William

Charmaine spun on Arden, a fire encased hand pointing accusingly at him. “You could have killed us!”

“But I didn’t.” Arden spun daintily on his heel. “In fact, I saved us all. You’re welcome.”

“Where have you been?” William gestured for Charmaine to burn the silk from around his stuck boot.

“Collecting herbs.” Arden shoved a hand into his pocket to reveal a small collection of sage. He dropped the herbs into William’s palm. “I couldn’t find food, though we have enough of that now.”

And none were happier for it. Even Arden grimaced. Spion legs could be cooked, though they chewed like rubber and tasted bitter no matter what one added to them. With their injuries, and not knowing how far to travel, bad food was better than no food.

“Then I heard the buggers,” Arden continued. “First one or two, then more. I wasn’t certain they were heading this way, but I turned back, heard gunfire, and here we are.”

“You didn’t come across a nest?” asked Charmaine. William held himself steady on her arm as he slipped his freezing foot back into its boot.

“No, not any indication of one either. No webbing or animal carcasses.”

“Then what are they all doing here? I don’t believe in coincidences, so they didn’t happen upon us,” William said, gazing about the forest. With the shade of the evergreens and oncoming night, shadows suffocated the woods and whatever threats waited among them.

“They could have heard that ruckus earlier with the beast.” Arden waved a dismissive hand. “What does it matter? You said we can’t risk moving. We’ll cook these legs up. The fire mage and I can maintain a flame. One of us will always keep watch. That’s the most that we can do.”

That was all well and good except another attack came by the following afternoon; two debraks rushed through the forest directly for them. William did not miss the horror in Arden’s voice when one of the beasts slammed its fist atop their hut. Nicholas laid beneath the rubble, dirty and suffering from a fever, but unharmed.

By evening on the second day, at least fifty ratwings descended from the sky. The bastards reminded William slightly of the monsters that carried them from the encampment, the leathered wings and long muzzles. Although, ratwings were about the size of a house cat with the body of a rat and the teeth of a shark. One took a nasty chunk out of Arden’s arm. Another ripped the tip of Charmaine’s ear off and William damn near lost two fingers.

“We can’t risk staying here any longer. These beasts keep coming. I’ve used all the sage on Nicholas and it isn’t safe for us to search for more. We must be near one of Fearworn’s cursed Shimmers or you aren’t telling us something.” William pointed an accusing finger at Arden.

The fae’s ruby eyes widened. He pressed a hand to his chest, feigning offense.

“I beg your pardon, but I have been of tremendous help and you refuse to treat me with an ounce of kindness.” He stuck his nose in the air. It had been bruised earlier. Got it from a rock William threw at one of the ratwings. That’s what he told Arden anyway. “Moving Nicholas would be a poor decision with his fever,” the fae added.

“The fever broke this morning,” William argued and took another gander at the sleeping fae. Their healing capabilities were beyond his comprehension. Two days ago Nicholas was on the brink of death. Now, he had little more than a dark bruise along his torso. He likely would have woken already, if not for the unusual fever that had him shivering in the night. They risked a little more fire to keep him from going too cold.

William often dabbed the sweat from his skin, hating how, like this, Nicholas was more than tolerable. Fae were blessed with far too much. Wickedly handsome, a set of crimson lips that feigned sweetness. Under different circumstances, William would have a man like Nicholas in bed. Of course the fae always ruined his dastardly handsome face by opening his cursed mouth. Perhaps a shit personality was the price paid for beauty.

“And yet he continues to sleep. Perhaps I should be suspicious of you.” Arden’s eyes flashed a more brilliant red. “Has the human taken this chance to seek revenge? Have you done something to keep him sleeping?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t kill him with witnesses around.”

Charmaine guffawed and the flame in the hut flickered. “Can the two of you go one day without arguing? I beg of you. You’re getting on my last nerve.”

“And what will you do then?” asked Arden. “Throw a fireball at me?”

Charmaine didn’t take the bait. She took a loud crunching bite of a spion leg that made Arden grimace. He flinched with every loud crunch of her teeth.

“If you haven’t poisoned anyone, why hasn’t Nicholas awoken yet?” Arden asked.

“With that tone, I’d dare to say you care for him,” said William mockingly.

“Care is not a word within my vernacular. Nicholas must survive and thrive because he is one of the few who can defeat Calix.”

“I will defeat him,” a groggy voice spoke. Nicholas’ eyes fluttered open. The once vibrant rose color had dulled, though he sat up with Arden’s assistance. He leaned against the wall of the hut to peer about, eyes pinched slightly. “What happened?”

Arden knocked one of the water buckets against Nicholas’ thigh. He dunked a cupped hand in to drink.

“You almost died against one of Fearworn’s beasts,” Arden explained.

“You would have died had Albie and I not tended to your wounds,” William added, earning a narrow glare from Nicholas. “And we’ve been under constant attack from monsters who seem exceptionally keen on killing you.”

“Of course, Fearworn wishes me dead,” said Nicholas.

“Yes, but only grumps have any real intelligence. Spion, debrak, and ratwings continuously falling upon us? That isn’t a coincidence. They know we’re here, somehow, so I suggest we move on.”

“Moving on won’t do much good.”

“What do you mean by that?” Charmaine asked.

Arden leaned against Nicholas to whisper in his ear, a desperate hand clutching his bicep. If the bastard thought anything of Arden’s words, he revealed nothing. The Shade kept his gaze on William, lips parted to show the pointed canines behind.

“Answer my riddle correctly and I’ll tell you why the monsters are appearing.” Nicholas smirked, and even the previously miffed Arden got a sparkle in his eye from the mention of a riddle.

“Now is not the time for games,” William argued.

“This is no game. It is a riddle. What learns but cannot read
Is moved but also confined
And all of us hide?”

The gaze Nicholas shared belonged to that of a child discovering starlight for the first time. The excitement grew every second that passed without an answer.

“The mind,” William replied, rolling his eyes when Nicholas clapped.

“Oh, delightful. That was easy, here’s another—”

“You said you would tell us about the monsters if I answered correctly.”

Nicholas’ shoulders deflated and lips pursed into a pout that William looked away from lest he admit something regretful.

“Attacking Lockehold wasn’t merely about taking the stronghold. My kin have always spied in the Deadlands. They heard of a Shadowed Disciple among Fearworn’s ranks called The Creator. Calix supposedly conjured ideas of monsters and The Creator assisted in stitching them together. That very same Creator previously traveled to another Scar and was returning to the Deadlands, thus passing through Lockehold. None of us wanted to miss the opportunity, so we laid siege and I burned that Creator to ash. Now,” he plucked a leatherbound book from the interior of the jacket Charmaine had given him during his fever. She and William shared confused looks of how that book got there. Damn fae tricks.

“I have Fearworn’s book of monsters that does have a mighty aura. Not one a human would notice, but monsters might,” Nicholas declared.

“Book of monsters,” Charmaine repeated, breathless. “So those beasts that grabbed us from camp?”

“Likely written about in these pages, although I’ve barely begun the translations. From what I’ve read, Fearworn has summoned new beasts from the Scars, but nothing of the magnitude that we saw. He’s creating a fucked up puzzle constructed of monster parts and testing their capabilities, so it seems.” Nicholas beamed brighter than a blaze. “How thrilling.”

“This is far from thrilling,” William argued. “If he succeeds in creating an army of new beasts, we’ll lose so much of what we’ve achieved. This war may continue another decade and there is no telling who the winner will be.”

“Exactly. Thrilling.” Pressing a hand to the wall, Nicholas rose on unsteady feet. Though his wounds healed nicely, pain remained based on the sweat forming along his brow.

“Though it burns me to admit, I owe you a life debt, William Vandervult,” he said.

William scowled. “I want nothing from you. Anything you give cannot be trusted.”

“Regardless, you are owed.” Nicholas caught William’s gaze. He believed, for a moment, that Nicholas would divulge what may have happened had Arden not returned. That he might try to do the same, in whatever way he could. Instead, the fae continued, “I will repay my debt when the time arises. Now, where is the monster’s corpse? I must examine it.”

“Have you gone truly mad?” William barked. “We are under constant attack because of that book. The other beast is out there, and you want to return to the rotting corpse?”

“Yes. It’s invaluable. The beast had to be of Fearworn’s creation. It may help me understand more of the journal and what both our armies may be up against in the future.” Then Nicholas’ smile widened to a maddening length. “And, perhaps, Calix is closer than we think. He would not have sent those beasts far. He’d want to learn of their success or failure.”

“That is even more reason not to go.” William’s complaints went ignored.

Nicholas tossed Charmaine’s jacket into her lap. He exited the hut with remnants of his shirt clinging to his wide shoulders and Arden in tow.

“This is an utterly poor decision,” Charmaine muttered.

“Fae are known for them,” said William, though they begrudgingly followed.