Beyond the Rabbit Hole

That Which is Left Behind

Morgyn's eyes glazed over, his stare never leaving the bloody indents on his arm. While the remaining mercenaries scoured the battlefield, Alyss turned the corner of the wagon in search of her other half. Relief curved her lips into a wide smile as she saw him leaning against the wagon's wooden spokes. She wrapped her arms around him—the sudden embrace releasing him from the confines of his thoughts. He turned to her with his mouth half-agape. Alyss backed away and met his gaze with a warm smile.

"Your face. . ." Morgyn reached his hand out instinctively. "There's so much blood. Are you hurt?"

"Oh, this? No, of course not," Alyss chuckled as she wiped the blood away with her hand. "This came from one of those bandits. The scum didn't stand a chance."

"Ah, of course. I see. . ." Morgyn pulled his hand back to cover his wounded arm. I should've thought as much. His face relaxed. "I'm glad you're okay." She seems like she's used to this already. How many people did she kill? Did the battle even faze her?

Alyss's smile waned as she noticed Morgyn studying her. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Morgyn answered quickly. "I was just. . . worried. That's all."

Alyss smiled again, her face brightening by the second as she met Morgyn's gaze with her own. "You should know by now that you don't need to worry about me. Enemies like these can't hurt me, no matter what tricks they use."

Morgyn gave a curt nod. "Of course." Of course, it didn't faze her. She's strong.

Serana took a deep breath and sheathed her saber before opening the carriage door. "It's safe now. You can come out."

Valentina lifted her head from prayer as the Desiras hesitated to leave their lavish sanctuary.

Bjurrin stepped over the corpses littered across the battlefield, investigating the cloaked bodies of the massacred assailants. The redness slowly drained from his eyes and face, betraying the shallow recovery of his senses. He glanced over at his commander, who was assisting the golden disciple to coax the terrified charges from the safety of their carriage. "Rossa!" he shouted, turning his attention away from the carnage.

Barbarossa sighed, straightened his back, slicked his hair, and headed toward the battlefield with his usual commanding swagger. "What is it, Bjurrin? Do you have something to report?"

"No," Bjurrin chuckled. "But I have things to say which must be said." He gestured toward the bodies at his feet. "We lost half of our men. Even some of our old guards didn't make it out of this mess." He nodded toward the back carriage. "What the fuck are we going to do? We aren't even halfway to the Castle yet."

"We'll do what we've been hired to do. They all knew the risks, yet nobody objected." Barbarossa glared at the berserker coldly.

Bjurrin furrowed his brow but held his tongue.

"If there's nothing else-"

"Wait," Bjurrin spat. As the heated conversation sobered him up, he pointed his axe at the body of a decapitated false wraith. "These weren't your average bandits. It would be foolish for a roughshod band of killers and thieves to don their black cloaks and blend in with the wraiths deep in the heart of this shit hole. But these people. . . they weren't fools." Bjurrin pulled the cloak off the dead attacker at his feet. "They fought with the discipline and tactics of hardened soldiers, not common thugs, at least up to the point when the tiny woman gave them a fright. And look at their equipment. Do you think bandits can afford all these weapons and armor? It doesn't sit right with me."

Barbarossa knelt and raised his hand to his chin as he inspected the corpse. His gaze drifted to the others scattered across the battlefield, and he gave a quiet, winded sigh. "Their formation was certainly more organized than one would expect from typical false wraiths." After a moment of thought, he stood back up. His forehead wrinkled. "Their equipment is more uniform than anything I've seen outside of a top-notch military force." He let out another sigh. "I'll admit this is worrying."