Weight of the World

Chapter Sixty-Two

—The Crooked Forest—

Their escape from the Old God was only the beginning of their troubles. In their hurried attempt to flee in the direction Breverick had pointed them, they were moving blindly through the forest. It wasn't long before their stumbling was noticed, a group of Wanderers coming to intercept them. It was a short but bloody fight. In the end, they managed to escape, but the vanguard had been reduced by a fair number. Alistair had brought with them some twenty soldiers that had now fallen to ten.

Worse still was the fact that in their struggle, they had failed to notice the forest was playing a trick. By the time the last Wanderer fell, the forest had shifted once more, taking them from the overgrown path they had been following and into a vast swamp instead. Knee deep in murky water, Alistair and the others had waded carefully toward a small section of higher ground, where they assessed their situation.

Granson was the first to voice his opinion for heading back for Baldric, but Hilda had quickly vetoed that idea. Even if they knew the exact way back to him, Baldric was more likely to kill them himself for such a pitiful reason than to thank them. As it stood, they were hopelessly lost, and the only small mercy was that, through the treetops, they could just make out the light of the sun. They knew they needed to head east, but beyond that, they could only hope for the best.

Their sluggish journey through the swamp led them into the path of more than a few monsters, but even with their numbers reduced, their party was not a weak one by any means. Between Alistair and his companions, the elite soldiers he had brought, and the two Silencers that accompanied them, they were able to dispatch each of the monsters that sought to slow them.

The sound of splashing water made Alistair turn abruptly. He expected to find another monster waiting in ambush. Instead, it was only Teressa, who had stumbled and fallen into the water. Though she appeared unhurt, she was slow to get up. Alistair made his way to her side, holding out a hand to help her up. She took it with a grateful smile.

"Your Majesty," Hilda sighed a few feet away. "We really need to find a place to rest. If we keep pushing ourselves, Baldric's going to stumble across our corpses sooner or later."

"You think he's still alive?" the Silencer, Darrian, asked curiously. "Didn't you say he was fighting a god back there?"

"A lesser god, yes," Hilda nodded. "But it makes no difference. Baldric will win."

"We don't know that, Hilda," Granson mumbled tiredly.

"Baldric's the best swordsman Avarra has. I don't care who he was fighting. He won. End of story."

"I, too, want to believe he won," Alistair nodded, taking a step toward his friends. "And we need to keep believing that moving forward. Rost Tor'Varyan is in danger, and he needs our help. We can't forget what we're out here for. The Voice asked us to handle this personally. We need to..."

"...watch out for the trap?" Granson sighed.

"Exactly."

"Wait, you think this is a trap?" Seleth asked, her brow furrowed. "Why would you...?"

"It was nothing outright," Alistair explained. "I've known The Voice nearly all my life. I believe he's a good man at heart, and I've trusted him with my life on many occasions, but...something about this just hasn't sat well with me."

"With any of us," Hilda clarified. "Not to mention, The Voice didn't seem overly concerned with the Shadow's disappearance. His righthand man, and he isn't the least bit worried over what could happen to him out here?"