Weight of the World

Chapter Twenty-One

—The Crooked Forest, Belanen, Andavaran—

He was lost. Hopelessly so. His men were all dead. The last of them had died screaming while they were being ripped apart by the beast that thundered after him. The forest was dark, only slivers of light breaking through the thick treetops to guide his way. Yet, even with their help, Rost didn't know how to find his way back to camp. He served as a Priest and warrior. He had blindly followed his men into Ari'shaan, the Crooked Forest, believing that they would be there to guide his way back. He would pay for his mistake.

The monster shrieked behind him. What it was, he couldn't be certain—nor did he really care in that moment. Too focused on survival, Rost sprinted forward without a backwards glance, listening as the heavy footsteps of spindly legs got closer with every step. There wasn't a chance to outrun the beast, which meant, of course, that he would be forced to kill it.

Sensing no other opportunity, Rost darted to the left and rolled beneath one of the creature's legs. It shrieked, spitting venom in his direction as it, too, tried to turn, its massive form nearly toppling as it did so. Its heavy form fell into the nearby trees, pulling several loose from the dirt. The resulting sunlight allowed him to better see the creature's body. It was some sort of monstrous scorpion, its many legs heavily armored and spiked, its tail swinging wildly, striking at random as it searched for him in the confusion. Rost tightened his hold on his sword and angled his shield slightly downward to better defend against the venom the creature spewed.

It wasn't an easy fight by any means, the beast large but quick and powerful. It took every ounce of focus to keep himself from being impaled upon one of its many legs and getting crushed by its massive tail, but at last, he found his opening and drove his sword directly into the beast's eye. It screeched and flailed as he drove it in deeper, wincing at how much force it took before the beast gave one last shudder and fell to the ground.

The creature dead, Rost took a second to finally breathe. He hung his head low, eyes closed as he felt his lungs twinge sharply from the exertion. He hadn't fought with nearly as much grace as his mother and Ori, dexterity as Hadrius, or even with as much strength as his father and Rhenna. But dead was dead and regardless of the lack of finesse, the beast would not trouble him any longer.

A pained whimper drew his attention. Rost frowned, eyes scanning the dimly lit forest. The creature had knocked several trees loose, allowing for a little more light to filter in through the treetops. His eyes adjusted slowly, and then, he found the source of the pitiful sound. In the struggle, a fox had found itself too close to the danger and had been slashed by the scorpion's spiked tail, liking infecting the nasty wound with poison. Rost frowned as he rose to his feet and made his way over the injured animal. It lay curled up against the trunk of a tree, its tail trying to hide the obvious wound as he approached.

Breathing harshly, the beast could do little more than watch him with an almost sad and resigned expression. The fox knew it would die. Rost tightened the grip on his sword.

"I don't want you to be in pain," he lamented softly, not wishing to end the poor animal's life. It had only been wounded because of him, because he had gotten lost in the woods. The thought churned his stomach, and he shook his head, sheathing his sword. "Let me try, at least," he muttered though he knew the fox could not understand him. Slowly and gently, he pulled the fox's tail away, inspecting the wound carefully. He was not as adept of a healer as his mother or Ori, but he had excelled at every task and exam the Path had ever given him. He was one of the best healers the Path had. If he could heal Holy Knights and Silencers, then damnit, he would save a poor, lonely fox.

It took some time, but the fox kept still, allowing him to work until, at last, he had taken all the poison from the wound. His magic was exhausted by the endeavor, and so, for the wound itself, he coated it in a healing salve and used bandages to wrap around the fox's middle. It was only when he was finished did Rost realize that his solution meant he would have to care for the animal for the foreseeable future. An unhappy curse escaping him, he shook his head, but still lifted the fox into his arms, the animal offering no resistance and instead laid its head upon his shoulder. Rost smiled gently, rubbing gently along its back.

"I got you, little man," he said quietly and turned around, searching for the next path to take. He still had no idea which direction he needed to walk, but he couldn't afford to just stand around either. Just as he took a step, however, the whistle of an arrow sounded in the quiet air. It whizzed past his ear and struck the tree behind him. Rost straightened, the fox raising its head, a discontented noise escaping him.

Wanderers, Rost knew. The King of Bones employed the ancient elves to guard this forest, and they were ordered to kill anyone from the Path on sight. They were excellent marksmen. None of them would have missed such an open shot, catching him unawares. Which meant the marksman had second thoughts about killing him. Though his heart was pounding in his chest, Rost took another step forward, trying not to show his terror when another arrow whizzed past him. Three more steps. Three more arrows, but none of them hit him, and so, Rost kept his gaze focused ahead and made his way back to the path. The marksman let him be, and Rost turned down the trail, putting one foot in front of the other and hoped he was headed in the right direction.