With Brassen at his side, Falan moved quietly through the thick leathery grass. Had the others made it to the Saval lair? He was safe compared to what they would face. Surely they would die in this accursed place.

Brassen whispered in his gruff voice, talking about the food he would eat and the woman he would buy.

For all Brassen’s “merry plans,” they made Falan feel shame. He had not acted the Serafe. I am not a Serafe anyone, he told himself. Just a coward.

Earlier, one of those wretches had skittered above them. Without bows, nether of the two could take the creature down before it escaped. They had decided to change their course, skirting a semi-circle a league or so out of the way. When all seemed quiet, they made camp between a large rock and a coiling Blackwood that seemed to snake along the ground like some hideous serpent before finally growing upward toward the light of the world. The spot they had chosen provided ample cover.

After a quiet meal and several hours of waiting, sure that none of those wretches knew where they were, they continued on their way after reaching the original path—if it could even be called a path—the way they had traversed toward where Lord—No! Lord Jalen is not even in the Blackwood!

Falan kicked at a clump of dead leaves. Brassen gave him a look, but did not say anything. It was easy enough for the fur-cloaked man to break his pact with the mage and decide to leave, but Falan’s honor was stronger than that—at least... he thought it had been. Evidentially not.

What did the future hold for a Serafe without honor? Having broken an oath to his lord, and now a contract with a mage, what else might he turn aside in the future? Would he become a ruffian who only cared about himself, the kind of man who would abandon anyone so long as it suited his own ends? That had not been the reason he refused to carry out Lord Malkar’s orders!

He grimaced.

Falan could not be that man. He had broken his oath for good reasons, but leaving the others to save his own skin? It was pure craven. He stopped walking. “Master Brassen, I am going back.”

Brassen turned, bewildered. “What?”

“Lower your voice. I said I am going back. I cannot leave them like this—to die in some hole. Not in this place.”

Snarling, Brassen waved dismissively. “Fool Serafes and their fool honor! Go then.” He started walking, muttering curses.

Gods he was loud. He is an oaf as she rightly said.

Breathing deeply, Falan began trotting back toward where he had last seen the others, hoping he would be able to track them as they went to their final destination in this dark place. He felt a fool—like a child who hadn’t been able to make up his young mind.

Would they take him—

Abruptly A voice called, straining to stay quiet. He turned, sword raised and searched the darkness.

Nothing.

That voice had not been Brassen’s.

It called again, a short form appearing between two Blackwoods just after. Falan realized it was Naikal standing there.

Lowering his sword, he asked the Hansa woman what she was doing there.

“This is where I hunt,” she said, gesturing with her free hand, her spear held tight by the other. “I saw what happened between you and the...”—she made a face--“the other man.”

Falan did not say anything. Naikal walked nearer, raised her chin. “I will hunt with you.”

Falan frowned. “What about your father?”

The Hansa woman moved strangely, possibly shrugging, though Falan could not tell. “I told my father I was going to hunt, so I will hunt. Saval make for good sport.” She smiled a white toothy smile.

“You hunt them?”

Naikal rolled her eyes. Falan raised a skeptical eyebrow at the short, four-fingered Hansa woman. She was barefooted, and thin. Not doubting that she was adequate at hunting, he wondered if she could fight a warrior’s fight. He did not want to get her killed in a suicidal rescue attempt for some lordling that was probably dead.

Naikal’s inhumanly large eyes turned to slits. “What are you waiting for, humaaan? Take off your boots!” she commanded. “You are...too loud,” she finished, flashing those sharp white teeth in what might have been another grin. Or was she snarling at his ignorance?

“Are you certain you want to do this, Naikal? We are all certainly going to die.”

She said nothing, only stared at him with large curious eyes. Finally he did as she ordered. As he went to stow the boots in his bag, she took him by the wrist and shook her head. “No,” she said, taking the boots and tossing them to the ground.

Naikal turned away from him and took off at a brisk run. She was fast, but not faster than Falan, and she ran at a steady pace, one which Falan could keep up for hours. He only hoped that when they arrived to where the others were, it would not be too late.