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In The Mist Of The Erie Isles

By Mantrid Brizon

Episode Forty-Six: Saviors, Pt. 2

Using the emergency oars and the modest wind to push the skiff toward the shore, Steingar keeps his back toward the citizens who stare intently at the small craft. Kirsta keeps a pistol and a short sword at the ready, making sure they’re visible. Meanwhile, Valan, who’s also raised his hood to cover his face, stands just behind the sail. His original, matching pistols are proudly displayed in his leather holsters.

“I really hope you know what you’re doing, buddy.” Valan murmurs.

“If you’d rather I brush past them, acting as conspicuously as possible, just let me know.” Steingar retorts.

“As long as they’re friendly, we should be fine... I hope.” Kirsta speaks under her breath.

As their skiff bumps against the shoreline, just beyond the rickety dock crafted by the settlers, Kirsta swiftly leaps from the bow. Her boots splash in the mud, her hand resting on her sheathed sword and her pistol visible as the wind flutters her long, blond hair. Several men eye her form, half suspicious and half enamored. Valan steps carefully out of the boat, soon followed by Steingar. Though they hide their faces from the crowd with their hoods, Steingar cannot hide his size or his long, tapering, prehensile tail. It sways gracefully behind him as he walks.

They can hear the crowd murmuring about them, wondering who the beautiful woman and her two bodyguards are. Are they emissaries for a pirate Captain, or scouts for the Crown? No one dares ask them to find out. The town is barely a hovel, the various buildings constructed from scrap wood and fresh timber cut from nearby trees. Many have marks from hand tools, chips cut from the accidental strikes made by unskilled hands. These are not artisans or even carpenters, but pioneers, and perhaps even refugees. The further into the hamlet that they walk, the more apparent it becomes that these people are hiding themselves away from the Empire.

It puts them at ease, but only somewhat. As valuable as they are, a person could easily escape the Empire and live a life of luxury in another Kingdom, entirely from the wealth of their bounties. Stopping before a small shop, an elderly human with a balding head hangs a small sign. His long, white hair guards the shiny dome of his skull, and his hands are covered in black filth and a very particular kind of oil, which smears the edges of the sign.

“Ahem... Pardon me, sir, but you wouldn’t happen to be a metalsmith, would you?” Kirsta asks.

“Hm?” The old man glances over his shoulder. “Oh! Aren’t you a sight!” He flashes a toothless grin. “I’ve been known to craft with metal. Made a few clocks and fixed many more in my time, and I’m currently constructing new teeth! Haha!”

Glancing back at her companions, Kirsta raises her brow and shrugs her shoulders. She returns her attention to the old man and steps closer.

“Why do you ask? Do you need my services?”

“Yes. We have something that needs repairing. I don’t suppose you’d mind having a look, would you?”

“What is it?” He asks.

“A timepiece, of sorts...” Steingar answers, speaking in a gruff, altered voice.

“Well, let me see what’s wrong with it.” The old man extends a hand.

“It’s, uhm... Too large to carry. We left it in our boat.” Kirsta replies.

“It’s a skiff.” Steingar murmurs.

“Whatever.” She sighs. “If you don’t mind a walk, we’ll take you to it.”

The kindly old man nods his balding head and reaches for a post, which supports the roof of his small, covered porch. Collecting a crooked cane, he walks slowly beside Kirsta, who rests a hand on his boney back. They take their time, moving at his calm, even tired pace. As they return to the skiff, Kirsta and the men make mental notes of the town around them.

“This is quite the place you have here.” Valan remarks.

“Yes, it is. We settled here just after the thaw. It’s nice and quiet! No tyrants here!” The old man replies.

“Not a fan of the Empire?” Kirsta asks.

“It’s not that we dislike the Empire. So long as a ruler is just and cares about the wellbeing of the people then it’s a form of governance as good as any other. The problem arises when you have young, know-nothing bastards who think they’ve become one of the Seraphs, if you’ll pardon me for saying so. We came here to be as far away from that as possible.”

“The northern edge is as good a place as any to find seclusion.” Steingar comments.

Approaching the skiff, Kirsta and Valan help the old man climb aboard. As they lift the bench seat and reveal the clockwork of the spring powered motor, the old man’s eyes light up. He stares in awe at the oversized gears, arms and the enormous spring.

“Well, now! That’s quite the timepiece you have!” He chuckles. “Is that connected to something beneath the hull?”

“Can you fix it?” A nervous Steingar asks.

“I believe so, as long as you have the coin...”

Without hesitation, Steingar pays the man with a large, golden vasarik valued at one hundred. The old man and the small crowd around them immediately take notice, irking both Valan and Kirsta. The buxom woman glares at the hooded Helngar, whose impatience may prove costly, in more ways than one.

“Looks like you just paid for the rest of my year! I’ll need to fetch my tools, but I’ll get right on it!” The old man chirps. “Why don’t you make yourselves comfortable? It may take me a while.”

“What’s ‘a while’?” Steingar asks.

“Well, you may have noticed I’m not quite as spry as I used to be. A few hours, at least, and that’s if I dash! Haha! Don’t worry your furry head. I’ll fix your ‘timepiece’, good as new.”

“Great...” Steingar grumbles.

“My granddaughter opened a tavern with her husband. It’s not far from my shop. You can waste your time there. Wet your whistle or fill your bellies. Tell her I sent you and she’ll make you feel right at home!”

With Kirsta’s help, the old man climbs out of the skiff and walks slowly back to his shop. Kirsta storms up to the Helngar as the growing crowd in the background watch on.

“What is wrong with you?!” She whispers loudly. “Are you trying to get us robbed?!”

“I just want to get to the rendezvous, same as you, and I’d like to do it fast.”

“Well, I want to get there without trouble, so calm down and let me handle things from this moment forward...” She softly snarls.

With a dismissive wave of her hand and a low growl, she turns her back on the Helngar before following the path of the old man, who’s still within view.

“Where’re you going?” Valan asks.

“To buy breakfast!” Kirsta replies.

Chasing after her, the trio catch up to the old man and attain directions. The town is constructed with a simple grid pattern, with only two rows of structures to navigate. Across the river are shanty homes, while they’re in what amounts to a business district. Moving through the streets, they come upon a square. In that square they find a strange sight. An effigy of a Helngar stands proudly, formed from logs and sticks, which are glued with resin and tied together with homemade twine. The life-sized figure holds up a fist, formed from a crudely carved knot of wood. There are no plaques or signs to state who or what the wooden statue is meant to represent.

“Huh... There’s something you don’t see every day.” Valan remarks. “You don’t suppose it’s some religious thing, do you?”

“No. It’s more like folk art.” Kirsta says, cocking her head.

“Lovely...” Steingar murmurs.

“I wonder who this is supposed to be.” Valan thinks aloud.

“That’s our hero!” A child’s voice chirps.

The trio turn back, looking down at a little boy, a human barely nine years old. Steingar is quick to keep his face hidden from the tiny being.

“Who’s hero?” Kirsta asks.

“The town’s! My dad says he’s the Helngar that told the Empire ‘where to stick it’. Maybe that’s why he’s made of sticks?” The child rests a finger on his chin.

“Nuh-uh! He’s made of sticks because that’s all we have, stupid!” A little girl exclaims.

Appearing from behind the corner of a building, a human child about the same age as the boy marches up to the group. Wearing a simple dress and clutching a ragdoll to her chest, she moves as confidently as any adult, glaring at the little boy.

“I’m not stupid! Why don’t you play with your doll and stop bugging me!” The little boy whines.

“You can’t tell me what to do, and this isn’t my doll, she’s our daughter!” The little girl holds out the doll, pushing it into the boy’s face. “See?! She has your stupid, button eyes! Now you get back to our house, mister! I’m putting tea on!” She chirps, an innocent smile on her face.

“I don’t wanna play with you anymore. You’re mean.”

“I’m not mean!” She gasps, clinging tightly to the doll and pressing it against her chest. “Now if you don’t get back to our house and let me make you tea, you’ll have to till the fields.”

“... Fine...”

“Yay!”

The little girl grabs the boy’s arm, dragging him away as several other children watch and giggle.

“I like her.” Kirsta remarks.

Valan and Steingar both glance at Kirsta, before turning toward each other and sharing a little smirk. Continuing on, they make their way toward the tavern, which is one of the nicer structures in the hamlet. Entering the tavern, they find it swarming with patrons. Men and women line the tables and sit at a crude bar fashioned from a single, split log at least two feet in diameter and fifty feet long. They talk and laugh amongst themselves, but quickly fall silent as the door swings closed. They turn in their seats and stare at the newcomers. After a brief pause, Kirsta makes her way toward the bar. Valan and Steingar follow behind, walking single file due to a lack of room.

A few patrons move aside, their eyes locked onto the trio as they look at them in an eerie silence. It’s as if they’ve never had a visitor before, and they’re staring at an alien race. Kirsta stands at the bar, greeting the woman who tends it.

“Hello. We’re new here. We were told by a kindly elder that this would be a good place to find food and drink.”

“Oh, you’ve met my grandfather?!” The woman chirps.

“Is he the only elder in town?” Valan retorts, standing beside Kirsta.

“Of course not, but he does carry on about my new business. I just assumed he sent you.”

“He did.” Kirsta nods.

“So, what can I get for you?”

As Kirsta and Valan place orders, Steingar stands off to the side. He leans against the wall, nearly bumping his head on the mounted head of a buck. He leans to the side and against the wall, keeping his head down. As he waits for his companions to finish speaking with the barkeep, a voice calls out to him.

“That’s quite the tail you’ve got, mister.”

Glancing back, Steingar’s backside faces a flip-up counter at the end of the bar. It’s the only way for the workers of the tavern to enter the bar and dining area from behind the counter. Steingar is blocking a man’s path.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” He says, swiftly stepping forward and turning.

The antlers of the mounted deer head catch the edge of his hood, yanking it over his face before drawing it down. The crowd collectively gasp, staring at Steingar’s exposed features.

“Look!” A man exclaims.

“Can it be?!” A woman gasps.

“It is! It’s him!” Another woman in the crowd chirps.

“Shit...”

Steingar bolts from the bar, tearing the mounted head from the wall and ripping his cloak. He races toward the door as people reach out for him. Though they beg him to stop, they never block his path. Racing through the front door, he slams into a man trying to enter, falling back so that his torso and head are inside of the tavern. He leaps to his feet and continues into the square, though he’s quickly surrounded by the townsfolk, who barrel outside to see what’s transpiring. With a single glance, everyone focuses on the Helngar. They approach him in a slow, methodical manner, surrounding him as he backs himself against the stick and log statue in the center of the square.

“I can’t believe it! It’s really him!”

“Who ever thought this would happen?!”

“He’s even taller than I thought he’d be!”

“Look, I’m not who you think I am! This is all just a big misunderstanding!” Steingar exclaims.

“Do you like it?!” A villager excitedly asks.

“... Like what?”

“Your statue! Do you like it, Steingar?!”

The Helngar slowly glances back, looking over the statue once again. He turns toward the crowd who swarm him, their eyes lighting up. It’s only then that he notices their looks of admiration.

“Uh, yeah! It’s really, uhm... Beautiful!” He answers.

“Did you hear that?! He likes it!”

“We’re so glad you came, Steingar!”

“Are you here to lead us?!”

“... Lead?” He raises a brow.

“Yes! Have you come to seek soldiers for your revolution?!”

The flabbergasted Steingar doesn’t know how to respond. The people swarm him, holding up stolen copies of his wanted poster and chanting his name. Valan and Kirsta stand on the rickety front porch of the tavern, equal parts amused and shocked. Realizing that they’re not in any danger, Valan removes his hood and Kirsta conceals her weapons. The crowd usher Steingar back into the tavern, pushing him toward the bar and pulling his companions along with them. They give them free drinks and food, refusing any coin that the trio offer, and entertain them with their hopes and dreams of a rebellion against King Vashalak.

The townsfolk marvel at the Helngar who’d risk his life to destroy a ship of the Crown and start the movement with self-sacrifice. Steingar’s planned failure to destroy the ship he served on, and the imprisonment and execution that would undoubtedly follow, had worked as he’d hoped. When he was rescued from the axe and brought aboard the Arona-Dahl, his name began to spread. With the addition of his bounty, the town, which had already been constructed, found in him a hero and an idol. Steingar’s defiance has given the villagers of the shanty town a symbol, and a glimpse of their potential future.

The adoration the Helngar and his companions receive is overwhelming. As soon as Steingar has finished his first drink, they line up another. A buxom human slithers her way toward the front, resting a hand on his shoulder as she serves him. She’s very careful to make sure he can see her bust as she smooshes herself into his chest.

“Ooohhh, you’re such a strong warrior, Steingar.” She coos, holding his mug for him.

“I am, aren’t I?” He can’t help but smirk.

“Is that why you’ve come?! Are you here to lead us?!”

“Are you and your henchmen here to gather an army?!”

“Henchmen?” Kirsta murmurs, raising a brow.

“Uh, well...” Steingar hesitates, wiping the froth of ale from his lips.

“That’s it, isn’t it!”

Steingar looks nervously toward his companions. Kirsta and Valan share a glance and Valan clears his throat.

“Ahem, well... We’re actually here on a very important mission.”

“Yes! A mission against the crown!” Kirsta adds, her gaze fixated on Valan.

“That’s right!” Steingar chirps, realizing their strategy. “It’s a very important and secret mission, and we cannot fail!”

“Do you need any volunteers?!” An overly excited man asks.

“Oh, please tell us what we can do for you!”

“We just need our special boat fixed, so that we can head downriver, to the fork.” Kirsta explains.

“It’s a skiff.” Steingar remarks.

“Whatever...” She sighs.

“We can do that!” A man chirps.

“Anything you need in your fight, it’s yours!” Another man in the crowd exclaims.

“Yeah. Anything...” The busty woman coos, gazing into Steingar’s glowing, golden eyes.

“Uh-huh... Well, I suppose we could stay for a little while.” The Helngar replies, slipping an arm around her waist.

“Uh, sir? Is that such a good idea?” Valan asks, continuing the ruse.

“You worry too much, Val. We’ve got time. It wasn’t even going to take an afternoon to get there; we can stay a while.”

The Helngar leans in and plants a kiss on the busty human, before asking for another round from the bar. The townsfolk erupt in celebration, elated to aid the hero of their revolution. In short order, a dozen men work on their skiff, free of charge, and a man even returns the vasarik that they’d given the kindly elder. Upon learning who Steingar was, the old man returned it freely, more eager to help them fight the Crown than earn a living. Kirsta and Valan sit at the bar and deal with a quantity of visitors, eager to question Steingar’s sidekicks, curious about how life with the legend is for the pair.

The lion’s share of the attention, however, goes to Steingar, who soon disappears with the buxom woman under his arm. As soon as he reappears with his now stumbling and exhausted companion beside him, he finds another woman and eventually leaves with her as well. By the time night falls, the pair have not only failed to leave the town and make camp at the rendezvous, but they’ve lost track of their companion. Their second day in the humble town isn’t much different from the first. Small groups hound the two humans, while large crowds follow Steingar, obeying his every word.

To Valan’s and Kirsta’s shock, the Helngar also routinely chooses young and attractive women, taking them to various homes and enjoying their very willing bodies. By their second night in town, they’ve counted five different women, both human and Falmun, seen with the Helngar entering back rooms of shops, or the women’s own houses. By the third morning, only a single day remains before Salman and his team are scheduled to arrive at the rendezvous, hopefully with the Princess beside him. They’ve yet to leave the hamlet. Growing concerned about the delays, Kirsta scours the town for the old man, before meeting Valan in a place they’d agreed upon.

“Did you find him?” Valan asks Kirsta, standing in an alley between barn and a barber shop.

“Yeah.”

“And?!”

“Steingar overwound the clockwork, but it’s fixed. It was fixed yesterday, but they neglected to tell us. We can go at any time.” She answers.

“Now all we have to do is find Steingar...” Valan murmurs.

“Do you think he even wants to come with us?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, Val. In the three days we’ve been here, I’ve seen him for maybe an hour, and that’s only in between the women he’s disappearing with.” She explains.

“You think he’d abandon us? Abandon the mission?!” A horrified Valan asks.

“He’s a healthy male with a town at his feet and women throwing themselves at him. Let’s just say that I wouldn’t put it past him...”

“You don’t have much faith in people, do you?” He retorts.

“I’m just saying, this isn’t how I imagined this trip going, and he’s not exactly instilling me with confidence.” She replies.

“Steingar may be plowing a few fields, but he wouldn’t abandon us. He knows what’s at stake here. He knows how important this is.”

“And if he does?”

“...”

Disheartened, Valan leaves Kirsta in the alley, looking for his companion. He only questions two villagers before he learns where he’s gone. Heading for a house, the dwelling of a married couple and the wife’s unmarried sister, Valan barges in. He can hear the grunts and groans coming from one of the few rooms in the little cabin. He peeks into one room, finding a large bed for the husband and his wife. It’s empty. He turns to the room across the hall and knocks.

“Steingar?”

“Mmm-yeah...”

“Steingar?!”

“Rrrr! I’m busy!” He calls back.

“Look, Steingar, we need to leave! We don’t have much time before-”

“What the hell did I just say?!”

Growling angrily to himself, Valan barges inside. On her knees and straddling the Helngar, the wife’s sister holds Steingar’s extended hands, their fingers interlocked. Her sweaty back faces Valan as the nude woman unashamedly continues to ride her lover, groaning and moaning with pleasure. Valan can see the underside of Steingar’s girthy, charcoal black manhood, the fat, glistening flesh disappearing into the stretched, pink loins of the woman who rides him so competently. She’s the sixth stranger that the Helngar has taken to bed in the past three days, or at least the sixth that Valan has seen...

“Rrrr-yeah. That’s it! Mmm-work it, baby. Ooohhh-yeah.” Steingar growls.

“Nnnn-yeah! Nngf! Ooohhh, Steingar! Ahh! You’re so big!”

“Nngh, and I’ve got, nngh, quite the load for you, too!”

“Mmm-yeah. Nngf! Give it to me!” She cries out, rocking her hips faster and harder.

“HEY!” Valan growls. “We need to go! Remember the mission?!”

“Piss off, you little bastard! I’m busy!”

Steingar chuckles and his lover giggles. Letting go of her hands and wrapping his strong, furry arms around her, he pulls the woman down, her modest, B-cup bust pressing into his chest. On her forearms and kneels above him, the Helngar begins his work, ramming his considerable member into and out of her quivering loins to his heart’s content. Thoroughly disgusted by the selfish actions of his closest friend, Valan backs out of the room before storming outside. He ignores Steingar’s demands that he shut the door on his way out, thoroughly overwhelmed with anger. Kirsta’s followed him and waits outside, leaning against a tree about one hundred feet from the cabin.

“Well?”

“Get to the boat. We’re doing this without him.”

“It’s a skiff, remember?” She smirks.

“Whatever!”

As they clamber inside of the skiff, Steingar is unaware. He eventually finishes, releasing a torrential flow into yet another fertile, young lover before falling asleep beside her. After a nap, he awakens thirsty and famished. Leaving the woman passed out on her bed, Steingar departs, nodding and greeting the husband and wife as they return from working at their shop. They don’t bat an eye; they’re quite proud to have their savior in their home, regardless of the reasons.

“Oh, please, let me cook for you!” The wife insists.

“Oh, I couldn’t. I should really eat with my henchmen. They enjoy my company.” He retorts.

“Your henchmen left.” The husband remarks.

“... What?”

“Yeah! We saw them moving downriver in your boat. I waved to them from the window of our store.” The wife adds.

“Surely that was part of the plan, right?” The husband asks.

“Plan... Yeah.” Steingar murmurs.

“So, can I fix you something?!”

“No... I’ll, uhm... I’ll just see myself to the tavern.” Steingar murmurs.

“Well, alright. If you insist, Steingar!”

Making his way to the tavern, the Helngar turns his glowing, golden eyes toward the shoreline. As they’d said, the skiff is gone and there’s only an impression in the mud where the craft used to be; Kirsta and Valan have left without him. Only now does he realize that he’s spent three days in the hamlet, completely ignoring their quest. Wracked with guilt and shame, Steingar slithers back to the tavern and begins drinking. He continues to drink slowly throughout the remainder of the day, waiting for his companions to come back for him. They never do.

As the hours tick by, he finds himself decreasingly interested in the townsfolk’s adoration and affection. He sits with a group of servile young men and a Falmun woman he’d already slept with, only because he doesn’t wish to be alone. He sleeps at the home of the Falmun woman, though he rejects her sexual advances. She’s quite pleased to lay with him, as if that somehow signifies his growing fondness for her. On the morning of the fourth day, Steingar begins to worry about his companions. What if they don’t return on time? What if Salman’s team was caught and they were ambushed? He should be by their sides, not cavorting with these strangers.

By early afternoon, the constant fawning of the townsfolk wears on his nerves and he finds himself shooing them away. When dinner time comes and goes without even a glimpse of Valan or Kirsta, Steingar cannot bring himself to eat. The townsfolk grow concerned, offering to put together a force and join him to save his henchmen, but they’re untrained and not all that impressive, even as mere villagers. Unwilling to risk their lives, Steingar refuses their offer and when night falls, he retires to the only rentable room in the tavern. When the couple who run the tavern refuse his coin, he leaves it on the counter. Steingar sleeps alone.

“You two better not be dead...” He murmurs to himself, sitting at the edge of the rock-hard bench of a bed. “Please, in the name of every Seraph, don’t be dead... I’m sorry...”

Awakening on the fifth day to a commotion, Steingar barrels out of the tavern and into the square. Are his friends back?! He freezes, staring in horror.

“Steingar! Do you like it?!” A villager chirps.

“Why can’t you just be the King?!”

His left eye twitches and a rage overcomes the Helngar warrior. The villagers have fashioned a crude crown of branches and draped it on the head of the town’s wooden centerpiece. Storming up to the statue of himself, the former bloodforge growls as he grabs the statue and shoves, pushing the heavy effigy over. To the horror of the townsfolk, the sticks shatter on the compacted dirt and gravel street, the log skeleton breaking apart and the various logs rolling away.

“Stop this! Don’t you dare worship me!” He roars. “I didn’t ask for this! I just did what I thought was right! I saw awful things as I served a King, and I only wanted to inspire rebellion!”

“But you did inspire us! You’ve given us hope!” A man exclaims.

“But you’re putting a crown on a statue! ... I never wanted this! Don’t do this to me... Look at me?! I’m just a man! I’m no savior! I took advantage of you! I’ve proven myself no better than that little shit, Vashalak! I can’t be your hero... I’m not worthy of it... I should be out there!” Steingar points downriver. “I should be with my friends, but I pushed them away to be worshipped by strangers...”

“You mean, you didn’t send your henchmen on a mission?!” A woman gasps.

“They’re not my henchmen! They’re my friends! They’re the ones who saved me from the axe! I never knew them until they pulled me from my chains; I did what I did expecting to die and be put out of my misery...”

The crowd stare in absolute horror, listening as their hero shatters their imagined view of him.

“I was supposed to be with them, but I turned my back on them. I had too many free drinks and was invited into too many beds, and it was too hard to say ‘no’. Your adoration went to my head, and now they’re gone and I don’t know what’s become of them!”

Sitting by the campfire, Kirsta pokes the dying flames. She sighs and throws the small stick into the ashes before rising to her feet and stretching her muscles. Her arms reach for the sky and she arches her back.

“Rrrrr.” She groans. “This dirt is so hard!”

“Yeah...” Valan sighs. “And it gets pretty cold out here at night.”

“That’s the north, for you...”

“I liked it better in the jungles. You may sweat in the day, but the night is so comfortable, when it’s not raining.”

She looks toward her companion, who stares at the ashes. He’d sat across from her in silence, captivated by his own thoughts for hours. Valan slowly strokes his long goatee, his melancholy increasingly evident.

“It’s only one day, Val. Maybe they were delayed?”

“Maybe... Maybe they were caught by a patrol, and as we sit and wait, they’re being executed.” He retorts.

“They might still show up. Don’t lose hope just yet.”

“I just hate not knowing.” He sighs, rising to his feet. “And being here without Steingar isn’t making it easier.”

“Don’t you enjoy my company?!” She smirks.

“I say this in the nicest possible way, but you can be... Difficult.”

“I’m sure Sal has said something similar.” She remarks.

“Speaking of, what’s going on with you and my brother?”

Kirsta’s alabaster cheeks flush, her skin turning a rosy hue. She looks toward the ground, staring at her own feet in an embarrassment induced silence.

“I’ve never seen you look like that! If you weren’t such a capable warrior, I might even call it ‘cute’.”

“Shut up!” She barks, her smile unfading.

“Well, whatever you two have, just promise me you won’t break him.” He teases her.

“That’s up to him, and how much he fights back?” She winks.

“And I thought Steingar was bad.” He softly chuckles.

Kirsta’s brow furls and her sapphire eyes narrow. She stares intently into the forest and draws her sword.

“What?” Valan draws a pistol and whirls around. “What is it?!”

“There.” She points with the gleaming blade.

In the distance, a carriage moves through a small clearing. The horses hesitate to walk through the dense brush, but are urged forward by a familiar half breed Lahnyt with platinum blond hair and a hide that reminds them of a watermelon.

“He-ya! Move it, you assholes! It’s just a fern!” Naemen growls.

Kirsta and Valan race up to the carriage as it emerges from the foliage. Naemen pulls on the reins. Coming to a stop, the pair greet the half breed. Salman leans out of a window.

“What took you so long?!”

“Yeah! We were getting worried!”

“Sorry, but we had a bit of a delay.” Naemen replies.

“If that’s what you want to call it.” Salman interjects.

Swinging open the carriage door, Lutala emerges first. She turns back and reaches inside, helping a weakened Jarae slowly climb down. She holds her belly and winces, groaning and letting out a gasp as she steps carefully onto the ground.

“Ow. Easy.” She speaks softly.

“I’m sorry. Are you alright?” Lutala asks.

“Jarae?! Are you okay?!” Valan races to her side.

As soon as she sees him, the Jaliscan flashes a little smile. She extends her arms and the pair embrace. Her cat-like tail sways slowly as she wraps her arms around Valan’s neck.

“Did you get hurt?! What happened?!” Valan asks in a panic.

“I’m alright, Val. I’m fine, now that you’re here.” She speaks softly.

“Come on, we need to get you back to Arona to rest!” He exclaims, trying to lead her to the skiff.

“Wait...”

“What? We need to get you back home, where I can take care of you!”

“Please, Val. I need to tell you something. This is important.”

“What is it?”

“I’m sorry... I’m so terribly sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” He asks, cocking his head.

“I’m sorry for being so cold. I’m sorry for pushing you away. I never wanted to.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Let’s just get you home.” He pulls at her.

“No, Val!” She pulls back, maintaining his attention. “I didn’t mean to be that way. I was just afraid!”

“Afraid of what?”

“... Afraid of loving you.”

The rest of the group watch on as Valan and Jarae gaze into each other’s eyes. The gunman is frozen in place, shocked into silence as the Jaliscan’s little smile grows wider.

“I love you, Val, and I never should’ve run from my feelings the way that I did. It hurt you, and it hurt me, too. For that, I am sorry.”

“Oh, Jarae!” Valan embraces her, nuzzling her furry cheek with his thin, pointy nose. “I love you, too. I’ve loved you for a long time, and I don’t want to be without you anymore.”

“Neither do I, so let’s not. Please, Val, let’s just be together.”

“Okay.” Valan sniffles, overcome with joy.

Pulling back, they share a passionate kiss before embracing each other once more.

“They grow up so fast.” A smirking Kirsta pretends to wipe a tear from her eye.

“Does this mean we aren’t going to be roommates anymore?” Lutala jokingly asks.

Glancing over her shoulder, Jarae wears the widest possible smile that doesn’t show her teeth. In that moment she looks happier than anyone can ever recall seeing her. Valan looks equally pleased, nuzzling the soft fur of her face and showering her with loving kisses. The pair gently sway, as if they’re slowly dancing. A grayish-blue hand suddenly emerges from the carriage. Climbing down from the back seat, Princess Lapira steps out and stands tall. Kirsta’s eyes widen.

It’s been some time since Trellan’s physical body has died, and seeing him only as a foot-tall, translucent hologram atop onyx plates, she’d forgotten how large the Vizhek are. Sliding out last, Salman turns to Kirsta and smiles, waving at her. Kirsta returns the smile and raises a hand.

“Hello, there.” She coos.

“I hope we didn’t worry you.”

“Only a little.” Valan replies, still nuzzling and kissing Jarae’s cheek.

“We’re sorry, love.” Jarae kisses Valan’s cheek. “We’d have been here sooner, but I was injured, and the Princess needed treatments of her own.”

“Are you alright?!” Valan asks.

“I am now, and I’ll be even better when I’m lying beside you.”

“Me too.” Valan smiles wide.

“Aww.” Lutala gushes.

“Plus, I had to bury that guy’s body. Don’t forget that. Sal wouldn’t help me!” Naemen exclaims as he struggles with the horses’ harnesses.

“I was busy!” He chirps, glancing at Lapira.

“Yes, and I should really thank you for doing this. You’ve rescued me from the hell of marrying Vashalak.”

“Oh, think nothing of it. We save Princesses all the time.” Kirsta playfully retorts.

“But I can’t. You’ve brought me from the confines of the palace and back to my little Prince.” Lapira continues.

Standing behind Salman, she places her hands atop his shoulders. With her chin resting atop the crown of his head, she wraps her arms around his form and holds him. Only then does Kirsta realize the relationship that Salman and the Princess share. He spoke of her as if he’d only known her in passing, but from a glance they appear to be lovers. At the very least, they were once lovers, and have yet to let their flame die out. Kirsta’s smile fades. She glances toward Lutala, who shares in her disappointment. Again, Kirsta is left stunned. She can see the jealousy burning in the depths of the priestess’s fiery eyes; she had no idea that Lutala felt so fondly for Salman.

Both women remain silent as Jarae and Valan bask in the glory of their mutual love, and Salman enjoys the affections of the Princess whom they rescued. With a smack to the rear, Naemen sends the horses running, leaving the carriage as nothing more than a tiny, elevated cabin, deep in the vast forests of northern Vaspania.

“So, it’s only the two of you?” He asks, turning toward Kirsta.

“Hm? Oh... Well, about that...” Kirsta hesitates.

Valan pulls away from Jarae, who examines his facial features with her shimmering, pink eyes, her smile ever present.

“Did Steingar and Irzain really let you two come here on your own?” She asks.

“About Steingar... We may need your help getting him back to Arona...”

Moving quickly but carefully, they remove their gear from the carriage and board the skiff. Valan helps Jarae into the craft and takes a seat beside her, keeping an arm around her at all times, and holding her hand when that isn’t an option. With Salman and Lapira at the front, and Naemen and Kirsta ready for anything, Salman pilots the skiff upriver. By noon they’ve return to the hamlet. In the time it’d taken them to make the journey, Kirsta and Valan had explained the events of the past four days, sparing no details. As the town comes into view, everyone can see the crowd comprising the whole of the village. It’s more than eighty people, all either human or Falmun.

Standing before the group and speaking loudly, Steingar appears to preach to the crowd. Kirsta and Valan collectively sigh, preparing for the worst. Seeing them in the distance, Steingar wades through the crowd, forcing his way toward his friends. Soon, the crowd moves aside like water, before reforming behind Steingar and following him.

“Valan! Kirsta! You’re back and you’re safe! I’m so sorry!” Steingar exclaims.

“You are?” Kirsta raises a brow as she steps out of the skiff.

“I am!” He says, embracing her.

“Get off me!” She growls, smacking him.

“Yeah, okay.” Steingar rubs his snout. “It’s good to see you, Val!” He exclaims, dragging the gunman from the boat and hugging him. “I never should’ve been so cruel to you! Hello Jarae, Naemen, Salman and Lutala! It’s good to see you!”

“Hi, Steingar.”

“Uh, buddy? Have they given you any special drinks or made you a mushroom stew?” Valan asks, still trapped in the Helngar’s embrace.

“No!” He chirps. “I just realized what an ass I’ve been!”

“Well, I’ve heard it said that admission is the first step toward recovery.” Naemen smirks.

“Get over here, you! It’s so good to see you, you funny little bastard!”

“Don’t touch me!” Naemen jumps back.

The crowd stand in a mixture of awe and terror as Lapira steps out of the boat. Holding up the hem of her dress to keep it from becoming dirtied by mud, she’s clearly of noble stock. Many recognize her for who she is, the Princess of the Empire, daughter of the now deceased King Euralian, and the woman chosen by Vashalak to solidify his rule. Steingar finally notices the towering woman, who’s nearly eye level with him.

“Oh, so you succeeded!” He chirps.

“We did!” Salman exclaims, his hand in hers.

“I thank you for helping me escape.” Lapira politely bows her head.

“Is that... The Princess?!” A woman in the crowd gasps.

“Oh, yeah... That mission I was telling you about?!” Steingar nervously scratches his head.

“We need to get her out of here and back to the mainland.” Salman begins.

“Yes. We can prove that Vashalak’s rule is illegitimate.” Valan adds.

“He’s a monster, and he must be stopped.” Lapira herself chimes in.

The crowd are in awe. It’s as if they’re unable to comprehend the events transpiring in the illegal hovel that is their village. Before Steingar can ask for their help, a young man races through the forest and down a trail. The others had seen people using that trail, which leads to a tall clearing atop a ridge. The villagers regularly watch for Crown ships, knowing that they’ll likely be forced from their homes for constructing an illegal settlement which does not pay taxes.

“Ships on the horizon! Crown ships!” He shouts, holding up a large but retractable telescope.

“Ships?! Oh no!”

“They’re coming!”

“We knew this would never last!”

“What’re we going to do?!”

The townsfolk begin to panic and the cacophony of noise is overwhelming to the Helngar and Jaliscan.

“Maybe we should fight them?!”

“Are you dense?! We can’t fight the crown!”

“We could run!”

“They’ll catch us!”

“There must be something we can do?!”

“HEY!” Steingar yells.

Falling silent, the terrified townsfolk turn toward the Helngar. Their faith in the imposing warrior has been shaken by his earlier rebuttal, yet now he stands strong and unafraid.

“I know you’re scared and that some of you want to fight, but that won’t work today! We can take you to safety!” He exclaims.

“Uh, excuse me?!” Kirsta gasps.

“Look at these people!” Steingar turns back to his friends. “They’ve got nowhere to go. We can’t doom them to burn!”

“We have a mission, buddy. Remember the bigger picture?” Valan asks.

“Yeah. Save the Princess and stop the King. That doesn’t mean I have to go sleepless, haunted by a guilty conscience for the rest of my life.” The Helngar retorts.

“I agree.” Lutala nods.

“What’re we going to do with them all?!” Kirsta exclaims.

“The ship won’t hold that many, comfortably. Wherever we go, it needs to be close.” Naemen adds.

“... We could take them to Mishgan.” Salman steps forward. “I’ll protect them.”

“Sal, no. You’ve done enough.” Valan turns to his twin brother.

“Hardly.” Salman snickers.

“What about your safety? With so many people here, word will likely get back to Vashalak. All it takes is one letter, and they’ll come for you.”

“If they’re searching the shores, they already know that I’ve lied to Vashalak; they’re already after me. Honestly, as covetous as he’s been of Lapira, even before he was King, I was expecting as much before the dawn of her rescue. This war is only just beginning, brother. I might as well make my stand on our home.” Salman replies, his little smile every present.

“It’s settled then. Head for the boats and follow us! Bring only the clothes on your back!” Steingar instructs the crowd.

With nothing else to lose, the villagers return to the old boats that’d brought them to this land in the first place. Scrambling aboard, some of them return to their homes for coin purses and favored weapons and tools, but most heed Steingar’s warning. Within the hour, every last villager follows the skiff, which putters along under spring power. They know that if Crown ships appear, they may need to abandon the villagers and race back to the Arona-Dahl to flee. Thankfully, however, they’re never forced to take such a terrible course. Using a rope ladder thrown over the side and the skiff’s port at the rear of the ship, they load the villagers in record time.

The Princess is safely aboard, concealed inside of Salman’s private cabin, and guarded by the Lord. After locking the skiff into its port, Trellan’s spirit activates the steam engine. Crowding the floor of the main and quarter decks, the villagers and crew hold on as the Arona-Dahl rockets to her top speed, racing as quickly as she can for Mishgan. It’ll be a three-day journey, far quicker than any ship can make, but the ship is severely overcrowded. The food and water should hold out, and Salman has already granted them asylum on his island, but as he’s said, this is only the beginning...