In the end, the plan was simple. Dyrik had contacted the Order through a communication device that Cherna had in his shop, explaining the situation and asking for assistance. The response had been non-committal as expected, and the weary mages had put in a request for any books or other resources that could be spared that might help. With Cherna promising to keep pressure on the Order, Krosa, Gost, and Dyrik collected their horses, purchased some supplies, and set out on the road back to Provints. It was a somber journey, but Krosa attempted to distract herself by asking all the questions they had been in too much of a hurry for in the previous days.

“So what exactly is the Order that you keep talking about? I’ve heard of it before, but nobody ever seems to feel like describing exactly what it is.”

Dyrik responded, although from what she understood Gost was also a member of the mysterious organization. “The Order is a club of sorts. It’s a group of individuals who associate together to share knowledge and resources, pursue various interests, adventure, and occasionally battle dark forces and unethical magical practices.”

“We kill bandits and the like sometimes too” Gost interjected

“Yes, the occasional bandits get killed, especially if they happen to rob the wrong person or use tactics and resources that make them stand out from mundane criminals.” Dyrik confirmed, then continued. “The structure of the order is fairly loose, and there aren’t a lot of requirements for membership beyond a commitment to not being an awful person, and helping other members of the Order when possible. Members like Gost and I pretty much do what we like, go where we will. Occasionally we’ll get drawn into someone else’s trouble, but it’s generally a good cause. The more powerful among us get into all sorts of nonsense we try to avoid if we can, although when a pinnacle mage or one of the tetrahedrons puts out a call, it’s always best to answer it. They don’t ask lightly, and if it’s caught their attention it’s generally something that might threaten existence as we know it. But that sort of thing is very rare, haven’t had one of those since…” He paused and looked at Gost, who looked away deliberately. “Well, it’s been a while.”

Krosa attempted to absorb this information. “So what about the King? Does the Order fall under his rule?”

Gost shook his head. “Not really. Monarchs can request assistance, and generally if it’s something we’d be interested in we’re already involved by the time they ask. But it’s a rare ruler that tries to muscle the Order. It’s just not worth it.”

“Do you think they’ll help us?”

Dyrik responded again. “Doubtful. Any of the individuals or groups who have the power to help with something like this won’t find it that interesting, or alarming. Most of them are involved in long-term projects or conflicts that require their attention. No, I think we’re on our own here.”

Krosa nodded, fighting back tears. As capable as the two men were, they’d already explained that they had been unable to penetrate the camouflage that the curse used to protect itself. She had begun to think of the spell as a living being, as that almost made it easier to bare than the thought of some uncaring magical machine that might have absorbed her father. If the curse was more than just some formula, maybe it had a mind, and if it had a mind, maybe it had a heart. If it had a heart, then maybe there was hope. She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. Heart or not, she would not let some dark magic take her father, not without a fight at least. “So what can we do, since we can’t get close to it?”

Dyrik smiled at her. “Well I've been thinking about that. I didn’t mention it to you before, but that trick you did with your radishes is more difficult than you might have realized. If I hadn’t verified it with my own eyes, I would have had a hard time believing that you had done it based just on what was in that primer I loaned you. You have a talent for magic, and more importantly, a talent for a certain kind of magic. You have a knack for spells involving things that live and grow, specifically plants and the like. A Green Wand, some might call it. I don’t have any such talents, and most of my abilities lie elsewhere. But if we train you properly, there is a hope that your knack with plants could guide you through the forest, even with the curse obfuscating the path. It’s not going to be fast, or easy, but it’s our best hope.”

Krosa realized her mouth was hanging open slightly, and snapped it shut with a click. Gost let out a snorting laugh from where he rode next to her. “Fantastic, I’m surrounded by wizards. What does a man have to do to get decent company these days?”

Dyrik grinned at him, “The same thing you always do Gost, run out into the woods and roll around with the other wild beasts.”

“Beats sniffing musty old books and drinking weird coffee all day” The large man retorted. Krosa allowed herself a slight smile at the banter. Although she still felt an aching pit in her stomach when she thought of what dire straits her father might be in, she felt real hope for the first time. If he was alive, she would find him. If he was ensorcelled, she would free him. And if he was dead… I’ll burn this whole forest to the ground. The thought surprised her with its ferocity, but she knew that she would do so without hesitation if she could. The keep, the curse, all of it could burn if Polenach had been hurt. The man who had raised her, kept them both going when her mother had died, fed her on books and humor and hard work, if he was gone, someone would pay for that loss. The grim sense of commitment she felt had distracted her from noticing the change in her companions. Their bickering had cut off sharply and she looked up to see that Gost had strung his bow, and held an arrow knocked and read. Dyrik had produced a slim, straight sword, seemingly from nowhere. Krosa tensed in the saddle and eyed her surroundings, feeling a touch of fear blossom where before she had felt only anger and the promise of power she did not yet have.

The horse beneath her sensed the change in mood and shifted uneasily. She struggled to control it as it sidestepped and spun sharply, nearly throwing her in it’s panic as a shape burst from the brush next to her. The move saved her, as the shape had been aimed at the hindquarters of her mount, and had clearly intended to drag her off as it passed. Instead, it raked massive claws through thin air, roaring in frustration. The beast landed and spun to face the group, saliva dripping from its open maw. Krosa froze in horror at the sight of the thing. It looked like it had once been some kind of cat, a panther or mountain lion perhaps. Both roamed and hunted in the mountains around Provints. But this thing had been twisted into something different. Muscles hunched oddly on its shoulders, and an extra pair of legs sprouted in front of the back set, which explained the prodigious distance from which it had leapt at her. Krosa’s mind went momentarily blank at the sight of the thing, then she was totally preoccupied trying to stay on top of her panicking mount. As the horse spun again, she saw that the beast that had leapt at her was not alone. A dozen creatures had emerged from the undergrowth near the road, all of them twisted representations of animals that roamed the forests around Provints. wolves, a bear, even what appeared to have once been a deer, all warped and sprouted extra limbs or antlers, many with gleaming claws and teeth that would not normally be so numerous or large. Worst of all, some of them appeared afflicted with some kind of pestilence. Open sores and wounds glistened wetly from their patchy hides, great sections of fur and skin looked as though they had been flayed off by a mad hunter. The only thing they all had in common was their eyes, which seemed to glow in the dim light of the forest road, murderous and red.

It took her only a second to notice all this, but in that second her companions were already in action. An arrow sprouted from the murderous eye of the cat beast which has missed it’s leap, and another was already in flight toward the monstrous bear. Meanwhile, Dyrik danced among the wolf pack, thin sword glowing like a blacksmith’s forge. It pierced into hearts, and sliced through corded neck muscles to sever jugulars as he whirled and ducked under their snapping leaps for his throat. Slavering jaws sought his hamstrings, attempting to cripple his movement, but the bookstore owner seemed to welcome the attacks and every beast that sought to find a weakness to bite found death instead.

As Dyrik finished off the last of the wolves, a final arrow brought down the bear and Gost had turned his attention to the manic deer that had tried several times already to gore his mount with its jagged antlers. The deer seemed to have a preternatural ability to dodge the lethal effect of the arrows however, taking shots in non-vital areas as it wove madly through the small group. Krosa’s horse had backed far enough away from the battle that she was no longer in direct danger, but the mad scampering of the deer could head in her direction at any moment, and she prepared herself to leap away from her still struggling mount if it did.

Behind Gost and the deer, Dyrik stood with his free hand held up and open. Embers flew from between his fingers, and as he closed them into a fist the deer halted, stumbled, then seemed to burst into flames from the inside as fire sprayed from it’s mouth and the open wounds that peppered its hide,

And just like that it was over. Krosa’s mount stood shivering, and the road and surrounding woods were once again silent. Her mind shivered as well, puzzle pieces tumbling into place as she looked at her friends. They strode calmly through the carnage, Dyrik inspecting the carcassas and Gost retrieving his arrows. When he reached the still-smoldering deer, he snorted in irritation.

“Damnit Dy, what did I tell you about melting my points? Bad enough the shafts are burned to char, but you slagged the steel too. I hate it when you do that.”

“Would you rather I let it stab you next time?”

“I had it, and you know it. No need for the pyrotechnics.”

“What can I say, it was getting boring watching you do all that dancing with no music.”

As the two chattered at each other, Krosa dismounted and walked over to inspect the body of the beast that had nearly killed her. Stilled by death, it was even more horrifying than it had appeared while leaping at her. Thoughts of these monsters chasing her father through the dark forest crept into her mind, and she tried to ignore them. The curse that lay on her hometown was clearly creating these abominations, and unleashing them on the area. None of them were human though, and she began to wonder as she stood over the still form of the unfortunate animal. There had been occasional disappearances in Provints over the years, as hunters or woodsmen wouldn’t return when expected, peddlers who set out did not return, and even occasionally a villager who went in search of berries or mushrooms might walk into the woods and never come out. The village naturally assumed that those who went missing had gotten lost, were attacked by an animal, or maybe even just decided to seek their fortune in the wider world. She remembered rumors from before she was born, that back then the missing were often young women. But she had thought those were just stories the older folk told to try to keep the youth in line. Now a creeping suspicion darkened her memories of those tales of the missing, as the new knowledge she had gained changed the context of her entire life, the curse twisting her childhood like it had twisted the dead thing at her feet.

She dropped to one knee, waves of exhaustion and despair finally overcoming her hope and resolve. Unable to even cry, she just stared at the dead beast in front of her. For what seemed like hours she knelt in the hard dirt of the road, until her trance was broken by the sight of something strange even by the standards of her new reality. From one of the weeping sores on the beast’s side, something was emerging. It pushed through the gore and pus, finally sprouting out in a burst of vibrant color. It was a flower, unlike any she had ever seen. Like a tiny rose it grew swiftly from the side of the beast. It shone with life in stark contrast to the gross heap it sprouted from, and Krosa was transfixed as she watched it bloom. Reaching out a hand, she tentatively touched the small flower, which had finished sprouting and now spread its petals towards the thin rays of sun that filtered through thick foliage overhanging the road. As she touched it, she felt an electric spark run up her arm and the bloom detached itself from its grisly planter, falling into her hand and pricking her palm with it’s thorny stem. A small drop of blood was drawn from her skin and seemed to be absorbed into the petals, turning them a dusky red. Dyrik rushed over, having witnessed the act but unable to stop it. He grabbed her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes, his gaze seeming to pierce right through her. He let go of her and sighed with relief.

“The first rule of magic is don’t just run around touching magical things without figuring out what they are first. That could have easily killed you, or turned you into some curse-damned abomination and then WE would have had to kill you.” He slapped her lightly on the back of the head. “Don’t do that again.”

Gost walked up, concern plain on his face. “You ok?”

Krosa gazed at the flower still in her hand. “Yes, I think so. I don’t know how to explain it, but somehow I knew it wouldn’t hurt me.”

Dyrik laughed harshly. “Oh, wise mage who is immune to deceptive magics that hide evil intent, surely your gut feeling telling you that something is safe is what you should go off of. Girl, we have a lot of work to do to make you into someone who won’t just get killed the minute you walk into a battle, and it starts with a serious increase to your paranoia. There are things in the world that you don’t even know exist, much less understand them enough to tell if they’re safe or not.”

“Don’t mind him, Krosa. He’s just worried you’ll turn into a man-eating plant and he’ll have to burn you alive to keep you from gobbling up all the villagers.” Gost said with a mostly straight face. Krosa eyed him, trying to figure how much of that had been a joke, but as Dyrik turned away she saw in his eyes that what Gost had said may have been closer to the truth than any of them would want to admit. Having seen the two in action, she had no doubt that they would not hesitate to end her if the curse had taken control. She nodded and apologized, oddly grateful to know that one way or another, her new companions and teachers would not allow her to become like the poor creatures that now littered the road. She put the flower into a pocket, and they continued their journey home once more.

*******

Polenach stumbled down the road, exhaustion pulling at his feet as he fought to stay upright. Swift movements in the brush kept him going, howls sounding out on his left and right as the gentle light from the stars above showed just enough of the beasts in the woods to know that they were toying with him. There were dozens of the creatures, even more than what had attacked his wagon. Twisted wolves, deer, and at least two bears stalked him from the woods, pushing him further down the road. He shuddered as he realized that perhaps they weren’t toying with him after all, that instead they were herding him. As awful as being torn apart by tormented monstrosities sounded, what worse fate awaited him at the end of the journey they were forcing him on? He shuddered but kept running, the hope that the dark unknown was better than the horrific toothy mouths that gaped in the forest, waiting for him to fall.

Just as he had that thought, he fell. A root had appeared from a crack in the otherwise surprisingly well-maintained road, and it had seized his foot like a hand from the underworld. And just like that, the chase was over. Beasts emerged from the woods, stepping onto the road. The moon had risen and its baleful light shone down through the trees, making dripping fangs gleam as they were bared. The pack of fiends advanced slowly. Polenach’s ankle throbbed with pain, and he was certain it was broken. He panted heavily, attempting to catch his breath but fear stole the air from his lungs as fast has he could take it in. Sweat poured down his face and stung his eyes, and with that slight pain he knew he felt only the precursor of what was to come. He closed his eyes in an attempt to shut out the pain of the salt and the sight of his impending fate. As he did so, he saw Krosa. He saw his daughter, sitting alone in her garden, weeping soft tears as she thinned a row of carrots.

He opened his eyes. Teeth bared in a rictus grin, he forced himself to his knees. His hand reached out and found a stone that had come loose from the road, and he gripped it as he stood once more. He would face his death on his feet, and these brutes would pay the cost of his life in pain, as much as he could give them. For Krosa, to live up to the memory of the father he had always tried to be for her. He took a faltering step forward, fire shooting up his leg from his broken ankle. He snarled at the nearest wolf and prepared to charge.

As he took the second step, something hit him hard in the back, throwing him onto his face and knocking whatever wind had been left in him out into the dirt. He coughed into the ground, choking on the dust that had kicked up from his impact. Unable to move, he felt something slam down on the ground near his head, and a maelstrom of sound erupted around him. Snarls, snapping jaws, yelps, roars, and the wet sound of meat being butchered filled his stunned ears. Something wet sprayed across his back, and he tasted blood in the air he was able to gasp in. Branches snapped as the sounds of desperate battle became those of a route. Lifting his head, he saw several creatures withdrawing into the woods, many with great gashes in their bodies leaking blood and a dark ichor, some limping on broken limbs. Looking around he saw pieces of his tormentors lying all around him, heads and limbs severed, torsos wrent open as if by a force of nature. From behind him, a triumphant roar pursued the fleeing fiends as they ran from the road. The sound vibrated his bones, causing his ankle to throb in protest. Rolling onto his back, he looked up at his savior.

Standing only a few feet behind him, massive form hulking in the moonlight, was a monster. Blocking the moon, it stood shrouded in shadow. But clearly visible, held outstretched in the creature’s enormous hand, he saw the weapon that had created the carnage around him. The massive axe the creature held in its hand reflected the light, blood dripping from both edges. It was a battle axe, half-moon blades on either side of a haft that seemed to be made of the same shimmering metal as the head. The handle was short in comparison to the size of the blade as well as its monstrous wielder, and had a large chain attached to the base that wrapped around the scarred forearm of the beast that gripped it. Perhaps it was a trick of the moon or the dripping gore, but Polenach thought he saw the chain move.

From the other side of the looming shape came a hand the size of his torso, held out to him in a gesture clearly meant as an offer of help. A deep voice rumbled from the shadows. “You are safe, for now. Please, come with me.” The chain on the axe clinked softly as he took the hand and was lifted to his feet. On the head of the axe, where the blades met the haft, what appeared to be a face shaped out of the strange metal seemed to smile at him in sad welcome while bloody tears ran from its eyes.