’s attention back to his friends: M’gann was smiling, pushing her hood back to reveal a pale, freckled face framed by red hair.

“I'm fine, Conner. He didn't hurt me," she assured him, her hands coming to clasp his own shoulders in a comforting gesture.

"And even if he did, I'm pretty sure she gave him more than his fair share back," Artemis commented, inspecting the crushed man. "Damn, M'gann. You didn't tell us you could fling boulders."

“Artemis,” said Kaldur, trying to keep his face even - who was this stranger, and what did she mean, fling boulders? - “Would you like to do me the honor of introducing your new friend?”

But before Artemis could say a thing, the stranger had given herself a gentle slap on the forehead and disentangled herself from Conner’s concerned grip and fairly flown to stand before Kaldur.

“Of course! You must be Prince Kaldur’ahm,” she said, reaching out to clasp his hand in both of hers and shake it warmly. “Artemis and Conner have told me so much about you. It’s an honor to finally – oh, but I haven’t introduced myself. My name is M’gann M’orzz.”

“M’orzz,” Kaldur repeated, eyes flicking down to where she was still shaking his hand. “That is not a family name I have heard, even in these strange parts.”

The young woman smiled sheepishly.

“I am of Mars,” she explained. “So I don’t imagine you’d know anyone else with it, no.”

Kaldur blinked. He had heard of the land, yes, but he had never heard of a Martian coming all the way to the mainland, much less met one in the flesh.

“I see,” he said, casting a glance at Artemis and Conner. Did they believe her story? Should he? “And might I ask how you came to be traveling with my colleagues?”

Conner, who had crossed his arms over his chest as if at a loss with what to do with them now that M'gann had left his embrace, began to explain. "She found us after we--" he started, but was interrupted when Artemis flung one palm over his mouth, cutting him off.

Ignoring the knight's indignant glare, Artemis settled her free hand on her cocked hip.

"Not so fast," she snapped. "M'gann's weird, but she's not a threat . We'll explain where she came from after you tell us why the Fiend of Mists ," here she pointed at Roy, who had finished with the village elder and had assumed a position of disinterest, arms crossed, at their rear, "is following you like some sort of puppy!"

"Puppy?" Roy snarled indignantly. "Listen, Blondie, the only reason you have your precious prince back in one piece is because your soldiers have been burning down my villages and he decided to help me stop them. Now that the threat's handled? Our truce is over, so watch your mouth unless you want an arrow through it."

Conner and Artemis both turned, hackles raised at the threat.

"There's three of us and one of you, and this time you don't any trees to hide away in," Conner growled, hand halfway to his sword. "I wouldn't make any threats."

“At ease, both of you,” Kaldur ordered, taking a step between his friends and the Fiend and holding up his hand. “There will be plenty of time to slit one another’s throats later, but present circumstances compel us to work together. Artemis, Conner - have either of you the faintest idea why Savage Land troops are roaming the Reginian highlands, laying waste to villages at will? I know I never gave such an order, nor did I hear of one from His Majesty my father or any other general of Raya.”

In concert, the two flinched, hackles dropping instantly into downturned shoulders.

"Yeah," Artemis said quietly. Her eyes had dropped from glaring at Roy to the dirt. Conner's hand laid limp on his sword and his eyes joined Artemis's in their careful study of the ground. "Kaldur, look. Conner and I--we made it back to the troops, okay?

"Then what are you doing here?" Roy interrupted. Kaldur glared at him, causing him to snap back: "What? It's a valid question. Don't tell me that the fact that your second and third in command are tromping around in the backwoods looking for you instead of leading your company doesn't seem like cause for concern for you."

"Tricklieon took over the men," Conner blurted out. "He's a sorcerer from The Savage Lands - his real name’s Klarion. He's got them under some sort of mind control. Artemis thinks it’s something he's been slipping into the food. When we got back to them on the other side of the mountains..."

“Well not real mind control,” M’gann butted in, looking like she’d tried very hard not to say anything but couldn’t quite stop herself. As everyone’s eyes turned to her, she blushed faintly. “Mainlanders have yet to figure out mind reading, much less mind control, but the soldiers were definitely...well, more mentally malleable than most.”

Kaldur’s gaze darkened further. How had he let such treachery take root right under his nose? Had he not sensed Klarion’s ill intent all along? Why had he not taken action sooner?

"In any case, it's a miracle we made it out at all," Artemis finished for Conner, finally meeting Kaldur's horrified gaze. "We came upon them at night, or I don't think we would have. We didn't barge into the camp because we didn't want anyone knowing that you were missing before we had the chance to do some damage control. We went to the command tent, and we heard Tricklieon talking to someone--" here Artemis paused. She seemed to struggle internally for a moment, glancing and Conner before she continued. "Someone who wasn't at the camp before we left," she went on, ignoring the looks Conner shot her way. "They were discussing battle plans, and I almost went in. But Conner, you know how good his ears are. And he heard, well--"

"Klarion was talking about taking our forces back to invade and capture Raya after they finish in Reginia," Conner finished. "That's when I noticed that the troops seemed... wrong. The guards at the tent were listless, like they didn't really see us. Artemis recognized it as a form of magic they use in the Savage Lands. It’s dark . Most people don’t use it, or don’t like it, even there.” Conner stopped for a moment, seemingly overtaken by disgust.

“Anyways,” Artemis continued. “I don’t know how, but somehow Klarion seemed to figure out that we were there outside of the tent. I felt...something, tugging at my brain, and then the guards were attacking Conner and me. We were able to get away without killing them, but getting out of the camp was tough. If the men had been moving normally, I don’t think we would have. When we made it out we headed back to the mountains- it’d be harder for them to pursue us that way, even on horses.”

“We made camp in a cave,” Conner continued. M’gann had moved to hold his shoulder, and he leaned into her touch. “We made the plan to come find you, see what you wanted to do. And that’s when we found M’gann.”

“Or rather, she found us,” Artemis amended. “But that’s probably more information than you need right now. The important thing is: where do we go from here?”

And suddenly, there was silence as all gazes turned to Kaldur - Artemis’s, worried and piercing; Conner’s, trusting and expectant; M’gann’s, curious and sympathetic; and Roy’s, skeptical and vindictive.

“You say they intend to return to Raya after they have carried out our plans to annex Reginia?” he asked after a moment of thought, provoking a nod from Artemis and a derisive laugh from Roy at the word ��annex.’ “Then we must stop them before they so much as look south. We head to the frontlines - with five of us, we should be able to gather enough information to determine the source of Tricklieon’s - Klarion’s - coercion and attempt to reverse it. With the Rayan army returned to its senses, his men will be outnumbered four to one. We will send word to my father and inform him of this treachery, but put the matter to rest before the message even arrives.”

He set his jaw, the feeling of being in control (both of himself and the fate of his countrymen) settling over him warmly once more. As an afterthought, he turned to Roy, who was still standing at a safe distance behind the rest of them, and remarked:

“Then we will see about killing you.”

Roy opened his mouth, a cutting reply already on his tongue, when he was interrupted by a gentle hand over his mouth. Offended but too surprised to do anything, Roy glared at M’gann, who smiled shyly at him but declined to remove the offending appendage.

“Excuse me,” she piped up, “But I have to ask- why are you going to kill him? He helped us save the village.”

The prince opened his mouth for his own reply, but Roy overtook him.

“He’s invading my country,” Roy proffered bluntly after gently removing M’gann’s hand from his mouth. “He’s the prince of the kingdom of Raya. Which is at war with Reginia, just in case your two new travelling buddies forgot to fill you in on that little detail. I know that Mars is pretty isolated, but even you should have heard about Raya’s recent aggression towards their neighbors.”

“But why would he be willing to save the villagers and still want to kill you?”

“Because Mr. Innocent Victim here is an assassin who’s already tried to kill Kaldur at least twice,” Artemis butted in. “He’s infamous across the Rayan and Savage Lands armies. Rumor has it he isn’t all that well beloved at home, either.”

“You tried to kill him?” M’gann asked, turning to Roy as her eyes widened in surprise and disapproval.

“Twice ,” Artemis repeated, just in case anyone had forgotten.

“That particular matter is not behind us, but for the time being let us say that it is beside us,” Kaldur said, holding up a hand to silence the others (not that Roy could have gotten a word in edgewise if he’d wanted to). “At present, our goals align – neither Raya or Reginia would fare well under Savage Land rule. We all have a vested interest in putting a stop to Trickli–-Klarion’s schemes, and furthermore, I doubt we will find another as familiar with the terrain we must traverse to reach the enemy. He travels with us for the time being, unharmed.”

“How generous of you,” Roy finally managed to sneer after waiting a beat to see if anyone else had something to add, or whether he was going to get a hand to the face again.

“Considering you shot him and tried to burn my camp down?” Conner commented, glaring at the assassin. “You’re lucky we don’t just tie you up and carry you.”

“It’s not too late to consider that,” Artemis hummed thoughtfully. “You know, I think I do have some extra rope somewhere--”

“--tie me up and you’re never getting out of Reginia alive,” Roy threatened, backing away from the two grinning warriors.

“Enough,” said Kaldur, shaking his head. “M’gann – a friend of these two scoundrels is a friend of mine. I would love to know how you have come to this part of the world, but time is of the essence. If you intend to accompany us, perhaps we can get acquainted as we head north.”

“It would be my pleasure,” said M’gann, smiling at the prince’s formal manner. She cast a glance at Conner, who raised one eyebrow and smiled as if to say told you so, then turned back to look at the village. It was intact, for the most part – moreso than the one from which Roy and Kaldur had come – but there was still some damage and a few injuries amongst the villagers. “Will they be all right?”

Unsure of the answer – did most Reginian villages have healers, or access to them? – Kaldur looked to Roy.

“We’re not completely helpless out here,” Roy grumbled. “These people have been living on the borders since before there were borders. Since their village isn’t burned down and half of them haven’t been massacred? They’ll be fine.”

“Excuse us for caring,” Artemis replied. “Do you think we could buy some supplies off of them, though? I don’t know about you, but I didn’t exactly have time to pack for a journey across the mountains after the cave-in you caused.”

“Cave-in? What are you talking about?” Roy asked as he weighed the leather pouch where he kept his coin. He hadn’t brought a lot for the journey (there’s no easier way to make yourself a target for cutthroat or thieves than a jangling purse of coins) and he hadn't brought any supplies either, having opted to rely on his caches hidden throughout the mountains.

“The cave in that drove us, and Raquel, into your ambush,” Kaldur answered, checking his own purse.

“I wasn’t responsible for that,” Roy said. “I mean, I wish I had the power to crash tons of falling rocks onto invading armies, but it’s a little outside of my skillset.”

“Then it was probably that little shit Klarion,” Artemis muttered. “One more thing to riddle him full of arrows for when we catch up to him, I guess.”

“Speaking of catching up, to answer your question- I can ask the villagers if they have any extra supplies to sell us. Besides that, as long as we plan our route right there a couple of places I know of where we can get some food,” Roy said, tucking his purse away. He didn’t plan on showing this band of assholes all of his hideouts, but it’d be more trouble than it was worth to truck all of their supplies around without a pack animal. “I didn’t exactly plan on spending a lot of coin on this trip though, so we’re going to have to pool our resources together to buy the necessities.”

“Consider it done,” said Kaldur. He was a frugal man by nature, but his pride wasn’t about to allow him to let his enemy foot the cost of their mission north. “Let us buy what we can here. The rest we will seek out as we go.”

Supplies, as it turned out, were not as plentiful as they had hoped. Months of besiegement by Rayan troops had left many Reginian cargo lines unreliable and understocked. But the villagers had been able to spare enough for about two days’ travel for the group, and Roy promised that further up in the mountains they’d find enough game to supplement their rations.

The smell of roasting meat proved the assassin had made good on that word, at least – after a grueling day of travel up into the mountains, the group had stopped to rest beside a tiny, crystal clear mountain lake, and Artemis and Roy had succeeded in felling a few plump lake fowl. Kaldur had been hesitant to make a fire, at first, worried that their proximity to his enchanted army made such an endeavor a dangerous one, but nightfall had brought a thick fog over the area that would obscure any smoke. Besides, Roy had promised that the area had only one narrow passage in and and one out – easy enough to defend against any nosy scouts.

“So,” said Kaldur to M’gann at last, seated between Artemis and Roy in the hope of preventing violence from breaking out. “You say your visit to our lands is some sort of spiritual journey? Is such a thing often undertaken by Martians, or is it unique to your clan or trade?”

“Well, it’s an old tradition,” said M’gann, wrapping herself up in her cloak a little more snugly. “Young Martians go on a journey off-island to learn about the outside world and help where they can. But it’s mostly carried out ritualistically in this day and age – not a lot of people ever actually leave. They just study and visit other parts of Mars, then undergo a special ceremony. I...was a little more old-fashioned, I guess, in deciding to leave altogether.”

Her tone of voice was hesitant, though, hinting that the decision was a little more complicated than mere ideology.

“It’s a shame you had to come when there’s a war on,” Roy said flippantly. “When we’re not busy being invaded by imperialistic ass-hats, we’re actually a pretty nice place to visit. If we live through this, remind me to show you around the capital one day.”

“I, uh. Suppose I should have done my research before picking a destination, huh?” M’gann replied, reddening.

“Yeah. Befriending armed strangers currently invading the country you’re planning on visiting? Not exactly a great way to ‘help’ out the local populace,” Roy said. He didn’t really blame the woman, but he wanted it to be clear to her that her new friends weren’t exactly the good guys in this situation. He was already up against three potential enemies when this weird… truce thing they seemed to have going finally dissolved. He didn’t need a sorceress who specialized in crushing people with rocks on their team as well.

Apparently the knight that the prince insisted on toting around didn’t appreciate Roy ragging on his new friend. The younger man growled at him, blue eyes flashing and hand tightening fast around the hilt of his sword. “Hey, step off. She helped save your village, didn’t she?”

“A village that wouldn’t have been in danger in the first place if it wasn’t for you people,” Roy shot back, hand going to his own sword reflexively.

“Enough, all of you,” said Kaldur, not harshly, but firmly enough to draw all eyes back to him. “We will have plenty of time to threaten and kill each other later, but for the time being the safety of both our nations depends on our cooperation.”

He looked from Roy to Conner and back; both men relented begrudgingly after a moment, dropping their hands from their blades.

“Damn,” said Artemis, reaching up to turn the spit on which the water fowl were nearly done roasting. “Would have been a fun one to watch.”

“Save your bloodlust for Klarion,” Kaldur advised. “How is supper progressing?”

“Almost ready to go. While we’re waiting though, let’s talk watch schedules. I doubt our resident assassin--”

“--are you referring to the guy who kills people threatening his kingdom or the one trained by the Shadow Clan?” Roy scowled at Artemis from across the fire.

“--would be willing to sleep anytime soon, what with three of us being perfectly happy to kill his mouthy ass in his sleep,” Artemis finished sweetly, ignoring Roy’s jab. “I’m guessing we’re going to need to work out some sort of deal. While I’d happily let the bastard suffer, we do need him to be awake enough to tell us where we’re going. Seeing as that’d probably be a tough task for him on a normal day, I don’t think letting him stay up all night is an option.”

“You could hand over all of your weapons and let me hide them until morning,” Roy offered sarcastically.

“As if,” snarled Connor, whom Roy concluded either really disliked him or was actually just immune to jokes.

Possibly both.

“I understand your hesitance to trust us,” said Kaldur. “Especially given the many reasons you have given us to want you dead. But for the time being, Artemis is right – we need you alive as much as you need us. I will not ask it of my companions, but if it would help you to sleep more easily, I will give you my blade for the night.”

Roy tried to suppress it, he really did. He knew that acting like an ass was a guaranteed way of not winning the witch over to his side, but he just. Could not help it. The other man was just so earnestly honorable.

He burst out laughing. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, right?” Roy managed to wheeze between bouts of breathless chuckles. “I mean, seriously? Oh, yes, oh honorable prince. I’ll feel so safe cuddling your precious sword in the night while your trained assassin watches me in my sleep! Not to mention the raging half-giant you call a knight! Who could ask for better security?”

“This trained assassin can make it so you sleep for a lot longer than just a night if you don’t stop disrespecting her fiance,” Artemis sneered, tone like poisonous honey.

“Good luck finding your way out of the mountains,” Roy sneered back. “Like you said, blondie, you’re stuck here without me.”

“Actually, I have a map,” M’gann piped up helpfully.

At Artemis’s frankly dangerous grin, Kaldur felt the need to intercede again.

“While a map is certainly helpful, and yes, perhaps something it would have been useful to address before we set off with this fool in tow,” Kaldur began, tensing slightly to prepare himself to intercept Artemis should she choose this moment to attack, “I should still think it prudent to keep him alive for the time being.”

“Why?” Conner asked bluntly as he stood to remove the cooked birds from the fire.

“For one thing, we do not know if the map is up to date,” Kaldur put in. “With all due respect to your Martian brethren, M’gann, they are not seen in these parts with any sort of frequency, thus it seems unlikely the map reflects the current state of Reginia. For another matter, he is a valuable asset in combat, of which we may yet see plenty.”

“We could handle it,” Artemis scoffed.

“That may be so,” said Kaldur. “But I am not willing to risk our lives on such an unnecessary gamble. The Reginian poses no threat to us while we outnumber him four to one and his hand remains injured. And beyond that...he had the chance to take my life while I slept last night. I breathe still, and therefore I trust him, however reluctantly.”

He cast a glance at Roy, daring him to make some sort of asinine comment again.

Roy met Kaldur’s gaze somewhat reluctantly. While he was glad not to have to fend off an attack from Artemis, he didn’t quite know what to make of the prince’s defense of him. The map excuse smelled weak, and even the point about his use in combat smacked of hedging. It brought up a feeling in his stomach that was…not entirely negative. And certainly not something he wanted to address.

“Look,” he sighed after a tense moment of staring into those green eyes. “We made it through one night when it was just you and me. As long as either you or the Martain are awake whenever I’m off shift, everyone keeping ahold of their weapons shouldn’t be a problem. There may still be mercenaries creeping around, and I’d rather us all be armed if they decide we’re a soft enough target to try.”

“I believe that can be arranged,” said Kaldur, looking to M’gann. “If we divide the night up into three shifts with two sentries for each – I will take two shifts, or take mine alone – we should be safe enough. Conner, will you give me your word not to harm our guest if you share his watch?”

There was no way on earth he was putting Artemis and Roy on shift together. Even if it didn’t come to blows, their bickering would keep everyone else awake and negate the point of a watch. But if Roy and Conner could share one watch and Artemis and M’gann could share a second, Kaldur could take the third himself.

“With the exception of his tongue suffering a sudden shortening if he talks badly of M’gann again,” Conner glared at Roy, “I can promise I’ll leave him be as long as he returns the favor.”

“Seeing as she’s the only one who hasn’t threatened my life today, I can assure that out of all of you M’gann is the most safe from my incredibly cutting wit,” Roy shot back.

“Artemis, is the food done?” M’gann asked before Conner could reply. Her smile was genuine but Roy could tell that from her tone that she was beginning to tire of the constant banter being flung about the fire. He couldn’t really blame her.

“Yeah,” Artemis replied, pulling the roasted bird from the fire. “I neglected to pack the good dishware, so I hope none of you object to using your fingers.”

“If his highness can manage, I’m sure we’ll all live,” Roy commented, pulling a wing off the bird.

Kaldur didn’t dignify the assassin’s jibe with a response, just accepted the leg Artemis passed him and dug in. A hard day’s travel and combat, not to mention the mental exhaustion of fighting his own and his friends’ impulse to dishonorably murder Roy, had left him famished and eager for sleep.

“It is settled, then,” he said when he had finished his first few bites (it was quite good – Artemis had often proven adept at preparing food in the field, having apparently spent most of her childhood learning to fend for herself in the forests of the Shadowlands). “First watch extends until the moon is overhead, second watch will take over when it halves its descent, and third watch will carry on ‘til sunrise. No one is to harm or threaten anyone else. We have plenty of enemies to face before we become them to each other again. Understood?”

He looked around the circle, receiving an earnest nod from M’gann and begrudging ones from the rest.

“Good,” he said. “I will take the second watch. Conner, Artemis – determine for yourselves who is best suited to the others.”

“There’re signs of a large party moving through this area just half a mile ahead of us,” Roy reported to the resting trio when he and Artemis returned from their scouting expedition. The party had made it through and over the mountains more or less intact, and if he and the assassin were reading the signs right then they were on the Rayan army’s tail. “I’d have more to tell you, but it seems that your little expert here disagrees with my interpretation of our findings.”

“The tracks we found were wide and deep. The horses that the Savage Landers brought with them have lighter, thinner shoes than the kind that Rayans’ use,” Artemis sniped at the man angrily as she plopped down next to M’gann. The red-headed woman offered her a flask of water, which she drained gratefully before continuing. “I don’t appreciate the condescension considering, yeah, in this situation? I am the expert, dumbass.”

“It’s still not a good reason to assume Klarion split off from his main forces,” Roy argued back. “What possible reason could have for leaving a bunch of enchanted, drugged Rayan footsoldiers to wander around the border lands? Maybe Klarion’s horse just broke an ankle and he had it killed.”

“It would be like that shit to treat an animal that way,” Connor muttered from his place nearby M’gann. He was reclining in the sun, head propped up beneath his hands and eyes closed as he listened to the two archers debate. “But it’d also be like him to abandon a platoon of soldiers if they became an inconvenience .”

“We still know too little about his enchantment,” Kaldur frowned as he looked over the map M’gann had provided (Roy had vouched that it was serviceably up-to-date). “Whether he must remain close, or whether he can venture off and still trust that my troops will obey his whims...it would help make sense of what you have seen. But I am inclined to take Artemis’s interpretation – when he was traveling with us, he expressed no small amount of disdain for Rayan people and beasts alike. It is possible that this was an act, part of his persona as Tricklieon, but I do not see him trading in his lightfooted mount for one of our slower, studier mares so quickly. And the odds that they lost not only his horse but all those of his entourage seem slim.”

“But if you didn’t see any of their tracks with the Rayan soldiers’, then we’ve lost him, right?” M’gann asked. “Would it make sense to find the soldiers first and see if you can break the spell from there?”

“Our battle is not with the soldiers,” said Kaldur, shaking his head. “I fear that we would not release their minds quickly enough to avoid battle, and I have no wish to raise my blade against my own men and women. Klarion is the one who knows how to lift his enchantment. We follow him. And if it seems he has already split from them, then we follow the Rayan soldiers’ tracks backwards until we find where he did so. Artemis – what do you think?”

“Our people aren’t going to get up to much trouble on their own,” she mused, fingering her bow. “If anything we can just hope that after we break the spell they’ll head back to Raya. Lieutenant Kafepat will lead them back without any problems.”

“I’m not sure if I trust your people in my territory,” Roy groused at her.

“First of all, we’re not in your territory anymore, we’re in the borderlands. Second of all, my soldiers aren’t Savage Land raiding parties. They’re good people,” Connor shot back.

“Good people conducting an invasion--”

“Which will only become more dire if we allow the Savage Landers to take over Raya,” Artemis interjected. “The smart plan is to follow Klarion and kick his ass.”

“I can at least agree with you on the ass-kicking part,” Roy conceded, defeated. “But if your soldiers do raid Reginia--”

“Our heads will adorn the pile of their corpses, yeah, yeah, we get it,” Artemis dismissed. “Lets focus on tracking down Klarion, okay? I didn’t see anywhere where the tracks split away, so we can assume he covered them--”

“Or that you missed them,” Roy snarked.

“Which means you missed them too, dumbass,” Artemis snarled back. “He covered them, though I’m not sure how.”

“I can check to see if there’s any magical signature to follow,” M’gann interjected.

“There may be an easier way,” said Kaldur, finally lifting his eyes from the map. “Artemis, would you please show me the route you believe the Rayan army to have taken?”

She complied without question, stepping over to trace her finger along a route on the map. Roy had moved to observe over Kaldur’s shoulder and didn’t correct her, which Kaldur took as confirmation as he pondered his next words.

“If that is so,” he began, clearly thinking as he went. “Then the opportunities to take a small company on horseback off-route are somewhat limited, given the steepness of the mountains and the width and swiftness of these rivers. I would wager that Klarion took his leave of our soldiers here,” – he indicated a spot on the map – “or here. Both would seem to indicate that he is headed northeast, away from the Reginian capital and towards the southern shore of Grell Lake.”

“That’s a lot of guesswork for an enemy you know nothing about,” Roy pointed out, frowning skeptically. “If you’re wrong, we could lose the trail entirely.”

“If we hesitate too long, I guarantee we will,” countered Kaldur, looking at the map one more time before he folded it up and passed it back to M’gann with a nod of thanks. “Artemis, Roy – do you require food, water or rest before we proceed? We will need to make haste if we are to catch Klarion before the Rayan army leaves the cover of the mountains.”

“I’m good to go if Red is,” Artemis boasted, standing up to stretch and throwing Roy a challenging smirk.

The man frowned at her, choosing instead to lie back in the grass. “Well unlike Blondie here, I’d rather be fit to fight when we finally catch up with this Klarion person,” he snarked. “The light’s fading and he’s going to be setting up camp soon. We aren’t burdened down with horses, so moving in the dark shouldn’t be a problem. My vote is we rest now and catch him by surprise- so I’ll pass on the pissing contest, thanks,” he threw in Artemis’s direction, smirking up at her.

The younger assassin blushed furiously, and threw M’gann’s empty flask at his head. It connected with his forehead with a heavy thunk . Roy cursed lowly, rubbing the spot.

“And I thought you were supposed to be the sneaky one,” Conner commented to her from his own spot stretched out on the grass.

“Shut the fuck up, muscles,” she groused. “Kaldur- your thoughts? Or are we letting Mr. Shoots-from-the-trees run this thing now?”

“I would feel better if we were assured of Klarion’s trail before we planned any sort of attack,” said Kaldur, stooping to retrieve M’gann’s flask and brush it free of grass. “The cover of night can indeed play to our advantage, but it will certainly not help us determine whether or not we have guessed his path correctly. It should only take us an hour or so to reach the place where his possible paths must converge - there we can rest, look for signs of his progress, and wait for the dead of night to make our move.”

“A little of both plans,” said M’gann, nodding approvingly as Kaldur passed her back her flask. “Makes sense to me.”

Kaldur looked to Roy and Artemis in turn, waiting for one or both to raise objections. He had thought traveling with the Fiend alone was vexing - traveling with him and Artemis seemed an efficient route to insanity.

“Right then,” Artemis said brightly, flashing Kaldur a tense smile. We’ll talk about this later, it said. She then walked over to Roy, kicking him in the boots. “You heard his highness,” she said. “Get your ass up, Red.”

The man peered up at her from under his lashes, frowning. Eventually his eyes found Kaldur’s only, and he raised a brow. Do you see this shit? it said, and Kaldur was forced to muffle his amusement at the archers’ antics.

“As his majesty wishes,” the redhead said lightly, getting to his feet. Conner rose as well, reaching down to help M’gann from her own spot on the grass.

“Lead the way, oh fearless leader,” Roy told Kaldur. There was, of course, an overtone of sarcasm to the demand, but beneath that…

Something like trust.

Trying to think nothing of it, Kaldur turned, following the map up the road and (hopefully) to Klarion.

The moon – a thick crescent, nearly half waxed – lit up the craggy faces of the mountainside with a surreal silver glow. Far below them, barely visible through the thick forest, Grell Lake shone an eerie blue-grey. Their gamble had paid off – they had picked up Klarion’s trail just as the sun had set, and followed it until the signs grew fresh enough to ensure they were less than an hour’s travel behind him. Then, after a brief rest, Kaldur had decided that the moon was high enough. It was time to make their move.

“Four guards active,” Artemis reported in a murmur as they looked down from the cliffs (she had always had better night vision). “Two or three more asleep by the campfire. Lord Shithead’s probably in the tent.”

There was but one tent, and it was familiar, the very same that Klarion had brought with him when he’d joined their company back on the Reginian border.

“Good,” said Kaldur, keeping his voice similarly low. “We will eliminate the guards quietly, then announce our presence to Klarion. We need to know how to reverse the spell he has cast – we cannot kill him just yet.”

“Already on it,” a voice whispered to his left. Kaldur started, barely resisting the urge to yelp. Roy had snuck up to his side. The man had his bow drawn and ready. “If you’d be so obliged, Blondie?” the man asked quietly, mocking grin glinting in the moonlight. “The faster we take those four out the less likely they are to raise the alarm. I’d appreciate the help--” here the grin stretched dangerously, lighting the red head’s face up with an almost demonic delight. “--that is, if you think you can handle it?”

Artemis scoffed to Kaldur’s right, brushing up against him as she reached behind her for her bow. “First one to three buys drinks on the way back to Raya,” she replied, smiling nastily as she sighted down her own bow. “If I haven’t killed you by then, that is.”

“You two are impossible,” M’gann murmured behind them. She and Conner were behind them, assembling the rope for scaling down the cliff. Well, Conner was assembling the rope. The Martian, who apparently (and appallingly, Kaldur thought privately) knew nothing of ropework, simply watched on. Kaldur guessed that she had no desire to see the guards killed. Despite her help in the village, he got the distinct impression that she was only comfortable with violence in cases of self defense.

There was a light twang next to his ear as Roy released his first arrow, apparently already having sighted his target. Kaldur watched as one guard crumpled to the ground, far off to left in her patrol. Her comrade immediately to the right fell next, seconds after Artemis released her own arrow. The guards continued to fall in quick succession.

“Now, as for the ones that sleep,” he said as the fourth guard fell to his knees, “If Artemis and I scale the cliff we can tie them--”

“--No time for that,” Roy interrupted, and with another twang an arrow appeared in the throat of one of the sleeping guards. The man thrashed feebly, gurgling, and Kaldur was certain that he would have woken his companions had not two arrows, one fletched in red and one in green, emerged from their own throats mere moments later.

“Nice shooting, Red,” Artemis, commented begrudgingly, hooking her bow back onto her back.

“Not too awful yourself, Blondie,” the man replied lightly, getting up to go check on Conner and the rope.

Kaldur ignored them, frowning as he watched last body stop writhing and lie still.

“Kaldur?” Artemis asked softly. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” replied Kaldur somewhat curtly, forcing his mind back onto the task at hand.

Delicacy was of little use in a time of war, or especially in the camp of a reprehensible traitor like Klarion. Yes, it would have been better, more honorable, to have faced the guards head-on, but with bands of Savage Land rogues laying waste to Reginian towns and threatening the future peace of Raya…

Straightening out and turning his attention to the cliff edge, he deliberately ignored the look Artemis was giving him and raised his voice just enough to be heard by Conner.

“Is the rope secured?”

The knight rose from his crouch, nodding silently. M’gann, who had averted her gaze while Roy and Artemis had taken out the guards, now looked back down at the encampment, expression apprehensive.

“Are you sure this is the best way to do this?” she asked. “You said he caused an entire cave to collapse before. Wouldn’t it be better to learn more about what he can do before we face him head-on?”

“There are five of us and one of him,” said Artemis, slinging her bow over her back and double-checking her quiver strap. “We’re not going to get better odds than that, and besides, apparently you can move mountains yourself. This will be over in minutes, trust me.”

Without waiting for a response, she lowered herself to the ground, took hold of the rope, and rotated her lower body over the edge of the cliff.

“That takes a lot of concentration, and I’m not very accurate,” M’gann mumbled uncomfortably.

Conner reached out to touch her arm in reassurance without a word, then followed Artemis’s suit.

“She’s cocky,” Roy commented quietly to Kaldur as he prepared to clamber down after them. “I’m surprised it hasn’t gotten you all killed yet.”

Kaldur scoffed. “You’re one to talk. Who is the one who decided that it was wise to take on a platoon of forty trained soldiers?”

Roy smirked back up at him. “I wasn’t after your soldiers, Your Highness. Just you .”

With that the assassin slid down the rope, leaving Kaldur frowning in consternation in his wake.

The group crept along the cliff’s base, choosing to circle around the ring of dying firelight rather than to cut through its glow to Klarion’s tent on the other side.

“Big Guy, Magic-- you two stay back here as support. The prince can guard the entrance while Blondie and I go put our skills to use,” Roy whispered as they crept along.

Conner tensed, and Kaldur feared that he would argue. Conner was not, in truth, capable of much below a low shout when roused, and the assassin attempting to give him orders was sure to provoke his ire.

M’gann saved the night, however, laying a gentle hand on Conner’s shoulder before he could respond. A look passed between them, unreadable to any outsider, and the knight’s hackles settled. He and M’gann remained behind, watchful, as the other three snuck up on the tent from the cover of the shadows.

They approached the tent’s entrance flap. Kaldur took a guard post off to the side, where his presence would not be seen when they snuck through the cloth opening. Roy slipped in quietly, keeping low to the ground to minimize his silhouette that would appear against the firelight in the brief moment that the tent flap was opened. Artemis followed suit.

Stilling, the two allowed their eyes to adjust to the darkness. Roy scanned the tent, searching for their target.

Spotting the low cot in the far left corner of the tent, Roy moved to creep along the tent wall. The cot’s head faced the back wall of the tent- a foolish way to set oneself up, leaving the entrance unwatched. Roy figured the idiot had merely desired to keep his back to the light, the better to sleep.

He and Artemis crept quietly to the cot. Artemis took a low position by the head, signalling with a nod that Roy should take the side.

The two positioned themselves so the little lordling--a dark shape wrapped in fine blankets at the center of the bed—would have nowhere to run if he was to wake.They paused a moment, the silence tense and still as they each drew a long, careful breath. Then, without exchanging so much as a look or a nod, both lunged forward, Artemis to seize the man’s protruding arms, Roy to hold down his legs through the blanket.

But as soon as the assassins’ hands had made contact, the shape beneath them let out a snarl, began to writhe and twist and, to their mutual horror, reshape itself.

“What the – “Artemis gasped, attempting to retain her grip on the thing even as it shrank away from her grasp.

“Get away,” Roy barked, letting go and taking a hurried step back. For once, Artemis didn’t argue, jumping backwards just as a large claw swiped into the space she’d just been occupying. For where there had once been a man in the bed, there was now a large, hissing beast, feline in shape but obviously demonic in nature. Clawing its way out of the blankets, the creature let out a self-satisfied yowl and launched itself towards the tent flap.

“Kaldur!” Artemis called out in warning as the thing made for the exit.

The flap lifted, and the prince’s face appeared for a split second before, with a whoosh , every wall of the tent burst into full flames. Crying out in surprise and pain, Kaldur went stumbling backwards, swiping out for the fleeing beast with his right sword but missing wildly.

“Out!” Roy snapped as the flames pressed in on him and Artemis, survival outshouting alarm in his head. Without hesitation he seized Artemis’s arm and barreled forward, using his sword to push aside the burning flap. The two of them charged into the open air, flanking Kaldur and looking around the camp, which was now lit a brilliant orange from the fire.

“Where’d that thing – “Artemis hissed, fumbling to nock an arrow as she looked around for the cat creature, which seemed to have disappeared into the shadows. The words died on her lips as those very shadows, cast by the trees on the edge of the clearing, slithered across the ground and erupted from the ground to form the shape of a familiar man, albeit taller than he’d ever appeared to them. Now he loomed above the three warriors, a sickeningly wide grin splitting his face.

“Very good, Teekl,” he purred, his eyes little more than black slits as he regarded them. “A warm welcome for our guests.”

A shiver of pure fear made its way down Roy’s back, like ice being dragged down his spine. He’d never actually met Klarion, but this… thing wasn’t what he’d expected from the Rayans’ descriptions.

The two in front of him were obviously shocked--Kaldur stood stock-still in front of them, swords drawn and eyes fixed on the monster before them. Artemis had managed to point her bow at the beast, but her arms were tight with more than the tension of keeping her weapon drawn. Roy glanced out of the corner of his eyes to the corner of shadows where Conner and M’gann still hid. With luck, Klarion had failed to notice them.

“I see you survived my cave-in, little prince,” Klarion hissed out. His voice was insidious, dripping with menace and slinking like the shadows that seemed a part of his very form. His grin, impossibly, seemed to stretch even wider as he ran a black, forked tongue over his inhumanly sharp teeth. “Lucky me.”

“I may have had something to do with that,” Roy interrupted against his own better judgment, and those black slits flicked their focus to him.

“So you’re the Fiend?” Klarion giggled. “How… quaint. I’d been hoping for something a little more fun to be lurking out there in the Reginian forest, a real challenge—but you’re just another mortal. How disappointing.”

“Klarion!” Kaldur called out sharply, and those dark eyes flicked back to the prince. Roy tried not to feel too embarrassed by his relief.

The prince continued, stepping forward towards the demon. The man was truly courageous. Or perhaps, as Roy had once suspected, just truly stupid.

“What was the purpose of healing me only to kill me in the mountain pass?” Kaldur demanded. “What purpose have you for my troops, when you would abandon them to wander?”

“Oh, they’re not wandering,” Klarion replied, malicious grin unfaltering as his shadow-form began to circle the group slowly. Artemis kept her bow trained on him, Kaldur and Roy rotating to follow the enemy with their eyes. “But I suppose it’s hard to see the big picture when you’re all so puny and close to the ground.”

“He’s playing with us,” Artemis spat.

“Obviously,” Klarion leered, letting out a spine-tingling laugh. “Do you not like this game? Shame. Let’s try a new one. How about cat and mouse? ”

As he spoke the last few words, the demon creature from the tent erupted from the shadows once again, even larger than before, pouncing towards Roy with a hideous yowl. Roy dove instantly for the ground, somersaulting to the side as the cat-creature sank its claws into the ground on which he’d been standing a split second earlier. At the same time, Artemis released her arrow, sending it hissing towards Klarion, but his chest simply opened up to let the projectile through. It sailed uselessly into the night, leaving her gaping in surprise.

Recovering quickly, the creature - Teekl, Klarion had called it - snarled and turned for Kaldur, who pivoted to lift his swords defensively as the thing prowled towards him.

“Do we have a plan, here?” Roy barked out as Kaldur narrowly parried a swipe from Teekl’s dark, massive paw.

“Kill them both!” Artemis shouted, firing off another two arrows; this time, Klarion’s body twisted and slimmed, contorting its way out of their paths easily.

“A real plan?” Roy pressed, casting a glance at Kaldur, who in turn had cast a glance at the shadows where Conner and M’gann still lurked, in theory. Teekl charged once again, teeth gleaming in the moonlight; Kaldur sidestepped and took a swing at him, but his arm jerked mid-slash as though pulled by an invisible string, and the blow went wild.

“Picking on a little kitty,” Klarion said, sounding pouty, even offended as he lowered his hand. “You’d think a prince would have better manners.”

“And you’d think a witchboy would have the guts to fight his own battles,” Artemis snarled as tent tent blazed higher. “Get down here and fight!”

“I don’t think that’s--“ Roy began dubiously.

“--if you insist,” Klarion cooed, cutting him off.

And he rushed forward, shadowy arms elongating and arcing towards Artemis. The archer vaulted backwards and out of the way but landed dangerously close to Teekl, who immediately lashed out with one razor-clawed paw. Swiftly, Roy flicked a small knife from his bracer; the blade caught the creature on the shoulder and sent it reeling back with an annoyed yowl.

“You’re welcome,” Roy muttered as the beast turned its attention to him, tail swishing.

Kaldur, meanwhile, had rushed to engage Klarion and defend Artemis, but his mind was racing: this had not been the plan. They needed information from Klarion--how was he controlling the soldiers, and to what end?--but clearly they had lost the element of surprise and the bargaining position it was supposed to have brought them. As he brought one blade cleaving through the air towards Klarion, only to have it slice through his form like it was smoke, he wracked his brain for a way to return the advantage to them.

“Not so confident without an army at your back, are you, Prince of Raya?” Klarion teased. As he spoke, his hands twisted, opening up what seemed to be a hole in the very air, a little pocket of true darkness that grew into a pulsing sphere suspended at his fingertips. “Not sure what to do without Daddy giving you orders?”

Flicking his hand, he send the darkness streaking towards Kaldur like a ribbon. Unsure of the nature of the threat but too close to dodge effectively, Kaldur threw up his swords to attempt to parry and was knocked forcibly backwards, struggling to keep his balance.

“Kaldur!” Artemis shouted, letting fly another arrow. She knew she had no chance of hitting the sorcerer, but it served well enough to distract him from the prince. “Are you alright?”

Kaldur managed a nod, slightly dazed but otherwise unharmed, and shifted to face their cackling opponent as he circled around them, cornering the three warriors up against the burning tent.

From the shadows near the cliff’s base, Conner gripped the pommel of his sword, eyes darting around the campsite as he tried to find the best angle of attack. The Fiend he couldn’t care less about, but the only two people he has ever been able to call friend were in peril, and he wasn’t the type to stand by and watch.

When seconds ticked past without an opening. Conner growled in frustration, preparing to charge in. Hopefully at the very least, the surprise would give him an advantage.

He had leapt half to his feet when a strange force, invisible to his eye, pulled him back down.

“We need a plan,” M’gann whispered, eyes flicking across the fray as she lowered her hand.

“Right,” Conner muttered, fingers tight around his pommel as he crouched beside her. “Arrows don’t hurt him, so my sword’s useless.”

He grit his teeth in frustration. It wasn’t often he felt helpless--he’d always been stronger and faster than most of his opponents. Facing a man--a creature--that was apparently impossible to actually hit was an unpleasant prospect.

“Every magic user has some sort of vulnerability,” M’gann reassured, worrying her lip as she watched her new found friends frantically dip and dive to avoid Klarion’s shadowy blows. “We just need to figure out what his is.”

“Well, figure it faster,” Conner snapped, before he seemed to recall whom he was speaking to, and softened his voice. “Please.”

Klarion was at an obvious advantage--whatever Conner thought of the petty, childish diplomat he pretended at (which wasn’t much), he was powerful and, worse, mysterious. The man was like the shadows that fought for him, twisting, formless, and dangerous.

Blinking in realization, Conner turned to M’gann, an idea sparking in his mind. “Do you know a spell to make light?”

“No,” said M’gann. “But we may not need one. Look --”

She lifted a hand and pointed. At the edge of the fray, Klarion’s tent was beginning to burn its last, the flames licking at the skeleton of the posts. Conner furrowed his brow as his eyes followed her gesture, then suddenly his eyes widened.

“I got it,” he said. “Stay here.”

Wresting a sealed flask from his belt -- oil, to keep his sword clean and well-tended -- he pulled the cork out with his teeth, then poured the whole of the flask over his blade, running a hand over it quickly and carefully to spread the stuff out. Then, casting a glance up to orient himself, he rose to his feet, let out a bellow of challenge, and went running into the fray.

Artemis glanced over at that familiar sound, firing off another arrow into Klarion’s dark shape -- one of her last, she noticed grimly. For a moment, her heart lifted; the moment Conner joined a fight was usually the moment the tide turned in their favor. But to her chagrin, the knight charged right past them, bypassing the fray altogether.

“Are you crazy?!” she shouted, jumping backwards just in time to avoid a swipe of Teekl’s thick, menacing tail.

“Yes!” Conner shouted back. “Just crazy enough!”

And before Kaldur could open his mouth to yell out caution or advice, as he usually would, suddenly Conner came charging back, his massive blade wreathed in flames -- he’d set the whole thing alight using the tent fire. Hefting the blade up, he swung it in a powerful arc towards Klarion’s shadowy form. As before, the sorcerer began to twist away, but a pained shriek announced that he hadn’t done it quite fast enough, and the tendrils of flame seemed to eat into his shape, making its edges momentarily ragged.

“Use light!” Conner shouted to his allies. “Fight him with the fire!”

Gritting his teeth, Kaldur spun on his heel to face the still burning tent behind him. Heat had never been a friend of his--standing even this close was enough to make him feel light headed and dizzy. Nonetheless, he stumbled towards the tent, hacking at a section of flaming canvas to free it. He had almost managed to cut the section free when a sudden, nauseating wave of white-hot pain swept through his left arm, sending him crashing to his knees.

As he fell, Kaldur heard a triumphant yowl from the direction of Klarion’s beast. Realizing that it had spotted his moment of weakness and was doubtlessly coming in for the kill, he struggled to lift his swords in defense. It was as though the heat of the flames had drained the strength from his muscles, reducing his limbs to useless deadweight.

Another yowl, and Kaldur could smell the reek of the beast, all rotten meat and sulfur, as it leapt towards him. Before it could rend his flesh, however, he felt himself being shoved bodily aside, tumbling a few vital feet away from the fire.

“Get up, idiot!” Artemis screamed, parrying Teekl away with the short dagger she kept at her side. “Dammit, Kaldur! Get up!”

Teekl snapped its jaws close to Artemis’s face, bathing her in the stench of fetid flesh and brimstone. Furious, she kicked at its belly, hard leather boot digging into its muscled side. The beast yowled, dancing away as Conner rushed to his friend’s aid, sparks flying off his flaming sword. Ducking nimbly under the blade, Teekl leapt for Artemis once more, spittle flying from its gaping mouth.

Artemis attempted to dodge aside, stumbling when one of Klarion’s shadows grasped her ankle. Bracing for the impact of teeth, she was surprised when instead the beast howled in fury, reeling back from her.

Scrambling away on her hands, feet kicking, Artemis looked up to see an arrow, red fletching highlighted by the firelight, protruding from Teekl’s chest. Black, hissing blood bubbled from the wound, soaking its tawny fur.

The beast yowled, shaking itself furiously, as if trying to dislodge the arrow. Across the fire Klarion screamed, face twisting as he collapsed to his knees.

“Damn you, archer!” he howled, and it took a moment for Artemis to realize he was not addressing her, but rather the Fiend, who stood with bow drawn just beyond the blazing tent, having used the glare of its light to mask his movement from Klarion and his familiar. “I'll have your life, you worm!”

Struggling to his feet and coughing, Kaldur retrieved his swords and took a step towards Artemis.

“Klarion,” he rasped as he helped his ally to her feet, each looking the other over to assess their respective damages. “You will tell us where you’ve sent my troops.”

Lifting his sword, Kaldur advanced on the sorcerer, who was still on his knees, his labored breaths wracking his frame.

A sharp snarl at his back made him glance back towards Teekl, who was shrinking away from Conner-- the knight had hefted his blade, preparing for a deadly blow.

“Stupid boy,” Klarion spat, glaring spitefully up at the advancing Rayan prince. “I’ve sent them home. They’ll reach your border within a week. ”

“The invasion,” whispered Artemis. Kaldur turned to look at her, and found that her face was dead white.

“You better start making sense,” Conner growled. “What do you mean, home?”

“We have to get back,” said Artemis, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Roy stepped forward, another arrow notched. He drew back, aiming directly for Teekl’s throat.

“He’s invading Raya,” he said to Kaldur, gaze fixed on the beast. “You’ve been betrayed even worse than you thought.”

Kaldur tensed, stepping closer to Klarion, swords raised.

“My father won’t allow the kingdom to fall.”

Klarion lurched forward, falling to his hands. Face tilted downward, he hunched over in the weakening light of the fire. His body began to shake, his arms trembling.

Kaldur edged slightly closer, wary but with a vague sense of victory -- a sense that dispelled, like smoke on the wind, when he realized that the sorcerer was not trembling from fear, or from pain. The monster was laughing.

“You fool,” Klarion chuckled, head snapping up so his crazed, eerily glowing eyes could stare directly into Kaldur’s own. “How will your daddy save your kingdom,” he said sweetly, voice dripping with saccharine pity, “When there’s no one there to save him ?”

And suddenly, the shadows around them rushed towards him, piling into an ever-darker pool around the sorcerer’s kneeling form. At the same time, Teekl let out one more savage snarl and lunged in the same direction. Conner shouted and took a swing, but only succeeded in clipping the beast’s tail.

“Get back,” Roy barked, just as Kaldur did the exact opposite, throwing his full weight behind a lunge toward the sorcerer. But before the blow could land, Teekl’s form collided with Klarion’s, the darkness turned absolute, and man and beast disappeared into it, leaving the prince swinging at nothing.

With a cry of frustration, Kaldur drove one blade into the ground, leaving it standing in the soil as he straightened out and looked to the others, his breath labored.

“Are you alright?” he asked, directing his question at Artemis, whose face was pale in the dying light of the fire.

Artemis nodded wordlessly, swallowing as she stared at the place where Klarion had disappeared. The spot was now a blackened patch of grass, glowing an eerie red at the edges.

“We need to leave, quickly,” said a new voice, accompanied by the sound of hoofsteps -- M’gann emerged from the shadows on the back of one horse, holding the reins of another two. Their tack signaled Savage Land allegiance; clearly she’d stolen them from further back in the camp. “Klarion may be gone, but his magic isn’t.”

“What do you mean?” asked Kaldur, retrieving his blade from the ground.

“Trust me, I can feel it,” said M’gann, her voice more urgent. “We don’t have time for specifics -- saddle up and let’s get out of here.”

“I trust her,” said Artemis, regaining her voice. Conner had already moved to obey, wiping his smoldering sword on the grass and climbing up behind M’gann. After a split second’s hesitation, Roy and Kaldur followed suit.

“Who’s it going to be, me or your fiancée?” Roy asked pointedly as Artemis saddled up, leaving only one horse riderless. “We can all agree it’s a bad idea for me and her to ride together.”

Kaldur moved towards Artemis’ steed without a word, only to have the archer reach out to grasp his arm.

“Be careful,” said Roy, his voice so low only Kaldur could hear it. “This is bigger than you think, and she knows something.”

“Now!” M’gann urged, spurring her horse into a trot.

Pulling away from Roy with a dismissive grunt, Kaldur hurried to mount up in front of Artemis, who was giving them a questioning look.

“What was that about?” Artemis asked as she urged their horse forward, after M’gann and Conner.

“We ride south!” Kaldur shouted to the group as he cracked the reins. He did not respond to Artemis’ question, nor could he fail to notice the odd tension in her voice when she’d asked it. “To Raya!”

As they rode into the night, Kaldur didn’t look back to see if Roy was following, or to see if Artemis’ face was still as pale as it had been when Klarion had spoken of his plan.

If he had, he might have seen black flames slowly engulf Klarion’s camp as they fled, splintering the tents and the guards’ bodies into dark wisps on the midnight wind.

#kaldur #roy harper #young justice #artemis crock #yj #shadesninde #m'gann m'orzz #conner kent

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