The wretchling came closer, and we all stared. I’ll be the first to admit that I considered just blasting it, though not very strongly. Putting aside the fact that the white flag was my greatest hope of living more than a day, even a planned backstab using the sign of peace to lower our guards would’ve still bought me more time among the living.

  As it turned out, of course, things weren’t as cliche’d as that. When the wretchling approached he was met with a great many scowls. Vara, in particular, seemed on the brink of charring him into smoke, while Gruin was practically vibrating with the urge to start screaming and swinging his hammer sooner rather than later. I made myself hurry up and speak before anyone could do anything stupid.

  “I’m Kyvaine,” I began, “and in the absence of our leader, I speak for this group.”

  I heard a few dissatisfied coughs, and Gruin actually started laughing like he’d just heard the funniest joke of his life, but nobody actually contradicted me, at least, which I considered to be about the best outcome I might have hoped for. The wretchling studied me for a second before replying himself.

  “I’m Shcrrrikt-ta-quat’an,” he told me, then waited.

  That should’ve been a hint that we weren’t the first humans he’d spoken to, because he appeared to have known in advance just how bloody long we’d take to wrap our heads around hearing his name. For my part, I didn’t make the mistake of trying to pronounce it.

  “What business do you have?” I asked him, nodding to the flag, “not killing us, I hope.” I’d meant it as a joke, more to relax me than anyone else, but I just found myself growing more and more on edge. Relaxation is really no more than an abstract ideal when you’ve been attacked as many times in a row as I’d been at that point.

  The wretchling, though, did his best to put us all at ease. I want you to try and put yourself in his shoes for a moment. I know, it’s unholy and dangerous to extend human empathy to the inhuman and all that—just ignore the church shit for a second, it’s my story and the least you can do if you’re reading it is play along with these little mental exercises when I ask.

  So imagine this conversation from his perspective. Him on one side, nine trigger-happy giants in the midst of a violent freak-out on the other. The fucking balls on that one, eh? Standing there and negotiating with us as he did. I’m still impressed even today, though as usual it didn’t register to me that I should have been at the time.

  “We have gotten off on the wrong foot, I think,” the wretchling told us, “you fled from my people before we could speak with you outside the human town. Now we want to try and speak again, despite the fact that you all killed thirty of us in fleeing.” I detected no small amount of anger in his voice at that. Everyone else did, too, and tensions rose fast.

  “I think things started to go sour when you lot tried to stab us to death in the mountain,” Dubin cut in, earning himself a round of agreeing grunts from most of our group while the wretchling held his gaze and, clearly, tried not to lose his own temper.

  “That wasn’t us,” he said.

  “It bloody looked like you!” Cedwin snapped, “what, it was some other group of wretchlings?”

  “Yes,” the wretchling said, “obviously. Do you think humans are the only group who can have factional differences?”

  “He does,” Il’vanja cut in, helpfully, “most humans do.”

  As usual, her input didn’t make her more popular among us. I made myself speak fast, though, sensing that I was quickly losing control of whatever veneer of leadership I’d managed to wrangle across the group and not trusting anybody else to wield it instead of me.

  “I’m sorry about what we did to your people, then,” I began, “we didn’t know you intended to talk. We were in a hurry.”

  The wretchling stared at me, probably studying my face for deceit. He found none. Which certainly surprised me, because I’d been lying through my teeth.

  “Thank you for saying that. Can we, then, put the nastiness behind us and focus on coming to an agreement that might actually help both of our groups?”

  Even to the idiot I was back then, it sounded like a reasonable enough suggestion. I was still paranoid of course, but I was more desperate, and there really were a lot of them waiting at the base of that hill.

  “Let’s see what your offer is first,” I replied, sending another glance to my own side. Cedwin froze, apparently midway through trying to sneak off, while everyone else remained locked at some stage of reaching for their weapons, or else preventing Gruin from sprinting forwards with his own.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  The wretchling hesitated again, and I saw him working over what he’d say.

  “Before I tell you, you need to know that my people are under the thumb of that Demon.”

  Everyone started freaking out at once, but he continued before any unfortunately impulsive decisions could be made.

  “It’s not our choice. The wretchlings under those mountains have all been subordinated by it. You saw it yourselves, if that being gave you the choice between obedience or death what would you do? Do you think you’d have half a chance of fighting it?”

  That quietened everyone down, at least. Panicked, exhausted and paranoid, but not stupid. We’d all seen how Morlo’s Thaumaturgy did against it and we all knew better than to miss that we’d gotten lucky in escaping even with that.

  A whole army of wretchlings? That wouldn’t make any difference, not against something like that.

  “So what do you think we can do to help you?” I asked, “you can’t believe we’d stand a chance against that Demon, surely? We wouldn’t even stand a chance against you.”

  The wretchling snorted. “You wouldn’t, no…when’s your wizard waking up?”

  I should’ve caught it from the start, of course, but with everything that’d been going on, problems both internal and external to our fellowship, I found myself worn a bit thin and with too many distractions to think straight.

  “We…” If this was all a trap, if the wretchlings had hoped to gain something from their parlay, it would be knowledge of what threat Morlo posed to them. The thought struck me midway through my response, and I caught myself just before giving away the game. “We think he’ll be awake imminently,” I said instead.

  The wretchling nodded, turning and craning his neck.

  “Can I see him?”

  “No,” Vara snapped, stepping forwards protectively, “we’re not risking that, do you think we’re idiots?”

  She’d been quicker about it than me, we needed to give a reason for him to not check himself if we were to keep upholding the lie of Morlo’s imminent awakening.

  Unfortunately, quicker just didn’t seem quick enough today. The wretchling met our gazes without seeming to blink and skewered us with his next question.

  “You don’t know when the wizard will wake up, do you?” he asked.

  Half my instincts were telling me to stab him, the other half to run. I settled on the compromise position of standing and talking, still foolishly hoping to weasel out of this.

  “We just told you,” I began, “he—”

  —”I don’t believe you, let’s get that clear,” the wretchling sighed, “now stop wasting my time. Everything I said was true, so what do you need us to do to safeguard your wizard until he does wake up to fight that fucking Demon?”

  We’d probably have been standing around for hours and lying to each other if the wretchling wasn’t so blunt, so I’m glad he was. Put in a box like that I had no choice but to cooperate and soon enough the rest of the wretchlings were making their way up the hill to join us too.

  There was a fair bit of tension, watching them come, but the moment for all of them to hold us down and kill us passed without that happening. It took that to finally bring some semblance of relaxation to us.

  Most of us, that is. Gruin was predictably not happy about seeing so many wretchlings within crushing range and not being allowed to kill them, but everyone else was relieved to avoid the fight.

  Morlo was still unconscious when we reached him, which the wretchlings were not pleased to see at all. Most of the others, besides Shcrrrikt-ta-quat’an, were a good deal less affable. Several of their warriors were worse still. All, though, wore their despair openly at the sight of his slumbering form.

  “He’s been out for…uh, more than two days straight now,” I finally admitted. “He seems stable, at least. Talks in his sleep even, moves around a lot. But we’re not sure when he’ll wake up.”

  We weren’t actually sure if he would ever wake up. Morlo had talked at length about the dangers of Thaumaturgy, maybe this was him finally meeting them himself.

  That started me down a particularly unpleasant road as I began considering my own use of Thaumaturgy. I’d never pushed myself to the very limits, like Morlo clearly had, but once or twice I’d certainly come close. Best to dial down my magical exertions, I decided. Best to do that indeed.

  After finding out that we were not, after all, going to be stabbed to death by a horde of wretchlings, my group became oddly relaxed. There was still the perpetual tension of being so close to so many unfamiliar warriors, that would never fade, but compared to the imminent fear of death it was all nothing.

  We started moving again. Moving awkwardly, shifty eyes always on the people beside us and nerves woven up tight. Despite that, it was probably the safest I’d ever been when travelling—including back when I’d done it with my father before heading off away from Sheppleberry alongside Morlo. There’s a safety in numbers, even when they’re composed of wretchlings.

  There’s also a sluggishness in them, because now it was our turn to feel the lethargy of moving any significant mass across the landscape. Anglysh countryside crept by us at a snail’s pace as our moods remained thoroughly low and irritable. Cedwin, I noticed, was not missing the chance to give me the evil eye as we went.

  Well that was fine. I’d been slow in learning, but I’d finally gotten the message sunk into me about how exactly to handle animosity like that. I pretended not to notice it and let him glare away. When he made his move, let him think I wasn’t expecting it. Let it be his surprise.

  “Do you think Morlo’s going to wake up?” Vara asked me. She made me jump, I’d been so consumed planning ahead for all the ways Cedwin might try to kill me that I’d sort of zoned out and nearly clocked her on sheer reflex. Another warning that my time on the road was seeping into me a bit too deeply.

  “He must do,” I said with a confidence I didn’t feel and knew better than trying to make real.

  “Must he?” Vara’s eyes were fogging over with worry and distant. “Maybe this is just it. Fuck, I had so much more to learn. Without him I’m still an apprentice. Without him I have to hope some other Thaumaturge agrees to teach a woman if I want to finish learning.”

  It hadn’t occurred to me how much harder she’d find it, replacing him than me. Of course it hadn’t,

  “I can teach you,” I offered, “if the worst does happen and he ends up dying. I can get another teacher myself and pass on whatever I learn to you, no charge.”

  Vara didn’t look like she knew what to say for a moment, then finally smiled.

  Explore more of our books — begin your journey here: