The Correntis Sigurd was kind enough to apply a generous portion of faerie tears onto the five deep gouges of Carthei’s face before wrapping the entire left side of her head with bandages. Her left eye beheld nothing but a muted brown or a faint tan if there was light in front of her. As she made her way to the middle of camp, she couldn’t help but fiddle with it.

There was no telling how far away the larger Clthic force was from this camp, so Carthei knew that the Godslaves had to deal with the prisoners and leave as soon as possible. Many of the pack animals, horses and mules mainly, were worked into a frenzy by the arcane detonations from those mere minutes ago. A section of their pen had been smashed down and a stream of them had made off.

It was just next to this animal pen that the human prisoners were held. They were locked inside two seperate cages like livestock. In the first cage, there had to be forty or fifty of them. As she closed in, their eyes locked onto hers.

Cries of relief rose from the squalor, as did pleas for release.

One voice, despite how faint it was, rang so incredibly clearly in Carthei’s ears.

“C-Carthei?”

A figure pushed to the front of the imprisoned crowd. It was Vontross.

Without hesitation, Carthei approached the cage. “I knew you were still alive. You are much too stubborn to die,” she said to him in their native tongue of Jurtir. “Are you alone?”

Vontross stuck his fingers through the bars of the cage, and Carthei gently laid her fingers against his. “Yes. I was hoping that the others were with you…but that doesn’t appear to be so.” He then asked in disbelief, “You lead the Godslaves, now?”

As if he heard the question, it was then that Alric and the rest of the knights came around from behind the smoking tent. Gripped in his hand was his thrysteen staff. Vontross’ face immediately became wiped clean of the smile that only just graced it.

Alric came to a halt next to Carthei, raising his visor. His brow was tensed as his eyes locked onto the bandages on her face. “Art…thou well?” He asked awkwardly, as if he didn't really care.

“I shall be better once we free my friend here.”

He looked to the cage. It took him a moment, but it was clear from the uncertain frown he wore that he recognised Vontross. “Brothers, let us liberate these poor folk. I am certain that they hunger.”

Some of the Godslaves approached the doors of the cages and started hacking at the bars with their axes. One of the prisoners, a foreign nobleman from the look of his clothes, added, “That is the thing, saint chevalier…we do not.”

Another man came forward. “He speaks the truth, Brother Thestor. The demonists simply relieved us of our weapons, armour, standards, then continued to supply us with ample food and water.”

The Godslaves finally tore through the door for the first cage. Steadily, the former captives filed out. Alric shook his head. “Thou wert to be toys for the vampire…” he mused.

Vontross charged into Carthei like a bull, clutching her so strongly that she was certain that he might break her in two. He whispered to her in Jurtir, “You better have a damned good explanation for this.”

“The secret is safe. For the time being, at least,” she answered. “I have managed to convince them that he is some God-given saviour.”

With a tense shake of his head, the Mnem’non hunter replied, “The second it changes, I will be ready. You need only say the word.”

Carthei watched Alric as he greeted one of the freed prisoners with a firm handshake. Without his surcoat, it took Carthei a little longer to recognise Matvey. His face was harshly bruised, but like the other prisoners, he was not seriously injured. The Correntis turned and met Carthei’s gaze, then the two shared a curt nod.

With Vontross by her side, Carthei continued behind Alric and his Godslaves as they approached the next cell of prisoners.

“These folk were separate from the others… Why is that?” asked Lorenz.

Carthei exhaled harshly. It was incredibly obvious to her as well as Vontross. The people inside this cage, with skin that teetered between turquoise and cobalt, glared at the Godslaves with a toxic gaze. They wore the unmistakable black rugged battle fibres of the Grue Ko’an manhunters. To the Mnem’non, they were trusted allies and frequent trade partners. The Mnem’non were skilled foragers and farmers who traded crops and produce to the Grue Ko’an, who excelled at keeping the lands of the two tribes safe from interlopers. Given their long symbiotic relationship, they shared a language. To the Church, the Grue Ko’an were a menace; undoubtedly the primary source of their lore of witches. They made it an active duty to hunt and kill Godslaves, preserving their spines and surcoats as trophies. That is not to say that the Mnem’non have never killed any Godslaves in the past, but they certainly never treated it the way the Grue Ko’an did. To them, it was a righteous sport. I suppose that makes them rather similar to the Godslaves. Amusing.

The Grue Ko’an had their daggered stares fixed upon Alric, practically snarling at him.

Vontross muttered in Jurtir, "Perhaps we should just let them kill each other.”

“Do not tempt me,” Carthei joked.

The Grue Ko’an are renowned for being the greatest battle druids in the world. I will feel much safer with them by my side amidst the Godslaves. And, of course, once the alliance breaks down, they will prove to be more than enough to decimate the knights.

Carthei brushed through the crowd until she emerged by Alric’s side. In Tritish, she declared, “These are the fearsome manhunters of the Grue Ko’an tribe. Cousins of the Mnem’non. They have…quarrelled with your Orders in the past.”

The man at the head of the formation of Grue Ko’an did not react to the words. It was likely that they never bothered to learn Tritish or Lacron. Frankly, if it wasn’t for the Church trying to convert and assimilate her as a child, Carthei wouldn’t have either. She was thankfully saved from that cruelty before it was too late.

She continued, “They are mighty warriors who have mastered the most devastating of the arcane arts. If they were to join us, they would prove to be incredible adversaries for the Clthic Assembly. What say you, Alric?”

The acting Thestor leader’s shoulders rose and fell steadily as he contemplated. “I am certain it shall depend on whether or not they can be convinced. If they cannot…we shall dispatch them at once.”

With a nod, Carthei placed her right hand on the top edge of the cage, leaning upon it. She cleared her throat, then said in Jurtir, “My friends, you have seen the Clthic Assembly. Left unpunished, they will surely bring about Athroct’u.”

The lead Grue Ko’an, likely a chieftain based on how the others looked to him, shook his head. “They certainly are heralds of the signs, but you overstep by teaching the fanatic barbarians our ways. We will never bow to them. It is shameful for you to have done so.”

“Chieftain, perhaps use your brain for a moment,” Carthei replied smoothly.

The other manhunters widened their eyes. She continued, “It will be far easier to kill an enemy that thinks of you as a friend. Besides, Alric is the only one here who knows the true nature of magic. He has the arcane skill of a Mnem’non child.”

All of a sudden, the Grue Ko’ans started to look a great deal happier. Not understanding a single word of Jurtir, the Godslaves were completely oblivious to the conversation. The Chieftain shook his head with a stern frown. “You speak of dishonourable things. Deception. Lies. That is not our way. We charge headfirst toward our enemies.”

“I am aware of that. There are tens of thousands of Godslaves out there, and hundreds of thousands of secular fighters who would gladly ride to the aid of the Church. We are vastly outnumbered…so we must compensate for our shortcomings. When the Clthics are dealt with, it will only be a matter of time before the Church looks to us.”

The Chieftain scoffed in disbelief. “It is ironic, isn’t it, sister? It was Clth who shattered druid unity those ages ago. Now, fools mustering under his banner have forced us back together.”

“You will stand with us, then?”

“Only because you promise us Godslave blood,” he added. “I am Vaykorr, Cheiftan of the rabble before you. What is your name, Mnem’non?”

“Carthei,” she answered.

She then turned her attention to Alric. “Chieftain Vaykorr of the Grue Ko’an believes that the Clthics are the ultimate foe. To defeat them, we must break old prejudices and forge new alliances,” she lied in Tritish.

Alric gave a stern nod. “Then we are in agreement. Release them.”

The Godslaves hesitated for a moment. They nervously glanced around at each other. Baldwyn promptly roared, “What art thou waiting for? Move!”

Anybody could tell that the remaining Godslaves were not all entirely eager to accept Alric’s newfound authority. They were bred to fear and hate magic, yet now one of their own wielded it. Carthei found it reasonable to think that some doubted that Alric was guided by God, and supposed instead it may be the Devil leading him astray.

Regardless of the Godslaves’ mixed feelings, the Grue Ko’an were soon liberated from their prison. The manhunters gave the Godslaves a wide berth, choosing instead to remain by Carthei and Vontross’ side. Each of the twenty druid were of incredible stature; both men and women were covered in thick bands of muscle. Even knights did not come close to their immense musculature. Their builds were only emphasised by their tight battle fibres; form-fitting suits that could only be torn by the sharpest of blades. These were a people whose very existence consisted of hunting and killing their fellow man for sport.

Despite these renewed numbers of druids, they were still outnumbered by the Godslaves. Thestors, Correnti, and mixed Tritan and Lacron soldiers or knights were contained in that first pen. In total, there were fifty-six of them. The druids stood at twenty three strong now.

Before long, the druids found their way to the stockpiles of equipment that had been liberated from the prisoners before their capture. Thankfully, it was nowhere near the site of the kerst seed detonation. Otherwise, much of it would have been blown to oblivion.

Carthei watched as they rummaged through the crates, securing all manner of artefacts that the Clthics were surely planning to save for later. There was at least one kerst, a handful of thrysteens, some staves that even Carthei hadn’t even seen before, and finally pieces of Grue Ko’an shell armour, called vormata.

Unlike steel, this incredibly rare protective gear was angular and jagged in shape, lightweight, as white as ice, and some marked with strange glyphs. The twenty Grue Ko’ans distributed the various pauldrons, breastplates, gauntlets, greaves and helmets amongst themselves and strapped them on top of their battle fibres. The pieces were mismatched and some of the druids had segments missing; they clearly had to share what little they had.

Alric strode over and leant onto the wagon next to Carthei. “The prisoners have revealed to us that they were to be moved to a mining fortress nearby on the morrow. It is apparently one of the many sites from which the Clthics excavate their relics. With our new well-armed allies we could perhaps take it.”

“Agreed. Their exploitation of the Ethereal artefacts must end. However, you do realise that if they were being transferred to the site, it is likely that our vampire friend is there?”

Alric nodded. “We must make amends for allowing him to escape by ending his wretched existence. Vampires are a scourge upon creation and they must be eradicated.”

Carthei cocked her head. “Such power should never be possessed by any man. It is a desecration.”

Alric bowed his head in agreement. “Verily.”

A Grue Ko’an approached Carthei and Alric. He was one of the few wearing a helmet; the piece of armour completely covered his head and had no sights like a traditional helm. Instead, there were a series of dull red dots on its face, almost like scattered eyes. “Carthei, we have several pieces of vormata unused. Some of our kin died in the battle, the useless sods. Would you care to make use of them?” It was Vaykorr. His voice was strange, garbled by his strange helmet.

Alric, obviously having no idea what he just said, glanced at Carthei with an eyebrow arched.

“Better me than him, I suppose,” she answered in Jurtir, nodding towards Alric.

“I would rather toss it into the ocean,” spat Vaykorr.