The Hollow Grove: The Companions [Book 2]

[44] Knife Fight (Autumn Fest Part 3)

Wesley Whiteknuckle leaned against a far-off oak tree, his stomach churning and his dark tunic soaked at the armpits. The Autumn festival carried on without him. Wooden pipes of the played off in the background as did the singing and dancing of the partygoers.

"Oi, here it comes," he said to no one.

His gut clenched like a vice and a yellow pulpy stew exploded from his mouth.  The sour aftertaste put a grimace on his face.

He spat. 

What's wrong with me? he wondered.

He reclaimed his breath and blinked the bright flashes from his vision.  But after several breaths, even the serenity of Green Haven could not cleanse what ailed him—and it wasn't the Flatfish soup. 

Even though Wess looked dressed for the occasion, he didn't feel like dancing, drinking, or singing.  As per the "regulations" desired by the Druids, he shed his weapons and armor for the Autumn festival.  Of course, he considered Ravenwing more of a friend than a weapon, so he rigged a thin rope to hang the sheath under his armpit.  Covered with his tunic and black cloak the Tenchi blade couldn't be seen, or bumped into by accident while dancing. 

Something is wrong.

He caught three Flatheads, sure.  Fishing again felt fantastic.  With the Stones standing over him even now like tall guardians, they gave him no comfort. 

He thought over the past few hours, then slowly, he rolled back time.  Anyu's return, seeing the Stones, meeting Haygen's mother, the illusionary entrance to Green Haven, the ambush...yes.   

He had not felt right since the ambush.  But why?

An Assassin targeted Kayla.  Sure.  That only made tactical sense.

A wind swept in from the west chilling his damp body.

He set his magical glasses on his nose and walked along the western side near the cabins and lodges away from the Candlewood trees.  The closer he moved to northgate, the easier it became to pick out the Laquarrin Archers perched on wooden platforms high up in the tall Oaks.

He reached the northgate entrance and his stomach churned again. 

Gods!  Something isn't right.

He gave a two-finger signal to the guards and they replied in kind. 

"See anything of interest this fine eve, gents?"  Wess called out just loud enough. 

The Elves replied with a silent shakes of heads. 

"Right.  I'm going on patrol.  Help me back in, ya?"

The Laquarrin to his left nodded and tossed him a white keystone.  Wess raised it and nodded his thanks.  He heard the faint cry of wolves and he thought of returning to his cabin and throwing on his chain vest.  He rested his hand on Ravenwing's grip and it set him at ease.  More than enough for a quick look-see, he thought.

Wess walked only a short while down the western road when it happened.  Faeling luck traveled closely with him that night as he caught the faint smell of garbage.  His talented pallet ran through the possibilities.  Rotten cheddar curds, or maybe even goat cheese. 

Then, he heard familiar words.  Gutteral, but recognizable all the same.

It can't be, he thought.  He had not heard the language of his former masters in years.  Long past were the days of the war under the mountain.

He spotted them easily with his glasses.  Four figures crouched in the ferns with blades out.  Hobgoblins by the sound of them.  He crept closer.  Silent as the Wraith, he thought.