Emmaline didn’t argue with Markus, though it seemed to her that ‘move away from the psychotic torture elves’ would have been a wiser strategy. She might have been more vocal about the point if she hadn’t seen the points of jagged mountains low on the south. There was no way that they would make it over those mountains, certainly not wet and shivering as they were. The wind off the sea was already cutting, the sailors tunic (creatively tailored) was theoretically water resistant, though water resistant didn’t mean much when you had been literally submerged.

 

“Cold? Or just happy to see me?” Markus asked with a snort of laughter.

“Wha..” Emmaline began, then looked down and blushed.

 

They reached the edge of the forest. Mercifully the gnarled trees provided some shelter from the wind. That was the only mercy Emmaline could see. The forest was beyond foreboding. The greyish trees lowered over them, blocking what anemic sunlight there was. There was little enough undergrowth, probably because the jagged bows above did such a good job of blocking the sunlight. Several of the trees were in the process of being strangled by blackish purple vines with impressive and very unhealthy looking thorns. Several trees had died under the treatment, leaving skeletal armatures entirely composed of the climbing vines. Markus stepped forward with his sword, carefully scrapping the points from thorns as they passed through. Greenish sap, which Emmaline didn’t doubt was poisonous, leaked from the wounds. She kept close behind the pirate, careful to avoid scratching herself. It seemed impossible they would make any progress under such conditions, but twenty feet into the forest the thorns vanished. Perhaps the edge of the forest was the most dangerous zone, or perhaps it was some freak of nutrition or sunlight. Idly Emmaline wondered what alchemical properties the thorn sap might have, though her alchemical abilities were only slightly more advanced than her magical ones.

 

“Let’s keep moving while we have the light,” Markus said, grabbing a handful of off leaves and wiping the sap from his blade. It shone darkly in the half light, unmarred and, Emmaline feared, happy to be home.

 

Emmaline’s feet were screaming by the time Markus called a halt. Twilight was well and truly settled and it was becoming increasingly difficult to see. Even so Emmaline thought Markus would have continued the march if they hadn’t come across a fallen tree, whose uprooted bowl made a half cave for them to shelter in.

 

“These roots look pretty dry,” Markus observed, “shame we don’t have an axe.” Emmaline raised her right arm and made a downward slash with her arm. A glimmering flash of silver preceeded the tips of a dozen arm thick roots tumbling into the bowl.

“Or that,” Markus said agreeably. Emmaline flopped down and pulled off her shapeless seaman’s boots, rubbing at her throbbing feet. Markus gathered the severed timbers and piled them together to make a fire. He looked up at Emmaline who snapped her fingers, kindling fire into the dry wood.

 

“You’re not nearly so useless on land,” Markus observed charitably.

“How kind of you to say,” Emmaline retorted. Markus laughed and pinched her bottom as he passed, climbing out of the bowl.

“I’ll find us something to eat,” the pirate promised.

 

 

By the time Markus returned, Emmaline had managed to coax the fire into a decent blaze. She was no ranger, but even a poor gold wizard had a basic understanding of how fire and air worked together. The pirate appeared out of the gloom, a small deer slung across his shoulders. How he had managed to catch the thing Emmaline had no idea, but a sword stroke across its throat had already drained the things blood. He dropped it on the leaf litter thirty feet from the bowl and began filleting the thing with his sword blade. Emmaline didn’t even have a belt knife to help, but she found a couple of long sticks to make skewers. In a few minutes they had venison smoking on the skewers, the smell of hot meat making Emmaline’s stomach grumble. Shipboard rations tended towards salt beef, and she had to admit she was eager for something a little richer.

 

“Shame we don’t have any wine,” Emmaline sighed as she blew on the steaming meat.


“That is where you start wishing?” Markus laughed mirthlessly. The pirate captain wasn’t in a good mood. Emmaline knew the fate of the ship and the crew weighed heavily on him.

 

“Well I suppose I could have the Reiksguard and the Artillery School bring me wine,” Emmaline conceded, expanding her scope. Markus’ laugh was more genuine this time.

 

 

Emmaline opened her eyes as she felt something cold against her neck. She looked up and saw a dark figure, far too slender to be Markus, standing above her. Its eyes glowed almost violet in the attenuated starlight. It said something in a language Emmaline didn’t understand, but certainly wasn’t ‘keep sleeping in this hole in the ground’. Her heart hammered in her chest as she stood up slowly, hands raised.

“Well, aren’t you a pretty one, you’ll fetch a good price,” the creature, a dark elf to be sure, said in thickly accented Reikspiel. Markus was also standing, held at the end of a similar blade by another dark elf. Both of them were armored in some kind of scaly leather and wore cloaks that looked like they might have come from the hides of some great marine predator.

“This one looks strong,” the second elf declared, “a fine return on a hunting trip.” The elf grabbed the hilt of Markus’ dark elven blade and began to pull it free.

“What have we her…” the elf began but its question was cut off as Markus’ head snapped forward, his forehead connecting with the elf’s pointed nose. It exploded in a spray of blood and sent the elf staggering backwards. The one threatening Emmaline shoved her hard to ground and turned to leap at Markus. The pirate didn’t waste time trying to draw his own blade, instead he kicked out, sending a spray of ashes from the dying fire into the elf’s face. The Druchii staggered backwards but brought his blade up intime to intercept Markus’ thrust.

 

“Now we will see who the best swordsman…” the elf cut off suddenly as Emmaline struck him across the side of the head with a piece of timber. The elf tried to pivot to face the unexpected threat, but a second blow caught it and sent it tumbling to the ground. Markus stepped forward and thrust the point of his blade into the stunned elf’s throat. It started up in wide eyed surprise, unable to believe it even as its blood spilled to the forest floor. Raven’s cawed overhead.