Chapter Forty-Two: Riptide

Chapter Forty-Two: Riptide

The next morning the trio set out with their motley collection of familiars.

Smitten performed her usual sweeps, jogging just a little ahead, pausing, sniffing the wind, and carrying on. Leta disappeared into the bare undergrowth as soon as they set out, her brown fur blending perfectly with the background. Sesame trundled alongside Tom, easily keeping pace, and happy not to overly exert himself. Scorn sat in his usual perch, of course, affecting his normal air of disdain.

They made good time, and would be at the gathering in another day or so. As they walked, Tom made a study of the differences between Val and Jace. Val was an expert in woodscraft. She moved near silently, and seemed to have an instinct for where to step and which paths to take through difficult terrain. Tom finally put his finger on something that had been bothering him for a while, though.

Jace flowed through the woods like water, like his first steps had been across moss-slicked rock and through deceptive, leaf-filled ruts. He was truly at home in the Deep. Both Hunters were superlative in their craft, near-silent ghosts, and yet Jace was simply more natural.

Given the amount of time Val had spent honing her craft, living in the Deep, the difference between the two was more ephemeral as opposed to substantive, but the difference was there all the same.

As Tom pondered the difference more, he realised he himself fit more into Vals camp than Jaces. He was becoming confident with woodscraft, and getting better every day, but he would never be a natural like Jace, flowing through the forest as naturally as a river through its banks.

The realisation didnt dishearten him, though. In fact, it did the opposite. He was cheered to know that even if he lacked the natural born talent, the fluidity, for living as a Hunter, he could still achieve fluency as Val had. It was simply a matter of effort and experience.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didnt notice the ambush. He chastised himself, even as he took no small amount of relief in the fact that neither Val nor Jace, nor any of their familiars, noticed either.

They were moving through a sparser patch of forest, with much heavier undergrowth. Hip-high bushes laded with prickly thorns to snag loose cloth or skin lay thick on the ground. Tom had to subsume Sesame. The thorns wouldnt do him any real damage, given his dense coat, but Tom definitely didnt feel like spending hours picking them out of it that night.

They forged a careful path through them, wending back and forth, Toms gaze occupied by searching out a path, and his mind occupied with musings on woodscraft. He swept his vision past a figure standing in the bushes, and it was a moment before his brain caught up to him.

He snapped to attention, bringing up his spear. The shadowy figure twitched, and Tom immediately cast Agony at it. It screeched, and its form seemed to collapse, like a sheet of black fabric held up by a stick.

Val and Jace immediately went on the alert at the noise. Both swept their blades from sheaths, holding them steady, their eyes searching.

What was it, Tom? Val asked.

He opened his mouth to reply, when a shrill laugh sounded from off to their right.

Typeless damage! came the cackle. Thatll teach me!

Val and Jace pivoted smoothly to face the figure, standing now under a wide tree. Tom was an instant behind them.

It was lumpy, its outline obscured, as if it were cloaked in shadow itself. Small, hunched, though that could also have been some sort of obfuscation. Tom could just barely make out small flickers of pink from within its voluminous robes.

Now, now, children. That babe doesnt know me, but I expected a warmer welcome from two old friends! The cloaked figure shifted, its outline swimming slightly. Its voice was decidedly female.

What are you about, Hag? Jace called to it. Skulking about like a rat.

Raucous laughter pealed through the silent woods.

You warm an old womans heart. To think I could sneak up on such accomplished Hunters as yourselves. Come now, how about a nice sit down and a drink? she offered, her voice false and cheery.

No, thank you, said Val, tension obvious in every line of her body.

Weve a meeting to keep, said Jace, his face stony. And you, as well.

The Hag laughed again.

No, we wouldnt want that, not at all, not one bit. Wouldnt dream of keeping The Lord waiting, would we?

She stood watching them for another tense minute. Val and Jace said nothing further, merely watching her, waiting and ready.

Suddenly, the Hag disappeared. It seemed as though the nearby shadows reached out to her, and dragged her apart into a million tiny pieces. One second she was there, the next, gone.

A chill breeze chased by them, stirring the thorn bushes, admitting a weak shower of freezing droplets from the canopy. Tom shivered.

Val and Jace shared a long look, but ultimately, they continued on.

As they walked, Tom swore he could hear faint cackling through the trees. Every so often, movement would draw his eyes to a shadow, and he would jump, twisting about to level his spear. Invariably, whenever he did, there was nothing to see.

The vague laughter was mocking.

Which Ideal did that manifest under? What skill was that? I need details, he said, his gaze almost rabid.

Tom explained Hunter-Gatherer to him, and Scribers eyes grew ever more intense.

This will need more research, he said. Much more. I may have to ask that you stay here after the Gathering for a few days.

Val gave Tom an amused grin. Shouldnt be a problem, I dont think.

Much obliged. I might even cut my route short, swing back the other way towards you. This could be crucial. We havent had any spatial skills in the Hunters in over a decade. Hmmm Scriber was talking mostly to himself, clearly lost in thought.

We ran into the Hag, on our way in. Couple of days back. She shown up yet? Jace asked the others.

Scriber was still distracted, but Cub piped up in a clear, youthful tenor.

Not yet, and thank Goddess. Enough of the bloodthirsty types here as it is.

We can do without her stirring the pot, said Moth.

Thinking Id prefer her where I can see her, Jace replied.

Honeyfields here. Good enough for you? Moth gave a fractional nod of her head towards the man.

Jace and Val both turned briefly for a glance, and by the direction of their looks, Tom picked out the right group.

Two men sat opposite each other, more removed from any other camp than anyone else. One of the men looked normal. Like he wouldnt have been out of place working in any shop in Wayrest. He didnt look rugged, not in the slightest, just wearing a simple white shirt and brown woollen breeches. Tom could feel intense amounts of mana concentrated in him nonetheless. The other man was a different story.

He felt evil. No supernatural sense spoke to him of it, it was just that: a feeling. He was a shorter man, with black hair, all at odds with itself, sticking out every which way. His skin was not pale, or dark, or of any particular colouration, and yet still somehow seemed sour. He had deep black rings under his eyes, as if he had found sleep an unfaithful partner and divorced it. A short, tatty black cloak covered him, and he sat hunched, talking with his campmate with a feverish look on his face. The concentration of mana in the man was even higher.

Black cloak? Tom asked quietly. Val nodded.

Goddess, he gives me the shits. Wish hed slink off somewhere quietly and die. Do us all a favour, Jace said.

Tom opened his mouth to ask more about the man, but Scriber butted in, recovered from his reverie.

The Lord wont be far off, I reckon.

Still a few days til the meeting starts, isnt there? said Moth.

There is, but almost all the violent types are in already. The Hags the only important one missing, and you said youve seen her.

What difference does it make? Moth asked him.

Hell want to do whatever hes doing with as many on his side as he can. He wont be far off. Mark me.

He does love his drama, I suppose, Val said.

The next moment, a hush fell over the gathered Hunters. Their group turned, trying to see what the cause was.

From the treeline strode a man, tall and handsome. He was dark of hair and feature, impressively broad, clothed all in deep, sanguine red, with a long black cloak overtop. The hilt of a fine sword jutted above one of his shoulders.

The Hag was at his side, her shadowy figure moving after him in a smooth glide one moment, and fractured lurching the next. The Lord, for that was who he must be, strode through the camp without so much as glancing at anyone. His gaze was fixed ahead.

The Lord strode forth, imperious, until he came to a smaller brown boulder at the edge of the forest.

He tapped a faint rune on the top of the boulder. The massive thing emitted a deep grinding sound, and slowly began to split. He entered in silence, and the Hag filed down after him.

The older Hunters with Tom shared a significant look. Everyone grabbed any necessities, leaving their wardpoles and the rest, and made their way to the rock as well.

Toms hand felt clammy as they walked down the exposed earthen stairs, roots branching through the ceiling, rough packed dirt to either side.

So began the gathering of Wayrests unluckiest Idealists, and its most infamous criminals.