Weight of the World

Chapter Forty-Two

—The Crooked Forest, Belanen—

Rost cursed under his breath. An entire patrol. Dead. When they had failed to report back hours ago, The Voice had sent Rost, a few men, and the Shadow of the Creator himself to find them. It was certainly not the first time their soldiers had gotten lost in the woods, and so, for a while, Rost had remained hopeful they would find the missing men alive. Clearly, that optimism had been misplaced.

The bodies were littered with arrows. Wanderers, the King of Bones elite scouts who combed through the Crooked Forest, picking off all of the members of the Path of Light they found. Their leader, Tyen'enyal, had a particular hatred for The Voice and the Path, and so, he had given his men the freedom to inflict whatever violence they wished upon them. The dead men at his feet should be grateful for such quick deaths. Many others hadn't been so fortunate.

"Fucking elves," the soldier behind him growled. "They're a fucking menace. We should just burn them all."

Rost turned, trying to check his anger even as his fist tightened at his side. "My mother's an elf."

The soldier laughed. "Yeah? Bet she's a fucking whore."

No hesitation or remorse. The words had barely escaped the man's mouth when Rost decked him straight in the jaw. He wasn't as strong as his father or Rhenna, but his Tor'Varyan strength surpassed ordinary people. That singular hit dropped the soldier, a resounding crack telling him that he had, in fact, broken the man's jaw.

"What the fuck?" another soldier hurried to his friend's side.

"Go ahead," Rost goaded the two men. "Insult my mom again."

"That's enough," Corlis ordered a few feet away.

He didn't look at any of them, continuing to inspect the tracks upon the ground. To Rost, it was a chaotic mess that was impossible to follow. The footprints that were there were a tangled mess upon the ground, and beyond those visible, he could see nothing else that would help them. For his uncle, however, he knew it was another matter entirely. Corlis Marcellus was an expert tracker, who could likely tell the color of the archers' outfits and what they ate for breakfast as well as which direction they had gone in.

"We were ordered to find these men. Since we can't bring them back alive, it's our job to secure the area and make sure the Wanderers don't attack more of our men," Corlis informed them.

"Bastard broke Frelch's jaw!" the man's friend shouted, helping the injured soldier to his feet. "Fuckin' punish 'im."

Corlis finally turned to look at them, an exasperated sigh escaping him. "Do I look like I give a fuck, soldier? Given what Frelch had to say, you're lucky all he received was a broken jaw. Rost's mother is a dear friend of mine, a woman I consider a sister. Insult her again and I'll leave you here to bleed out."

The soldier visibly paled, choosing to say nothing in return as he helped Frelch make his way over to the remaining soldiers in their company. Corlis ordered them to fan out to continue looking for clues. Rost followed orders, the others giving him a wide berth as he passed. Kneeling next to a bush, he heard a familiar sound coming up beside him. Through the underbrush came a heavily panting fox, who flopped down onto his back the moment he spotted Rost.

"Kitsune," Rost admonished, shifting closer to the animal. "You're not well enough yet. I told you, you needed to stay behind."

The fox made an unhappy sound, twisting further on its back to invite him to rub his belly. Rost rolled his eyes but complied.